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Subject: {Pervette} TG The Girl Inside 5/5 M/F M/M CD femdom
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{Pervette}TG: The Girl Inside (5/5) (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.









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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours, Mistress."

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

"Girls' clothes, Mistress."

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

"Yes, Mistress."

"Forever.  Say it."

"Forever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And were you embarrassed?"

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

She smiled at that.

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

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

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

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

I stared at her.

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

I said No, I couldn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I said yes.

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure.  Where are you, exactly?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Princess Pervette
July, 1998


end 5/5


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