A Bizarre Dream

T__ embodies the spirit of my Muse. She's got confident and sexual. I see tattoos on her forearms, little symbols. She makes no effort to conceal them. She's even proud of them. They represent her conquests, she tells me, of the men she's dominated and fucked. She relishes that this is upsetting to me. She shows me that she has more on her inner thighs. These symbols are inspired by Julia's in The Magicians.

As she shows me this, I see that she has two sets of penis and balls, on each side of her pussy. They're a bit small, and flaccid. She laughs when she sees my shocked expression. She explains that some men she has dominated so much that she kept their penises. I'm facing by the one on the left side of her pelvis, and she has me suck it. I don't resist at all. I have wanted to suck cock, and I welcome the opportunity to experiment with it. However, I'm disappointed that is so small in my mouth, like a child's. I don't tell her this.

This erotic dream has haunted me all day. I have some improvements and embellishments that heighten the effect tremendously.

First, the dicks are not small. They're grafted into her, and fully potent. The one I'm interested in is actually mine. She humiliates me by having me suck my own dick, which belongs entirely to her now. I'm wearing a maid outfit, and I realize that she really does own it: it's no longer on my body, and I no longer feel any of its sensation. She also fucks me with it.

After humiliating me like this a few times she makes me suck and fuck her other dicks too. Think of the possibilities: sucking one cock and jerking off another, both attached to her otherwise ultra feminine body. She can absorb these penises back into her body at will, and make them appear whenever she likes, too. It's my job now to serve her, and watch her enslave other men, and steal their dicks. I am doomed to never feel what it's like to own one ever again. And she never gives me the satisfaction of touching her female parts anymore, either.

Fiction: Beaten Into Shape

A slight change of pace: I'm thinking of all those kung-fu fighting video games in which all the female characters are incalculably gorgeous and wear slinky, revealing clothes.  Now, let's say that I ran into one...



I was never much of a fighter, so Sonya had no trouble with me at all.  She is now my mentor, and she has already taught me much.

Sonya is femininity itself.  Every man who has ever seen her has quivered at beholding such feminine perfection.  She is delicate, and she is very sexy.  She dresses revealingly in battle to distract her opponents.  The fact that she can pound the tar out of anyone on the planet takes nothing away from her shocking girlishness.  I might even say that it accentuates it, because she moves so gracefully, so alluringly when she fights.

I was foolish to attack her.  I spied her from a distance, not knowing who she is, and followed her.  I couldn't resist her beauty.  I wanted to experience it in all its grandeur.  It was dark, and we were nowhere near anyone.  I thought that I could have my way with her, and be done with it, whether she would give in willingly or not.  

She doesn't look strong.  She's not very big.  She is, in fact, quite petite.  No sooner had I tackled her behind a hedge and she threw me off of her and began toying with me.  She was wearing a long, tight skirt and three-inch heels, which I saw repeatedly at very close range.  No one can fight in clothes like that.  She even pretended to be vulnerable.

"Oh my God!  What do you want from me?" she gasped.

"I want your body, chickie.  And I'm gonna have it!"

She shrieked as I lunged at her, but jabbed me in the chin.  Before I knew it, she was kicking me all over the place.  I couldn't get up before she would crack my head with her delicate little fist, or rupture my balls with her soft, porcelain feet.  She had a strange smirk on her face as she slapped me around at will.  Pretty soon, I had nothing left, and I had to beg her, a small, frail-looking, beautiful, gorgeous sex kitten, for mercy. 
She stood above me, hands on her hips.  "Not much of a man, are you?  Can't even stand up to a little girlie like me!"

Flat on the ground, all I could see was her foot.  She picked me up by the scruff of the neck so that I was on my hands and knees.  That's when I got a really good look at her shoes and skirt and her spectacular stocking-clad legs.  

"Kiss my feet," she commanded.  I looked up at her face.  She's beautiful even when she's angry.  But I knew that I had to comply, or else she would kill me.  So I kissed her feet.  

"There, that's more like it.  That's the way to treat a woman."

She abruptly walked away, and I fell back on my face, mortally embarrassed.  I couldn't believe that I had been throughly mauled by a girl, and hadn't even done the least bit of damage to her.  At least no one would ever know.

Or so I thought at that brief moment before she returned, and tossed her shopping bag down in front of me.
"Open it!" she barked.  There were women's clothes in it.  Nothing but women's clothes.  Sonya has fine taste.  I couldn't identify exactly what was in the bag yet, but I had followed her through the mall, so I could guess.

"Take off all your clothes.  Now."  

I looked up at her sheepishly, and she slapped me hard across the face.  "I said, NOW!  Do it!"  So, with my broken bones and blood all over me, I managed to pull out of my clothes.  Sonya didn't help me at all, except for the threats.

"Now, empty the bags onto the ground.  Take a good look at what's inside."

I did as she said, and found lingerie, a mini-dress, and a pair of heels.  Everything seemed to go together nicely.  I guess she had bought an outfit.  Lucky for me that it matched.

"Pick up the panties."  I found the lacy black panties for her.  "Now," she began, giggling, "put them on."
I hesitated, and looked up at her again.  She was serious.  She smacked me in the face again.  "PUT THEM ON!" she screamed.  I did as I was told, and she snickered.  "Aren't you the cute little pantywaist?  Put on the bra, too.  Then the garter belt and the stockings."  With some difficulty, and quite a bit of laughter from Sonya, I did as I was told.

"Do a little pirouette for me!"  I tried, and probably looked ridiculous because I was in such pain from the beating she gave me.  That made her squeal with delight.  I couldn't do anything about it.  "That was awful.  You've got a lot to learn, young lady.  Now put on your dress, and let's go."

She zipped me into this tight little sausage casing, which was so short on me that one could almost see the crotch of her panties.  The skin of my upper thighs was clearly visible.  Then she forced my feet into the heels, grabbed me by the hand, and dragged me back to the sidewalk.  Headed back towards town.  "If you even try to run away, I will utterly destroy you," she whispered to me menacingly.  I could barely keep up with her, but I knew that I couldn't hope to escape her wrath if I fell behind or tried to get away.  I had no idea what she wanted to do to me, or where we were going.  All I knew was that I had been beaten up by a girl, and that I now wore her clothes, in public.

We took a nice long walk downtown, on the busiest streets.  We took public transportation.  She put me on public display, dressed like a girl.  Thousands of people stared at me.  We stayed out for hours, in crowded, wide-open spaces where everyone could see me.  She beamed with satisfaction.  I couldn't escape, because I felt so weak, and because I feared for my life.  She even introduced me to some total strangers as her "girlfriend."

At length, we returned to her home.  Under different circumstances, I would have been overjoyed to enter, but this time I felt a bit uncomfortable about it.  She tossed me into an empty room as I was, and locked the door until morning.  I passed out, still wearing everything.

In the morning, she had me lick her feet again.  She wore only a nightie, and I thought I would die from her unimaginable beauty.  "Do you still want my body?" she asked coyly.

"Yes!" I gasped, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events, but all to eager to accept it.  Meanwhile, I still had all this feminine clothing on me, down to my panties and bra.

"Good!  Let's get started!  We have a lot of work to do. . ."  She slapped me across the face, and brought me to my knees again.  I was totally shocked.

"Now, swear to me that you hereby renounce your manhood."

"What?!?"

She slapped me again.  "Swear it!"

"Never!"

Slap.

"No!"

Slap.

"Please. . ." I whimpered.

"Swear it!"

"OK!"

"Say it!"

I hesitated for a moment.  She raised her hand to slap me again.

"I renounce my manhood."

"You will now embrace womanhood with all your heart, or die trying."

"I will embrace womanhood, or die trying."

She immediately had me nair my body, and take some pills.  She got me dressed up in the same outfit as the night before, and began my training.

Femininity really sneaks up on you.

Within a few short days, I began to look forward to wearing some new feminine outfit that I had never experienced before.  I got right into it.  I wanted nothing more than to become female.  I wanted to look as sexy as my mistress, wearing the same sexy clothes.  I loved the feel of my hairless skin.  I prayed for my tits to grow out.  I longed for an hourglass figure.  I was like a girl going through puberty, taking pride in all of the changes that I expected to come.  I frolicked in silk and lace, reveling in my new-found femininity.  Sonya found this very amusing.  So did I.

Diary: the Lost Fantasy of Domination

I have written many sordid fantasies in my notebook.  Contrary to practice (and security), I have refrained from tearing them up afterwards.  Another small step towards more freely admitting my fetish.

So here I sit again, at another person's computer, eagerly awaiting my own, so that I can put whatever I want on it.  I have read just about everything interesting on Dragscape.  One was about a dominant bitch who turned her submissive husband into a girl, up to the point where he sucked off her boyfriends to get them hard enough to get into her, looking completely female.  She forced him to start hormone replacement after months of making him wear only women's clothes.  God, that turns me on: gradually becoming female at the whim of a beautiful woman.  And it all starts with the clothes. . .

When I put on something girlish, I imagine myself being molded into a female shape by the shapely contours of my clothes.  Above all, I imagine my dick obliterated into a lovely, soft, curvaceous cunt under those tantalizing silks.  It's what I crave most desperately, coupled with the thought that it's disgusting, that it's unnatural, perverted, treasonous, effeminate.  Yes, I know that wearing this will make me girlish.  But I don't care!  It feels so good!  And why does it feel so good?  Because it makes me feel so feminine!

Take that fantasy about the war of the sexes, in which I, the masculine hero, get captured and embrace my conversion as vehemently as I opposed it.  I fight the women because I am a man, and I don't want to be anything else.  But when they introduce me to femininity, I embrace it even more fanatically than they do.  I know when they first expose me to their clothes that I will indubitably become female sooner or later.  And it feels so good that I anticipate each step, to the point where I actually crave femininity.  

I've somehow forgotten about the whole domination fetish that once possessed me so.  I used to fantasize that some cruel woman forced me to wear her underwear, and that I would become her servant.  Somehow, the innocence of that fantasy is lost.  There is something gone.  I remember my Baroness figurine bending G.I. Joes to her will.  I remember disassembling the figurines and reassembling the men with her body parts, and getting all turned on by it.  They would discover what it feels like to be female, and they would become her slaves, and join Cobra.  A total reversal.