Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three
Ch.1
Copyright 2003 by Couture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm positively positive."

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

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

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

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

"Do it," I replied.  

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"C-can I go home?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded my head.  

"Good."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I snatched my hand back off his cock.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now, lick it clean," he said.  

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

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

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

To be continued. . .



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