Fiction: Coerced into Slavery

I fucked her sensuously, but she seemed bored.  She made me stop.  I was right into it, so it took some time.  


"Rob," she said, "We have to try something new.  I'm sick of just fucking like this."


"Then what do you suggest?"

"Well. . . I have always had this fantasy. . ." she purred.  I was newly aroused.

"What is it?"

"Well. . . I don't think you'd like it.  No man would do it. . ."

"You'd be surprised at what a man will do.  What is it?  Don't be afraid.  Don't be ashamed."

"No," she resolved, "I just can't tell you outright.  You have to guess."

"Very well," I answered, always enjoying her delicious coyness, and her sexy mind games.  "Is it anal sex?"

"No, no!"

"Tit fucking?"

"Nope."

"Shit?  Piss?"

She shook her head, biting her lip.

"Another man?  Another woman?  Domination?"

She vigorously shook her head.  I was at a loss.  "C'mon, tell me," I implored, "I don't know."

She writhed around seductively in acute embarrassment, and beckoned me to bring my head closer, so that she could whisper in my ear.

"Rob," she whispered breathlessly, licking my ear and caressing it with her lips, "If I ask you to do something, will you promise to do it?"

I looked at her supiciously.  "Depends what."

She caressed me and rubbed herself onto me.  "Won't you do it?  For me?"

With such an incentive, I was hornier than I ever thought possible.  "Sure," I said huskily, as I caressed her and kissed her neck.

"Um. . . could you pick up my panties off the floor?  And my bra?"

I obeyed, thinking that she would put them back on and striptease me again.  She was about to order me to do something, but she hesitated, preferring to whisper it salaciously in my ear:  "Now, put them on."

I was surprised.  How could such a thing turn her on?  Not thinking twice of it, I put them on.  She passionately rubbed herself all over me, and had the most intense orgasm.  I came, too, by her randiness and rubbing.

The next night, as we started going hot and heavy again, she urged me to wear her clothes again.  Again, I complied, not thinking twice of it.  This became more and more frequent as the days went on.  Eventually, she would merely snap the elastic of her panties, and I would immediately remove them from her and put them on myself directly.  Sex is sex, I thought, so I continued.  I also began to doubt my manhood, because I noticed (and she as well) that I was now aroused as soon as she even hinted at my wearing her clothes.

I began to look forward to it as much as she did.  We had fantastic sex this way, and I rarely penetrated her.  I began to associate the clothes with good sex.  I felt masculine, despite my trappings.  Eventually, she seemed to lose interest in this game.  She again resorted to the same tactics that got me into her clothes to begin with, and urged me to act more feminine.  I did this comically at first, to humour her.  I liked this better than penetration.  I began to enjoy it even more.  I shamefully, however, began to admit to myself that it was indeed better to be in a feminine state of mind.  I had to feel as feminine as the sex goddess before me to feel fulfilled.

Eventually, she tired of this again.  She began to give me the choice of whether I wanted to do it my way or hers.  When I did it her way, I enjoyed myself so much more, so I more frequently did it.  I felt so good being feminine.  Soon, I began to request it, and she would grudgingly give me leave.

I wore her panties all the time now at home, and became sexually and psychologically enslaved to her.  I begged her to let me worship her by letting me rub my feminized body onto her perfect model of womanhood.  She allowed me, but became bored.  She let me become her personal servant.  I never left the house anymore.  I lived to serve my goddess of sex.  I was well rewarded.  How I loved the feel of silk or lace on my monstrously ugly prick when I imagined being a girl.  But she betrayed me.

She started bringing home other men.  She fucked them, and made me watch clandestinely.  I hated it.  But they were not allowed to worship her like I was.  So I laughed.  Once, she brought home a homosexual to watch me worship.  He found it quite compelling.  He asked her if I were homosexual, and she answered, "Of course he is!  Do you think he could be so feminine without being gay?"

"I don't believe it.  If he is, then let him blow me."

I hadn't realized the extent of her power.  I kneeled down before him and sucked his glorious prick dry until I exploded with ecstasy.  I had longed for a dick.  I didn't even know it.  I felt so much more feminine, and I began to enjoy the company of men.  They would fuck me all over, and I would love it.  I was a total female, except for my shape.

She then contrived to have me take Gyna's mixture each time I sucked dick, and fucked like a girl.  I would smear it on their dicks, suck them dry, and swallow it with their loads.  It tasted great.  Sure enough, within time, my dick shrivelled up and became a cunt; I grew tits and my waist shrank.  My body hair fell out.  I became a girl, physically as well as mentally.  I fucked some men for a long time thereafter, enjoying it thoroughly, although I became bored.

Then she came to me, hornier than ever, and told me her truest fantasy.  "Rob, I am a lesbian, and I love you.  I want to fuck you."  It took some time for me to become accustomed to pussy, but she slowly converted me again.  Ever since, we have been lesbian lovers.  I love pussy  even more than I did when I was a man, because now I can truly appreciate what it is to have one, and to feel a pretty girl licking it clean.