Wednesday, March 01, 1995

Fiction: Commies, Redux

No, that's not quite right.


. . . the girls derided me after I came so quickly, and chained me back up.  They began to laugh at me as I hung there.  They began to put makeup on my face, and shave my body, and say that I might as well be a girl, I'm so useless with them.

They pushed the joke even further by occasionally touching my prick and watching me come just as quickly again.  They said I was sexier this way.  I was ashamed, but they knew that, and forced me to wear their clothes.  they always masturbated me when they did this.  When I grew back my body hair, they treated me like shit, like an imposter of manhood.  I might as well be a girl, they said, and dressed me up again.  It came to the point where I was so nervous about growing back my body hair, and in short, appearing more masculine, that I couldn't come anymore at all when I was masculine.  Only when they seemed to enjoy me more , that is, when shaven, made up, and wearing their dainty little lacy and silky lingerie that I could come.  


The reality of this perplexed and shamed me at first, but I grew accustomed.  I begged to be shaven and effeminated constantly.  They complied, thinking this to be quite phenomenal.  They responded very positively to me when I was feminine.  I began to perceive this, and begged to wear their clothing.  They complied and fucked me.  Eventually, the Officer asked me if I felt that I had changed at all since my capture, if I repented for fighting on the wrong side.


"I'll never repent!  Under my system, I always had the freedom to do what I want!  Here your dissidents are chained and tortured."  I said this with a girlish air, trying to be feminine to impress the girls.

"Oh?  Would you return then, to your homeland, as you are, and forsake your new way of life?  Don't answer now.  We will release you tomorrow, and you can do as you wish."

I hesitated.  I looked at myself, and realized that I was becoming a transsexual.  I was wearing women's clothes and enjoying it.  Enjoying it tremendously.  It was, as a matter of fact, the most thrilling sexual experience that I had ever had.  But I had to escape.  I was, after all, free!


When they unbound me, I began to set out for home.  They had supplied me with my old uniform, but I felt unnatural in it, especially the gitch.  So I bought some girl's stuff, and put it on for my return.  I felt so much better in girl's panties, a bra, some nice stockings, a miniskirt and makeup.  I also preferred the perfume and jewelry.  But I realized that I still seemed masculine.  The people here didn't care.  I got no double takes or weird looks.  I even saw some other transsexuals.  It was normal here.  I returned to the officer's, to meet with the girls again.  I threw myself at their feet, begging for their forgiveness.  I would stay with them for ever, so that they could show me the ways of femininity.  I aspired to be a girl now, after all of their incredible praise and adulation for my femininity.  They agreed.


Since then, I have begun to take estrogen, and other hormones which will make me grow tits, and shrink my waist, and distribute my body fat accordingly.  But I refuse to ever have a sex change.  I need my penis.  I have become the girls sex slave:  they turned out to be lesbians, and they love fucking girls.  But they also want to feel something hard in their cunts.  That's where I come in.  I look and act and feel like a girl, except for my dick.  I love being transsexual.  Even the Officer finds me beautiful now.  Just yesterday, I seduced him. . .


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