Monday, December 27, 2004

Fantasy: Bad Influence

I meet a girl, the most gorgeous, sexiest woman I've ever seen.  It turns out that she's actually a shemale!  We dated for months until she finally let me touch her crotch.  I'm thoroughly amazed.  I'm too nice a guy to be disgusted.  She knew I would be shocked, because she knows how incredibly feminine she is.  I've made out with her dozens of times.  I've sucked her nipples.  She has sucked my cock, and swallowed my semen.  Now that I've got her willing, and since 95% of her is stunningly gorgeously female, I decide to pretend that she's not a man.  I fuck her in the ass first.  But she wants more.  She makes me reach around and rub her big fat cock.  I pretend it's my own.  Before I know it, we're doing it missionary style, and her cock rubs against my belly.  She flips me around, so that she's sitting on top of me.  I caress her beautiful boobs, and her perfectly proportioned waist.  I fondle the belly-button ring.  She moves up and shoves her cock in my face!  I'm so turned on by her body that I comply, thinking, my god, this is the first time I've ever had a cock in my mouth!  She comes in my mouth, and I spit it out – not out of disgust, but out of surprise.  All this time, of course, my penis has been untouched.  It is desperate for some action.  I am still captivated by her figure, and her breasts.  And her semen all over my face.  I slide her back down off my chest to my crotch, and fuck her again for a bit.  My hand is on her cock.  She asks me if I'm grossed out by her penis.  I tell her, truthfully, that it sorta turns me on, even though I love her femininity above all else.  She asks me if she can fuck me, and not understanding, I say yes.  She turns me over roughly, and I clue in.  I interrupt her, and she begins to pout, but I don't stop her – I reposition myself so I can see her behind me by looking in the closet mirror.  I beg her to fuck me.  All I can see is her titties bouncing up and down and the look of ecstasy on her face.  It hurts at first, but it's such a turn-on that I get used to it, and start to enjoy it.  A lot.  I have her stop for a second and turn 90 degrees so I can see from a different angle.  Now I can see her cock ramming me in the ass, and it feels even better.  She reaches around and jerks me off half-heartedly, concentrating on her own pleasure.  I come hard when I feel her pumping her semen inside me, savouring the thought that I am her bitch, even as her beautiful, slender, feminine fingers caress my dick.  I feel so naughty about losing my virginity that it turns me on, but we're both so tired and spent that we can no longer continue.  She cuddles up against me, her cock against my thigh, and we both fall asleep.

We talk about these confusing events in the morning.  It turns out that she, as a young boy, had decided long ago that she would rather be a girl.  She has tried very hard ever since her mid-teens to make herself as feminine as possible.  I am amazed by the overwhelming magnitude of her success.  She looks like a supermodel in a bikini, and in lingerie.  She has the whole world fooled.

Still, I have misgivings about the situation.  I make them clear.  I don't want to be a homosexual.  She promises me that she will have surgery correcting that last little problem as soon as she can afford it (she's been saving for years).  But when she starts getting dressed, I become incredibly aroused.  I snap the elastic on her panties as I admire her cute little girly ass.  Before we know it, we're fucking again.  I am very confused about my feelings about her penis.  Part of me wishes very much that she had a pussy, like other girls; but part of me is very intrigued about how a boy can turn himself into a female sex goddess; and of course there's that last little part of me that's terribly excited about tasting cock and feeling it in my ass.

We stay together, and we have mind-blowing sex.  What turns me on so much about her is her transfermation.  I grill her about what she was like before she was a girl.  She talks reluctantly about her unhappy boyhood, and the dificulties of asserting her femininity through puberty.  It turns me on so much to think that this perfect piece of female ass that other guys ogle at and are envious of actually is a man.  I try to imagine what it must feel like to wear the things she wears.  I ask her, and she gushes about it.  How liberating it is.  How sexy it feels. 

I ask her what would happen to me if I ever wore women's clothes.  She says probably nothing.  Anyway, she says, she likes me all butchy and manly, so she doesn't care for it.  How manly can I be, I ask, if I'm sucking and fucking cock on a regular basis.  She blushes, and says nothing.

I start to envy her her wardrobe.  I think to myself, that could be me in those fishnet stockings, fuck-me boots, and little black dress.  I start trying things on, just for fun.  I try to include her, but she doesn't like playing dress-up with me.  So it becomes my secret.  I get my own panties and bikinis and lingerie.  Eventually, she finds out.  We slowly break up over it. 

Now I realize how fucked I am.  I realize that I'm still incredibly attracted to pussy, but that I really love the idea of Andrea.  I love the thought that I can become just as feminine as her.  Nothing turns me on more than that.  I date some women, and steal their underwear every now and then.  It never lasts long, because they either find out about my fetish, or I feel trapped when I can't make myself girly.  So Andrea comes back into my life.

She is just as disappointed in my girlish habits as any normal woman, but she can't be disgusted, because she does it herself.  I am still incredibly aroused by her, but she can't even use her decrepit dick anymore, because of all the hormones.  I am not in love with her anymore, either, so we get along.  I meet her sister, who guided her through her own effemination.  Together, they teach me.  This is how I learn that I can become ultra-feminine too, by taking on a female persona, and wearing nothing but female sexwear at all times.

It's difficult at first, but practice makes perfect.  The first few weeks are all about discovery.  I wear the skankiest clothes, and I do so in public.  At first, I'm hideous, but with a lot of work, can look pretty feminine.  I start hanging around in gay areas, because those are the only places where I can feel safe.  I start meeting other men, and can't resist the taste of cock.  I am now in Andrea's place.

A few years later, I am even more feminine.  My tits are bursting out of my bra, and I can't get enough cock.  But the best part is that my own penis is completely gone: I have a pussy!  And it's all natural!  I've transformed my body not with chemicals or surgery, but with sheer willpower!  And I love my new body!



Thursday, May 06, 2004

Fiction: The Ultimate Fantasy

At last, the ultimate fantasy.

First, a listing of the most important moments in my feminine life, in chronological order, for possible use in this ultimate fantasy:
  1. 5 years old: Wearing girls’ white pantyhose for a Kindergarten pantomime, and asking Mom and Dad that night if I could wear them to bed.
  2. Around 10: borrowing Mom’s pantyhose for the first time (and wearing it over my underwear)
  3. Around 12: stealing Mom’s newer bathing suit, and daring to put it on without wearing my underwear underneath, because I couldn't resist (I tried so hard!) recklessly abandoning myself to the raw femininity
  4. Around 14: stealing a friend's sister's bikini bottom, and wearing it almost every night. It was by far the sexiest thing I'd ever worn to that point, and I regretted not having the matching bra
  5. Around 15: Mom finding my stash of her clothes under my bed (but thankfully not finding that white bathing suit from number 3)
  6. Around 19: after years and years of shame, I start my journal and admit to myself that I love girlifying myself more than anything in the whole wide world
  7. Just before Xmas, 1995 (21): buying a lingerie outfit consisting of a white satin teddy, white fishnet stockings, and a garter belt, and shaving my legs to better appreciate it

This story has potential richness beyond anything I’ve ever conceived before, and it’s born from the current evolution of my fantasy.

It’s about a boy who discovers his feminine side much like I did. The twist: he actually is some sort of hermaphrodite, and every time he thinks like a girl (that is, every time he wears women’s clothes for a sexual kick) his female hormones kick in. This results in an extremely gradual girlification process. By early puberty, a vaginal opening begins to appear, little by little, and fade away after a rest. He knows that his habit is turning him into a girl, and he’s both horribly afraid and ecstatic. He can’t resist, try as he might. Eventually, his testicles begin to disappear into his ever growing hole when he indulges, and his penis actually shrinks; his chest swells ever so slightly. Some of the cumulative effects aren’t subsiding: his hole doesn’t fully close anymore after he’s done; he becomes concerned about the fat distribution on his body, his loss of body hair. He also begins to cultivate his hair for when he does indulge, guiltily, so that he feels more like a girl. By the end of high school, he becomes female when he fulfills his fantasies of wearing girls’ swimwear and lingerie: his balls get sucked right up into his vaginal opening, and his penis recedes until it becomes practically a clitoris; his waist actually shrinks, his hips expand, his voice goes up an octave, some of his body hair falls out, and he grows sensitive boobs. He becomes extremely feminine, and absolutely loves it. Of course, this is problematic: he tries hard to maintain his image as a boy, but he can’t be naked in front of other boys, for fear that they might see his growing cunt and shrinking penis. He can’t have sex with girls, whom he adores. He avoids medical checkups. All the things that happened to me happen to him, only he gets to actually become a girl when he fantasizes. As he becomes an adult, he reaches a point where he must choose his gender. He endures all sorts of mishaps from remaining female longer than expected. Eventually, of course, he realizes that his sexual fun is always as a girl, so he experiments with going all out. He’s ugly at first, so he gives up. He tries several times, and gives up each time. But the improvements are never fully reverting back to manhood. He becomes innately more female every day, because he so desperately loves to indulge his fantasy. It’s like he’s taking hormone treatments. Eventually, he has sex with a man while he’s a girl, and can’t get enough.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Fiction: Las Vegas

"I like to crossdress every now and then.  I especially love swimsuits.  I'm certainly not gay or anything.  I just like the way it feels on my body."

"I crossdress because I like the feel of nylon, satin etc."

"Bras don't do much for me. I am a leg man."

"It's not that I want to emulate women; I am me, a guy who happens to like wearing certain female garments."

Now, just think about that for a moment.

What goes through your mind when you wear panties?  Does it make you feel manly?  How gay is that?  Think about it: you've worn women's underwear, and you liked it.

The fact is, it makes you want to be a girl.  Trust me, you're this close to sucking cock.

I was like you once, but things got a little out of hand one time, and I ended up experiencing things that I never even knew I longed for.  I bet you're one of those closet queenies who sneaks around his wife's back, wearing her underwear when she's not around.  You might even be lucky enough to have a woman who understands your needs (partly, at least) and lets you indulge now and then with her.  But deep down, and you don't even know it, it never goes far enough.  When you're prancing around in a garter belt and stockings, even though you think you're just being a guy who likes to wear girlie things, you're really striving to become a woman.

But don't worry, you'll get it someday.  I for one didn't realize it until I tasted penis for the first time.

I was on a business trip in Vegas.  I was horny.  I couldn't stop thinking about wearing something girlish.  Up until then, I was just like you: I'd wear my wife's stuff sometimes, when she wasn't around.  I focused on the panties, cuz that's where the fun parts are.  I had tried on her bras once in a while, but it just wasn't as big a deal.  Anyway, I was bored and lonely and horny, so I looked through the yellow pages.  Sure enough, there are plenty of escort services, which are perfectly legal, which cater to any need imaginable.  I noticed a few that offered feminizations, and I bit.  I'd never crossdressed in front of anyone else before, and this excited me.  I was in Vegas, and I got caught up in the spirit of the place.

She came over with a little suitcase.  She was incredibly sexy and hot.  This kind of woman usually intimidates the hell out of me.  We went over the rules: what she does, my safety word for when I want to stop it from going any further.  She was clearly a pro, given the way she opened my eyes about my secret habit.

That first night, she asked me how long I was staying, and what I was in the mood for.  She was feeling me out, asking me questions, acting coy, acting bossy, acting playful.  She eventually settled on an abusive playfulness.

I was extremely shy.  She wasn't getting much out of me.  I was trying to cop a feel, but I was afraid of her.  So she got fed up, and called me a faggot.  I told her, I'm not gay, I just like wearing girlie stuff now and then.  What the fuck?

And she told me what I told you: think about what you're doing.  You want to dress like a girl, and not just a girl, but a skank.  You want to be a hottie like me.  She undid her blouse and showed me her sexy lingerie.  She moved very seductively towards me and asked me if it wasn't true that I wanted to wear her underwear.

Of course, I said yes.

"You like the way it feels on you?  It makes you feel sexy?"

"Yes", I answered.

"Well," she said, putting her hand on my knee, "that's because you want to be just like me."

"Yes!" I exclaimed, surprised at myself.  She was getting me hot.

She instructed me to take my clothes off, all of them, and pick out some undies from her suitcase.  She had all kinds of goodies in there.  I was nervous and shy, but I figured I was paying for it, so I might as well go through with it.  I told her I was hankering for a bathing suit, but she didn't have any swimwear.

She played with me a bit after I put the panties on.  I was getting a huge kick out of her seeing me.  Then she called me a homo.  I protested, but she pointed out that I had just voluntarily put on some of her panties, and that it was giving me a serious boner.  This made me even hotter.  But why?

She told me that it was ok with her that I was being gay.  "Just look at the fun you can have when you're being girlish," she said.  And she was right!  I was having a ball in spite of her.  "You'll be sucking cock and take it in the ass before you go home," she said.  But I didn't care.

I was prancing around and rubbing my cock.  I wanted to masturbate.  But I couldn't ignore her.  She was incredibly hot.  She was taking off her clothes, too, and showed me the garter belt and stockings she was hiding under her skirt.  "Wouldn't you love to have some of these?"

And with that, I put on a garter belt and stockings.  This wasn't new for me.  It was one of my favourites.  This was as far as I wanted to go.  In fact, I'd planned to only wear panties with anyone, but she made a good argument for more.

"Look at you!"  She said.  "Are you feeling feminine enough now?"

I said yes.  I wanted to come.

"Nonsense!"  She admonished.  "How can you be a proper girl if you're not wearing a bra?"

As I told you, I didn't normally wear bras.  They don't really do much for me.  I shyly declined.  "Are you sure," she asked.  I told her I was.

"Well," she said, "that's a shame."  She slunk over to me, in her underwear.  "You feeling all girly and all, yet you're not even close to being like me.  Look at my bra.  Don't you like it?"

I told her I did, I liked it very much.

"Then why are you afraid of it?"

I told her I wasn't afraid, I just didn't like wearing bras.

"But look how sexy it is," she said, fondling her breasts.

"OK," I said, relenting.  I was feeling kinky about, like I never had before.  "I'll wear it."

"Don't do it for me," she said. 

"No, I want it."

"You want what?"

"I want a bra."

Why?

"Because."

"Is it because you want to feel sexy and feminine?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I like it."

"You like being feminine?"

"Yes."

"Is it because you're gay?"

I could feel my face flush with anger and embarrassment.  "Why do you say that?"  I asked.

"Are you serious?"

"About what?"

"You're seriously asking me why I'm calling you a fag, while you prance around in front of me begging me for a bra to wear?"

I was terribly ashamed.  I wanted to take off my panties and garter belt and stockings, and kick her out of my room.  But when I felt the panty waist on my fingers, I couldn't.  I was wearing women's lingerie!  She was right, it was incredibly gay of me.  My crotch gushed with pleasure.  I wanted more.

"So do you still want the bra?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"OK," she said, "but I won't give it to you unless you admit that you're a flaming faggot who desperately wants to be a girl."

"Fine," I said.  "I'm a flaming faggot."  I was blushing as I said this.  "I'm a flaming faggot, and I desperately want to be a girl."

"And?  Why do you want to wear a bra?"

"Because I want to be a girl.  And I'm a faggot."

She gave me a bra to match the rest of my outfit, and I was ecstatic.  I was rubbing myself frantically.

"You don't want to be gay, do you?"  She asked.

"No," I whimpered.

"But you want to be feminine, right?"

"Yes!"

"You know, the more girlie stuff you wear, the more feminine you get?"

"Oh God!  I hope so!"

"With you wearing that bra, you're much more feminine than you were before."

She flatters me!

"It's going to get worse and worse you know."

The idea appeals to me.  Enormously.

"And the more feminine you become, the more you'll want to sleep with boys."

I suddenly felt ultra-feminine.  Just what I wanted!  I was picturing her fucking and sucking.  I was staring at her crotch.  I wanted one just like it.  She swung it around a bit in front of me, and said,
"Look at my pussy.  You want one just like it, and you want to do things with it that only girls do."

"Yes!"

Before she left, she had me in a patent leather minidress, fuck-me boots, and makeup.  I was totally effeminated, and she kept telling me so.  I came five times.  I had never gone so far.  She left me a silky nighty and a fresh pair of lacy panties, and told me I could sleep in them.

The next morning, I woke up in them feeling randy.  I loved the way the skirt of the nightie brushed so lightly and softly against my thighs.  I felt utterly feminine, again.  I thought about what she said: that the more I wore, the worse it would get.  I wanted it to get worse!  I now fantasized about wearing nothing but girl clothes forever!  I wore my panties under my suit all day.  It was fun, but it wasn't enough!  I wanted to have a bra to match it, and maybe have it just a little bit visible.  Just for kicks.

That night, she knocked on my door again, unexpectedly.  I suppose she wanted her clothes back.  She confirmed this, and I was crestfallen.  I asked her if she was busy, and she started to indicate that she should be with another client.  I paid her twice as much for her company, and she gladly accepted it.

She was proud of me for wearing panties all day under my clothes.  But, she said, she suspected I wanted to go further.  I sheepishly agreed.  So we went shopping.  "You wanted a bathing suit, right?" She asked.

We browsed around together for a while, and we settled on a light blue bikini with little red flower print.  She forced me to tell the cashier that it was for me.  I was so embarrassed, but thrilled.  I was telling other people about my secret!  Then she had me go to another store and buy a fantastic one-piece suit in bright orange with a zipper in the front.  Again, I had to proclaim that I would be wearing it.  So I did, in great anticipation.

We went back to my room, and she had me put on the one-piece.  It was even better than I had imagined.  I'd worn bathing suits before, but this was incredible.  Somehow, she made me feel even more feminine.  I suppose because I could look at her and imagine myself like her.  Then I put on the bikini and pranced around some more.

"Aren't you the little prancing gaylord!" she said.  

"Yes I am!"  I admitted.  "I love feeling feminine!  This is incredibly gay of me!  I've worn girl stuff all day long, and I want more!  I love how gay this is!  I wish I had a pussy!"

"And what would you do with it?" she asked.

"I would fuck boys with it, I whispered, blushing like a schoolgirl."

With that, she led me into the bathroom, where we applied depilatory cream all over my body.  Oh my god, I thought, this is going much too far!  How will I explain this?  But it was too late.  I wanted it.

I slept in the one piece, and wore the bikini all day under my clothes.  It was easily visible under my shirt, especially the tie around my back and the back of my neck.  It made me feel so sassy!  But I longed for some stockings on my bare legs.  At least I had a bra on!

So that evening, I paid her again, and we went shopping for club wear.  I had my very own outfit now, including gorgeous fuck-me boots, a very short miniskirt, and a sexy blousy top.  I also bought plenty of panties and bras for myself, since I decided I would never wear men's clothes again.  And of course, stockings and a garter belt.

We went back to my room to put them all on, and head out.  I wanted everyone in the world to see me as the girl that I am!  She took me to a gay nightclub.  At first, I resisted, but she convinced me that it would be safer from punks who don't understand trying to kick the shit out of me.

I enjoyed the attention I was getting.  A guy struck up a conversation with me, and we talked quite a bit.  I had never hung out with gay people before, and I realized then that they're quite nice.  Besides, there I was dressed like a slut.  He invited me to his room to hang out a bit, and I accepted, naively.

Once in his room, he put the moves on me.  At first, I was shocked, and a little bit disgusted.  But he kept fingering the tops of my stockings.  I felt so fantastically feminine. I could just picture my cunt forming in my clothes.  It made me horny to think that I was wearing such slutty girlie clothes, and flirting with a guy!  I did not resist when he kissed me. 

To make a long story short, she was right.  Before I knew it, I had his dick in my hand.  It didn't even occur to me what I was doing.  I wanted so badly to taste it.  I was picturing her as I put my mouth on it.  When he came in my mouth and all over my face, I thought to myself, how gay is that?  I had gone so far that it didn't even phase me to have his hard penis pump into my ass, like the girly faggot that I am.

I now fantasize about cock all the time.  My wife left me, and I wear nothing but girls' clothes.  I have become transsexual, and I can't wait for my operation.

That, my friend, is what is really going on in your head.

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

Fiction: Pleasure Corps

The setup:

We are prisoners of war.  Hundreds of us.  Maybe thousands.  The enemy army has proven to be far better equipped than ours, and most of us have simply surrendered out of sheer cowardice.

We are imprisoned in a large army base in the middle of nowhere.  There are no nearby towns – at least, none with any population left.  The war has devastated the countryside.  This is an extremely isolated bastion of humanity.  And 99 percent of it is male.

There are five enemy troops here for every one of us prisoners.  And they’re horribly lonely.  There are virtually no women to rape, or rent.  It’s barren. 

The prison commander has an idea.  He decides to transform all of the prisoners into girls.  Not pretend girls, but real, curvaceous, pretty, delicate, slender, sexy girls.  So our conditions change dramatically.

The first thing he does is assemble all the prisoners in a public area.  He announces his plan: "You have all been chosen to service the sexual needs of our troops.  You will all be reassigned to the new pleasure division of our army."

All our standard assigned prison clothes have been confiscated, except for the clothes we’re wearing.  Each of us now has a small wardrobe of colourful panties, brassieres, skirts, dresses, stockings, swimwear, and other unequivocally feminine attire.  We are told that we will all enter an exhaustive training programme that will teach us how to be girls.  The clothes we are wearing are taken from us at our mandatory shower time.  Each of us is left with nothing but a feminine wardrobe.

Of course, none of us puts on a stitch of it.  We’d rather walk around naked than compromise our dignity and our masculinity.  But that doesn’t bother the prison commander.  He promises that each of us will eventually be forced to have surgery anyway, due to sheer demand, and that the training and clothing is a courtesy, to allow us to get used to our new gender.  He offers to grant incentives to anyone who actively participates in his transformation.  Primarily, those of us who become female will be freed from prison, and enlisted in pleasure corps.  We have the choice of either remaining male and remaining prisoners of war, or becoming female and becoming free.

The first info session forces each of us to consider how we’d prefer to enter our new gender role.  The simple truth is that we will all get surgery and hormones eventually, on specific dates, and join the pleasure corps as soon as the stitches heal.  We are to become female sex slaves, whether we’re ready or not.  What would we want to help us prepare for our fate?

Some would prefer to enjoy their manhood until the very end, and then take in the shock of becoming female head-on.  Others would prefer a careful training, so that they could make the transition easily.  Others still would prefer some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion to learn to like it.  However, the vast majority are skeptical about the plan, that it’s even possible that the prison commander can do such a thing.

Naturally, the prison commander makes an example of a handful of prisoners.  He chooses ten volunteers at random, and has them roused in the early morning and hauled off for surgery.  They emerge a few days later with their penises in jars, and vaginas between their legs.  To prove his point, these ten men are immediately assigned to pleasure corps.  They are strapped spread-eagled to a bed in the middle of the square, and each of the prisoners is allowed to inspect them to his heart’s content.  All ten even have orgasms as they get fingered and fucked.  After a certain time, they are removed from the regular prison population, and sequestered in their own area where they can learn to become more properly female for the army at large.




King: The battle was one-sided.  We were surrounded by a much bigger and better-equipped army.  We had no choice but to surrender.  As the ranking officer among the decimated battalion, I gave the command to raise the white flag.  The worst they could do is imprison us.  They would never dare to massacre five thousand defenseless soldiers.  Eventually, our side would surely win our freedom.  Or perhaps the war would end soon.  It certainly wasn’t going our way of late.  Anyway, prison camp was certainly better than death.  We’d live to fight another day.

It is now three years later.  The war continues on as a stalemate.  The countryside has been ravaged.  The only form of civilization within a thousand miles is this army base and prison camp.  I am the ranking officer among eight thousand two hundred and twelve prisoners of war, surrounded by an ever-changing army of some forty thousand soldiers.  Only a handful of the staff around us are female.  The sexual frustration is palpable, among both prisoners and soldiers.

Today, the new prison commander has rotated in.  She is fantastically beautiful.  Every man in the compound, let alone all the prisoners, wants desperately to have a piece of her.  She, however, has a different agenda.

"Due to the low morale of the troops under the command of General Smith, I have been charged, in addition to my duties as prison commander, with providing the soldiers at this base with anything they might like to increase their morale.  Primarily, these soldiers need sex, so I have created the Pleasure Corps, a division consisting entirely of women, whose sole objective is to provide sexual services to the men.  Pleasure Corps will include an elite platoon, which will service the officers and conduct special missions.

"As you can see, the supply of women is woefully short.  Therefore, as a way to rehabilitate the long-serving prisoners of war, I offer a programme that will both staff Pleasure Corps and reduce our support costs for the prison population without having to conduct massacres and other atrocities.

"Operation Butterfly is a choice given to the prisoners: pledge to abandon your masculinity, and undergo a transformation to enable you to join Pleasure Corps, and thereby become a free-serving member of our army, or remain imprisoned in the squalor of my jail.

"The method of joining is simple: I will personally choose some of you to become free based on your level of femininity.  Those who make themselves girlish enough to pass my tests will be pardoned and enlisted in Pleasure Corps, thereby gaining their freedom.  Those who remain masculine will continue to languish in my prison. 

"Of course, it is all relative: I must meet a quota to fill the ranks of the Pleasure Corps, so the ten most faggy of you will be chosen each week, even if you all refuse to participate.  Remember, however, that the best of you will join the elite squad, and live like queens.  And surely fucking all day is better than being a prisoner.

"I pledge additional incentives to those of you who wish to participate.  You are all encouraged to join.  Those who make themselves feminine will be rewarded.  Those who do not will gain nothing.  Those who interfere will be punished.

"You will discover upon returning to your cells that your clothes have been replaced with more appropriate attire.  The clothes currently on your backs will be confiscated as soon as you report for mandatory showers.

"The selections begin in one week from today."

Naturally, the first week saw a few of the prison bitches snapped up.  Most of the men tried to put on the least feminine outfits they were given, but it still made them look feminine.  We’re all gaunt and thin from the poor conditions, and look like anorexic runway models in these dresses.  Some of them were clearly enthusiastic about the idea, and started prancing around immediately.  Others refused entirely to participate, and walked around naked, in spite of the chill.  I am one of the latter. 

I cannot participate, or else I would be branded a traitor by my country.  Also, I must consider the morale of my men.  They look to me as a leader, and I cannot allow them to humiliate themselves for some faint dream of freedom.  I urge my men to go naked in protest.  I promise them that the whole program is a terrible game of humiliation, and that they couldn’t turn any of us into girls, even if we wanted them to.

The first week, the prime sissies were plucked away from us, and returned to us a few days later with their penises in jars.  They wore lingerie.  Some wept.  As a public display of the commander’s honesty, they were each strapped spread-eagled to upright beds, with their new genitals in display, and fucked by eager enlisted men.  I couldn’t tell if they howled with pain or with pleasure.  At least a few of them quivered orgasmically.  I must admit, even I wanted a piece of them, hideous and manly as they were, just for their tight new pussies.

So she was serious.  Who knew?



Meyer: Those of us who are left have split into two factions: the traitors and the men. 

The traitors prance around in lingerie and swimwear, under the protection of armed guards.  They get better meals, better beds, and clothes to wear.  We men shiver in cold dank cells, surrounded by gorgeous lace and satin and silk, eating bread and water, naked.

I long for my freedom.  The traitors make me horny.  I want to fuck a girl.  I want to fuck the commander.  But no, I must remain naked and imprisoned and unsatisfied because of my principles.  No more! 

It’s still difficult to go ahead with it.  I don’t want to be killed or harmed by the men.  I don’t want to lose my penis, but being a girl can’t be all bad!  The Pleasure Corps gets special treatment around here.  They walk freely and are loved and admired by all the troops.  They fuck like minks.  They’re all so proud.  I toy nightly with the idea of trying on some panties, just to see what they’re like.  But I must resist.  I only wish I still could.

Thankfully, it’s night time, and nobody can see me.  So I try on some stretch lace panties.  I’m sure that I’ll immediately be disgusted by my crime and take them off.  But they feel like freedom!  They mould my hips into some unfathomably feminine shape.  They are utterly exquisite.  A moan escapes my lungs.  But no, I must stay true to my country.  I quickly slip them off, and go to sleep, knowing that I could never give in.

The next morning, drowsy from lack of sleep, and in everyone’s view, I slip into those same gorgeous panties, and strap on the matching bra without a moment’s hesitation.  I stride out of my cell confidently and proudly, proclaiming my new allegiance with every graceful step.  I turn up my nose to the men who all glare at me contemptuously.  A few of my friends make moves to attack me, but the guards who appear at my side to escort me keep them away.  Today, I eat with the Candidates.  We can all chat about our underwear and what we’re doing to make ourselves more feminine.  I can’t wait to lose my virginity!



Johnson: I can’t help it.  I’m a coward.  I can’t take this stinking prison anymore.  It’s not even a question.  I’ll wear the stupid bikini if it’ll get me out of here.

I cower when I cave in like this.  I don’t like being out in the open, wearing something so feminine.  But damn it, I love the food they give me when I do this.  Some of the guys who do this more regularly seem to get better food.  I think if you wear stuff for 3 straight days, they let you take a warm shower.  I’ve never done it for more than two in a row.

This guy Meyer has totally flamed out.  He was one of the pillars of resistance at one point, but now he’s been prancing around like the biggest sissy for a couple of weeks non-stop.  It’s been the worst betrayal yet.  He held out longer than any of us – including King, who gave in every now and then just to get a decent meal.  He never gave in at all.  Until the other day.  Now he’s a prime candidate to join the Corps.  Cripes, he almost looks like a girl already.

Now he’s sitting next to me, all pretty, and chatty, and generally a pain in the ass.  He strikes up a conversation with me.

"Johnson!  What a nice surprise!  You were here yesterday, too, weren’t you?"

"Yeah.  So what?"

"Well, maybe you’ll come back tomorrow, too?"

"Maybe."

"You know, they’ll treat you right.  Don’t you worry about all those dickheads out there.  You just enjoy yourself and enjoy the ride."

I can’t take this.  "What the fuck, Meyer?  What happened to you?  You were the only real man left in this place, and now you’re acting like you can’t wait to have a dick in your mouth.  Let me eat in peace, and I won’t be seeing you tomorrow."

I swear he blushed when I spoke of sucking dick.

"Come on, Johnson.  I’m not doing this to be a traitor.  It’s actually a lot of fun if you let it get into it.  Look at all the perks I get!"

You’re just a weak-willed coward and a traitor.  Fuck you!"

"You’re one to talk.  You’re wearing a bikini, too, bitch."

"Keep talking and I’ll fuck you up, you fucking pansy."

"I'd like to see you try."

I knew I couldn’t do anything, or else I’d lose my meal privilege, and possibly get punished on top of it.  I couldn’t afford it.

"I thought so," he said, tauntingly.



King: Meyer came to talk to me early in his transformation.  He was all aflutter, and wearing a cute little white dress with red flowers.

"Captain," he said, "I'm so sorry I let you down."

"It's OK," I answered, knowing that he was ready to snap the whole time he was resisting.  It’s always the extreme resistors that you know are going to cave the worst.  They always overcompensate out of fear.

"You know I still love my country."

"I know, Meyer.  You just couldn’t take this shithole anymore.  I understand.  I wish it weren’t so, but I understand."

"It's not even that, Sir."

"I know.  No need to explain."

"Still, I feel like I need to explain."  He pressed his knees together and looked at the floor.  "Thing is, I really like becoming a girl."

"How's that?"  I had never heard anyone admit it before, including all the obvious homosexuals who had turned pretty early.

"I just love the way these clothes feel on me.  I feel so incredibly sexy.  I love it!"

"I can see that."

"I can imagine myself as a girl.  Oh God, this is so embarrassing.  You know I was totally straight until five days ago?"

"I never imagined you weren't," I replied, honestly.

"Well now I’m flaming gay.  I want to feel a penis inside me.  I can’t wait to get changed!"

"Good for you."

"Anyway, glad you’re OK with it."

[god that went nowhere]

Johnson: I thought about what Meyer was going through, and I decided to risk going another day, just for the clean shower.  I wore a one-piece bathing suit this time.  Sure enough, Meyer came by to gloat as I was getting ready for my shower.

"Johnson!  I knew you’d be back today!"

"Whatever Meyer.  I just needed the shower."

"That's what they all say," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever.  They’re about to let me into the shower now."

He grabbed me by the arm as I was turning away, and looked me straight in the eye.  "Isn't this your third day?"

"Yeah."

"You know you don’t get rewarded with a shower on your third day, don’t you?"

"What?"

"Of course not.  They wouldn’t want people taking advantage of the system unless they really wanted to join the Pleasure Corps."

"So what’s my incentive?  They told me yesterday it was a shower."

"Yeah, they lied.  They lie to everybody.  But trust me, this is better."

He let me go, and I was ushered into the showers.  But not to a shower stall, as I expected. 

It was a changeroom, filled with racks of fancy lingerie that only advanced pansies like Meyer get to wear.  But I knew that even he hadn’t been allowed to wear anything like that for at least a full week.  The guards told me to pick out the prettiest thing I could think of.  It was a very difficult choice.  I found a black baby doll with matching g-string.  They made me put it on.

It felt quite different the way the cloth lightly brushed my hips.  I thought of how Meyer wore this stuff all the time.  As did the commander.

"Do you know that you're going to be completely female someday?" asked one of the guards.

"It doesn’t matter how masculine you are.  All the damage done to you by your testosterone is reversible.  You’ll become a complete girl, indistinguishable from any supermodel."

"That’s impossible."

"Nope.  You get effeminated more and more every time you wear women’s clothes you know.  You do it once, and you’re fucked.  Fucked!

"You didn’t choose that outfit by chance.  You committed yourself to it because it turned you on."

"Bullshit!"

"Careful with that!"

I realized now that I was rubbing my crotch and feeling all sexed up.  After I came, I was disappointed when they asked to have the babydoll and g-string back. 

"That’s your third reward," they said.  "A taste of things to come."



Meyer: After the fourteenth day, I was given a very tough choice for my reward: suck a real man's dick, or take a pill of female hormones.  I was angry that the commander hadn’t chosen me yet.  I was more feminine that most of the Pleasure Corps!  Part of me wanted to prove my dedication by giving a blow job, and another part of me wanted concrete improvement to my feminine physique.  I already knew by now that the clothes were loaded with estrogen, and that every time anyone wore them it rubbed into their skin and made them female.  I wanted more.  I was ready.

So by my 28th day, I had already started filling out my bra.  I held off on sucking dick, even though something in me craved to swallow loads of semen.  So I celebrated my latest denial by smoking a pole.

By the following week, I had gone to great lengths to suck more dick, outside the bounds of my candidacy.  I had been sneaking blow jobs to the guards just for fun.  My waist was shrinking.  I was taking it in the ass.

So when they finally chose me, and performed the surgery, I was rewarded with the best news of all: I had had to wait simply because I was being tested for membership in the Elite squad.