Fiction: Fast and Furious

I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when suddenly, at a street corner, a white van screeches to the curb in front of me, opens its doors, and I get pushed in.  No sooner do I land on the floor of the van does the door slam behind me and we speed away, screeching tires again, as a velvet bag goes over my head.

I hear women's voices all around me.  "You never should have cheated on Marcia, you scumball.  We're going to destroy you!" says one, threateningly.

Now, I have no idea who Marcia is.  I've never met anyone by that name, much less cheated on her.  In fact, I haven't had a girlfriend in months, and I'm the one who got cheated on and dumped.  I try to explain that it's all a terrible mistake, but they were having none of it.

"John, don't be such a snivelling coward.  Do you really think we'd let you off that easily?"

"But I'm not John!  I swear!  You've got to believe me!  Look at my ID, it's in my back pocket!"

"Do you take us for fools?  We know it's you, John, and you've been very, very naughty, and you will be punished.  Are you going to take it like a man, or bitch and moan like a girl?"

After much pleading for my life, and them kicking me in the nuts, slapping, and punching my head, the van stops and they hustle me out of it and into some building.  I have no clue where I am.

They tear the hood off my head and drag me kicking and screaming into a sort of bathroom, where they cut away all my clothes, lather me with some noxious-smelling substance, and spray me down.  To my horror, all of my body hair washes away in the spray.

They restrain me again and wrap my limp penis in some sort of sleeve, which they then tuck between my butt cheeks, and tie.  I feel something soft and silky being slid up my now smooth legs, which turns out to be some sort of underwear.  Then I somehow have a bra put on me, matching the underwear, and I know I'm in trouble.  

Unable to move, I feel a sharp pain around my navel, as two women lean over me.  I feel something dangling from the spot where they put a hole in me.

They violently flip me over, and I can hear a soft buzzing sound approaching.  For the next few hours, I feel them cutting into the skin of my lower back, and giggling about a "tramp stamp."

Next they wrap a corset around me, and while a group of them work on squeezing the air out of me as they tighten the waist, others take advantage of my almost fainting by slipping stockings onto each of my bald legs, and hooking them onto the garters of the corset, which, it turns out, has a sort of frilly skirt to it.  Then they attach shoes with tight straps around my ankles.

They strap me down to a sort of chair, and start working on my face.  There's a knife being pressed to my throat, so I don't dare to move.  I hear buzzing again, and feel sharp pain as they colour my lips, cheeks and eyes.  At the same time, they pinch my earlobes a few times with some kind of tool.  Finally, they buzz off every hair on my head, and glue a blonde wig to my scalp.

At this point, they jab my arm with a needle, and as I gasp, they grasp my jaw, keeping it open, and press the knife even harder against my throat.  They grab my tongue, and pinch it hard with another tool.  It's agony.  I can't withdraw it reflexively, because the tool has too firm a hold on it.  As they remove the tool, they threaten me some more, as they attach something metallic to my tongue.  Finally, they let go, and I can feel a pea-sized metallic lump on the top of my tongue.

Finally, they let me go.  I stumble out of the chair to their laughter, nearly breaking my ankle as I lose my balance on my high stilletoes.  They point me to a mirrored wall, but it takes me a few moments to recognize myself.  I am now utterly feminized.  If not for the broad shoulders and over-large hands, I'd look just like a sexy woman.  My crotch is especially shockingly convincing, because my cock is tucked out of the way.

"Why have you done this to me?" I ask plaintively.

"John, Marcia was very, very upset when she found out about you and that tramp Vanessa."

"I'm NOT JOHN!"  I scream, terrified and furious.

"No, you certainly are not, John," says the ringleader, snickering, "Not anymore."

All the other girls laugh heartily as I cower in the corner.

"From now on," the ringleader continues menacingly, "you yourself will be known as Vanessa, now that you look so much like her."

I am speechless.

"And just so you know, there's no turning back now.  We've tattooed makeup onto your face, pierced your ears a few times, and your belly button, and your tongue, and given you a butterfly tattoo just above your ass.  Your body hair won't be growing back for weeks, and nobody knows where you are.  We've already injected you with your dose of hormones for the day.  From now on, you serve Marcia hand and foot.  Understand?"

Horrified, I nod my head.  I stare at myself in the mirror.  I'm astounded that all it took was a few hours to turn me into a girl.

"Now, Vanessa, let's go to your mistress, so you can pledge your eternal servitude."

I meekly follow her out of the salon, girls tittering behind my back.  I can't walk very quickly with these stillettoes on, and they hurt my feet.  I'm terrified to fall behind her, because I'm afraid of what she'll do to me.  I am terribly conscious of my new appearance, as the pain on my face, my ears, my navel, my waist, my lower back, and my feet contrasts sharply against the softness and delicacy of my stockings, panties, corset, and bra.  My penis swells painfully, restrained in its sleeve, as I take in my new femininity.

As we approach an ornate door, I am instructed to approach Marcia with my head bowed, walk slowly and meekly to her throne, and bow before her, begging for forgiveness, and offering myself to her service forever as a small token of remorse for my cheating on her.  The first parts are not at all difficult, since I am horribly ashamed of what's happened to me.  The next is not so easy, since I have no idea who Marcia is, and I am apparently being punished for someone else's crimes.

Before I can even speak, she screams at me.  I haven't even looked at her yet.  I still don't know what her face looks like, since my head has been bowed all this time.

"John... or should I say, Vanessa, you fucking scumbag!  I hope you realize just how badly you fucked up!  You're worthless!  WORTHLESS!  And now see where your few minutes of infedelity have landed you!  I thought you would have known better!"

"Yes, your majesty," I reply meekly, too afraid to try to contradict her.

"Now, to show me just how sorry you are, Vanessa, you'll prove to me just how serious you are about renouncing your womanizing ways."

A muscular man, much bigger than me, and wearing no more than a thong, comes up to me, and picks me up off the ground, leaving me on my knees before him.  He takes out his cock, a massive, throbbing, muscular thing which puts mine to shame, and sticks it in my face.  He slaps my cheek with it.  I have no choice, so I grasp it, hands trembling, and bring it to my mouth.  I close my eyes as I put my lips around it, and feel it twitch.

I try not to notice the taste too much.  I notice that he seems to twitch and groan when my studded tongue touches his head a certain way.  I am so feminized!  I am sucking cock!  My own cock swells uncomfortably again between my butt cheeks.  This is so unbelievably dirty!  I find my hand jacking the base as I realize that I have tattoos and piercings the likes of which only the sluttiest skanks ever get.  I am wearing clothes designed to make women look sexy.  I'm more feminine than many women!

I gasp when I feel a pair of hands grab my waist and pull me up to my feet.  I am careful not to let go of the penis in my hand, and quickly put it back into my mouth.  Only now I feel another cock rubbing against my silky ass.  Strong, powerful hands have me by my now shrunken waist.  One hand lets go, and tugs at my panties.  A dick head probes along my butt, and finds the opening.  I gasp as it tears its way into me, but the penis in my mouth takes advantage of this loss of control to pump deeper, into my throat.

I have cock all over me, and I cringe with pain with each thrust into my ass.  I can hardly concentrate on the one in my mouth.  Soon enough, I feel the one in my ass pumping hot lava into me, relax, and withdraw.  The strong hands release my little waist, and I resume tickling the dick head in my mouth with my tongue stud.

Finally, his body twitches and jerks, and I taste some salty paste in my mouth.  I gag as he pumps his cock further in my mouth than I can control, and reflexively withdraw, and semen squirts all over my face.  I wipe it off on the back of my hand in disgust.

"Swallow it!" commands Marcia from her throne.  "Swallow it, or I won't be convinced that you really are sorry."

Glancing down at my new outfit, I realize that it's not worth fighting, so I lick the jizz off my hand and swallow it, like the obedient slut that I am, and look at her for some sign of approval.

Instead, I see shock.  I shake free of my reverie and understand why.

"You're not John.  Who is this?  Tyra, who is this man?"

"Why, Marcia, that's Vanessa now!"

"No, that's not what I mean.  This is not the man I wanted you to punish!"

"What!?!"

"Who are you?  Why didn't you resist?"

"But I did resist!" I protest.  "I pleaded with them to check my ID.  I told them I'm not John.  But they did all this anyway!"

"Are you gay or something?  Why did you suck Moe's cock then?"

"I didn't think I had a choice!"

"Oh my God!  What have we done!"

With that, hysteria breaks loose in the room.  Girls are crying and screaming, some are laughing.  I am standing there in the middle of this chaos, still in my sexy lingerie and shoes, still tasting Moe's cum.

"We're so sorry," says Tyra into my ear, "We've made a terrible mistake.  Please come with me."

Tyra seems like an entirely different person now as she leads me by the hand out of the room again.  She leads me back to the salon, and hands me back my torn clothes.

"Here," she says, "put your stuff back on, and get out of here!  And don't you dare tell anyone what happened!"

"You've got to be kidding me!  I look like a fucking bimbo!  How can I not tell anyone after what you've done to me!  You yourself told me that there's no turning back!"

"Look, aside from the piercings and the permanent makeup, nobody ever has to see anything else."

"You made me do gay things!  And you gave me hormones!  What the fuck is that going to do to me?!?"

"You sucked that cock all on your own, boy.  You've got only yourself to blame.  Now get out!"

Showing a fierceness that she didn't show before, she shooed me out the door, still wearing my lingerie.  I put my own clothes back on over top of it, took off the earrings, and staggered home in the darkness, only dimly aware of where I was and which direction I needed to go.

Fiction: How I Turned Into A Girl

Innocent beginnings

It all started very innocently.  I was 5 years old.  We had a kindergarten class pantomime, in which all the children were to dress up as flowers.  Everyone had to get white tights as part of the costume.  All the boys got to wear girls' tights.  I don't know how anybody else felt about it, but I liked it.  In my primitive sexual mind, at that young age, I liked the way it felt on my penis.  That's when I learned that it's bad for boys to wear girls' clothes.  But the seed was planted.

Tentative experiments

Years later, I got up the nerve to borrow some pantyhose.  I had never forgotten my experience with the white tights.  I liked the idea of being dominated by a woman.  Before the pantyhose, I would fantasize that a woman was making me kiss her boots.  Somehow, I was heavily attracted to women.  But it was all very bad.  I knew somehow that it would be wonderfully naughty to be turned into a girl.  So I played with pantyhose.  At first I wore it over my underwear, for fear of it really making me a girl.  Pretty soon I was all naked inside it, unprotected from its sheer femininity.

Shocking fantasies of being utterly feminized

The fantasies became elaborate scenarios of metamorphosis.  And it had a lot to do with my own free will.  I would imagine resisting for as long as possible, but in the end succumbing to the extreme pleasure.  I imagined what it must be like to wear bathing suits, or even lingerie.  Just the thought of it made me incredibly horny.  I made excuses, believing that if I dared to go that far, there would be no turning back.

Experiments become more daring

I couldn't resist.  I moved on to whatever I had available.  I dared to put on a one-piece bathing suit.  It was heaven!  I knew I was in trouble, but while I wore it, I didn't care.  I wanted to go all the way, by wearing even panties and brassieres.  But I could only do it gradually, given that I had virtually nothing to work with at my immediate disposal.

The collection

I started to steal things from friends' sisters, from Mom.  I needed it.  Pretty soon I had a little collection that I thoroughly adored.  And I wanted more.  I fantasized about stealing underwear from clotheslines.  I had even acquired a bikini!

Busted

I had gotten too bold.  Mom found out.  She was shocked and didn't know what to make of it.  She quickly gathered her things that I had stolen, and I begged her not to let anyone know.  I swore to never do it again.

Purge

I was so ashamed of myself, that I even got rid of the things she didn't find.  I cursed myself for what I had done.

The inevitable relapse binge

I denied myself for so long that the urge to wear something female became uncontrollable.  I stole a bathing suit again, and fell off the wagon.  I binged more than ever with girls' clothes, and loved every second of it.

Denial and abandon

Then I would become ashamed and throw everything away again, vowing to never do it again.  But each time, I could only go so long.  Realizing that I was giving in only made me hornier, because it made me understand that every time I wear an article of girls' clothing, I become more and more addicted to it; which leads to the inevitable conclusion that at some point, I will become a girl from doing it so much.  This only fed the pleasure I got from it more, because the whole point was to make myself feel like a girl.  Then, as soon as I was done, my shame would lead me to renounce my habit yet again, and the cycle would start over.

Caught again

The next time I was caught, I was in the middle of masturbating with a bikini.  I was mortified.  Before, I had only had my stash of girlie clothes discovered.  By now I was in my mid teens, and I was seen by my parents wearing a bikini.  I was so embarrassed that I couldn't speak.  I covered myself up in my shame, and my parents tried to console me, rationalizing it to themselves more than anything.  I swore, once again, to quit forever, but I knew that I had a problem.

Acceptance

My problem wasn't that I was wearing girls' bathing suits and underwear; it was that I wouldn't admit to myself that I loved doing so.  This I discovered when having a little chat with my father.  I didn't tell him so, but he could certainly tell that I was not going to quit.  I would, however, keep it secret.

The gift

On my seventeenth birthday, I was shocked to discover lingerie under my pillow.  I had never been able to steal anything so sexy.  I knew that it didn't belong to my Mom.  Somebody knew of my habit, and was now actively condoning it.  I wore it under my boy clothes all day the next day to celebrate.  Only later did I find the note that was meant to be attached to it.  It read, “I just want to know, for sure, whether you have quit your dirty habit or not.  I know it must be very hard for you.  If you leave this under your pillow tomorrow, I'll know that you want to quit.  If not, then please take these.  I'd rather have you own your own than borrowing all the time.” 

The realization of the enormity

Things started appearing in my dresser at random intervals.  There were many pleasant surprises for me.  Within a year, I had a small collection of just about everything a girl could want.  I was wearing it almost every night.  Only when a girl became interested in me did I realize the enormity of what I was doing.  I couldn't possibly let her know about my collection, which sat openly in the top drawer of my dresser.  I could never tell her that I not only have worn fishnet stockings, a garter belt, a brassiere, many bikinis, and all sorts of satin and lace panties and nightgowns; but I also own some!  I thought of how my initial fears of becoming feminized were becoming totally true.  And I masturbated at the thought.

Busted – for good

By the time I went away to college, I had been with a few girlfriends, and always kept my secret to myself.  But I also secretly borrowed their things whenever the urge struck me.  I was incorrigible.  Annie outsmarted me, though.  She suspected that something was awry.  We were living together, and she noticed that some of her undergarments would shift.  She set up a hidden camera, and caught me red-handed putting on her bathing suit.  She confronted me with the video, and I was contrite, ashamed, and extremely fearful.  She threatened to tell everyone.  I begged her not to.  She relented, but things would change dramatically between us from that point on.

Manipulation

She majored in psychology.  She manipulated me like a handful of putty.  She immediately became dominant, with the threat of exposing my habit to the world hanging over my head.  She was curious more than anything else.  She wanted to understand what got into me.  She wanted to explore the phenomenon.  She had me dress up for her.  At first, it was extremely awkward.  She was only the third person to ever see me wearing women's underwear.  She asked me to go about my routine, and tell her what I was thinking.  I couldn't do it for days, but eventually, I succeeded.  I was wearing a bikini, and she decided to play along, rather than spectate.  We frolicked together, both of us wearing sexy women's swimwear.  I purred to her how I wanted to be just like her, how I wanted to be as sexy as her when I wore her bikini.  I told her that I longed to be worthy of the clothes I play with. 

She tried different tricks, but it became part of the routine.  I would cavort around in lingerie for her every night, under threat of being exposed to the world.  She soon discovered how uncomfortable I became about the whole situation when I wasn't horny.  She had me tell her that I wanted to shave my legs while I was hot with desire, and she talked me into doing it, in spite of the fact that it would be terribly easy for anyone to notice.  I was so horny that I enjoyed doing it, in spite of the consequences.  After I came, she asked me if I would wear makeup, and she couldn't get me to agree to it without threats.

This led to a phenomenal escalation of my habits, which, as long as I was still aroused, I gladly agreed to.  Before I knew it, I had beautiful long hair, easily stylable into a feminine look; I had become an expert at applying makeup; I kept most of my body hair shaven at all times; and I could walk in high heels.  She only let me come just before I went to sleep.  I said all sorts of incriminating things.  I signed documents attesting to my desire to become a girl.  I professed my dissatisfaction with my lack of womanhood to her video camera.  I was giving her more and more material to incriminate me with, to the point where it became almost moot.  I swore to her, on tape and on signed documents, that I gladly give up my own penis in a heartbeat, and even suck someone else's and swallow all the semen.

Exposure

The weight of her threats lay in my desire to keep my femininity secret.  Unfortunately for me, not only had the changes to my appearance become noticeable during the day, but I became indifferent to my reputation as a man.  I was wearing women's underwear under my clothes, to keep me horny all day long.  I felt so good that I wanted people to know what I was wearing.  Many people suspected it.  Eventually, there was no doubt: Annie coerced me into dressing up as skankily as possible with her, and going for a walk in public.  I agreed readily, but became extremely nervous when we actually went outside.  Everyone recognized me.  In a way, I felt extremely sexy and proud; in other ways, I felt deeply embarrassed.  But I got used to it.  Within weeks I was clubbing in my girl clothes.  Luckily, I could still fight.  I was still manly enough for men to want to kill me.

Slavery

With the threat of exposure nothing more than a quaint memory, Annie found other ways to manipulate me.  She made me realize just how deep my desire to be female really went.  I had always kept it to a subtext that I wouldn't even admit to myself, but she hypothesized correctly that I wanted to fuck boys.  She would get me so hot and horny that I would be practically female; then she introduced me to some gay man she knew from college, and encouraged me to explore my urges.  She made me feel so thankful to her that her threats had changed: now she threatened to take away my girlishness.  I became her sissy slave.  I would stay home and be her maid, and she would bring home boys for her own pleasure, and show me off to them as her creation.  I was permitted to suck cock from time to time, and even to get a dick rammed up my ass.  I was a time of great and exciting discovery for me.  But she wouldn't allow me to enjoy it as much as I could have.

Privation

Soon she realized that her hold on me was entirely based on preventing me from having orgasms.  She kept me tied in a penis constraining device so that I would behave better.  I was extremely horny at all times, and I became an insatiable cock whore.  She kept me in her power by promising more cock.  But I was not allowed to come!  I physically could not ejaculate.  I so desperately wanted to. 

Emancipation

I broke my bonds from her at last and came wildly for days.  She was appalled, and threatened to deny me from getting any more cock.  But I discovered that I was fully able to get some by myself.  I was now passable enough to get it, or else brave enough to go to a gay bar and bag myself some easy action.  I laughed when she threatened to expose me.  My transformation was now complete!  I hadn't worn any article of men's clothes in many months, even in public; and I bought my own lingerie and club wear.  I was a little tramp!  I moved out in a huff and got my own place.

A taste for cock

I ditched all my men's clothes that I was no longer wearing.  I became a fixture at gay bars.  My parents found out, and disapproved.  I laughed in their faces, too. 

My fate was sealed from the very first moment

So now I'm scheduled for my pre-operation hormones.  I'm growing my own breasts, and giving up my worthless penis for a glorious pussy.