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One Thousand Kisses by Marlissa I drive the long ten miles to the edge of town, wondering what fun I will have with my little mistress Lily. I keep her in a cheap apartment on the outskirts of town, conveniently away from the exclusive executive subdivision where the Misses, kids and dog reside. I pay the apartment manager there something extra to take care of her shopping needs, so there's absolutely no need for my caged dove to have a car or even to leave her little love nest. Lily waits there for me when I have time for her, like this afternoon. What she's wearing?, I wonder. There's a quickening in my blood as I picture her in any number of pretty things she owns. I may keep Lily on a short leash, but she's given carte blanche when it comes to ordering clothing and lingerie. Normally I instruct her precisely in what she is to wear for my visits, but every so often I allow her the privilege of choosing her own wardrobe. This is one of those rare days. I think of it as a test to see just how far she had really come since I assumed complete control of her life. I suspect I will be pleased with her choices this afternoon. I better be-- for her sake. Lily has learned through many hard lessons just what I like to see her in. The early days were filled with her stubborn refusals to dress appropriately for me, her lover. She deliberately didn't wear skirts, wouldn't wear the pretty lingerie I gave her, rebelled even at the idea of wearing her panties and bras! Well, that was a long time and many tears ago. Now Lily wears exactly what a young lady of twenty-five who happens to be a businessman's mistress should wear. She has an Amy Grant CD on, and a love ballad calls softly from the other side of the locked door. Ah, I can smell her perfume as I slip the key in the door. I open it to see my girl waiting for me, trying not to show just how skittish my presence makes her. Lily beams at me with what I know is feigned pleasure. To think she is happy to see me is fanciful in the extreme. But my little mistress must at least look happy that I am here-- she is well aware of my dramatic mood swings. If she gives so much of a hint that my appearence is distasteful to her, she's likely to find herself treated to a good old fashioned over the knee spanking, and that at the very least. So she smiles, her lips pouting in a coy, ingratiating way. With cool detachment I inspect my prize and indeed am pleased with her attire. She rocks nervously from one small foot to the other, hidden in her red boudoir mules. Lily has picked out the red silk waist-length kimono I bought her last month when I was in Toyko. Though she has it sashed, it does nothing to hide the red half-chemise and the matching thong panty, nor does it hide her long lustrously smooth legs. Her long auburn hair is tied with a simple red ribbon into a ponytail, which rests high on her head and cascades down her shoulders in a fine wash of soft, sweet-smelling hair. Lily has hypnotically deep green eyes which are constantly dancing from one object to another, now looking at me, now her painted nails, now around her apartment. The fire red lipstick on her lips is a desirable contrast to her otherwise unpainted face. She has little need for make-up; her looks are well-defined and classic, with high cheekbones, a small straight nose, and high forehead, giving her face a pleasingly "long" look so often seen on models. She is more Ivy League co-ed than callgirl, with a pronounced Waspy look. In short, Lily is a natural beauty who you might see in a Land's End catalog. Well, she's not entirely a natural beauty. "Hello, darling!" she chirps. I throw her a sardonic grin as I take my coat off. Instantly she is at my side. "Please," she purrs, "let me do that." I shrug and allow her to take the coat, then my jacket off. With great care, she takes them and hangs them carefully up. As she does, I look around the living room/kitchenette that dominates her small apartment. It could be any twenty-something single woman's apartment-- furnished with cheap but comfortable pink painted Pier One wicker chairs; a coffee table with neatly stacked recent copies of Glamour, Cosmo, Red Book, and Self; wall-to-wall deep plush pink carpeting; soothing pastel wallpaper highlighted with a floral design; a simple brass floor lamp; framed museum prints. The teevee and VCR setup face the wicker couch, where Lily enjoys her favorite movies. She has to rely on movies for entertainment, since the cable is not hooked up. But I have been generous in providing her with a complete library of movies which she enjoys over and over again. Some of her professed favorites include Pretty Woman, Sleepless In Seattle, and Working Girl. There are other tapes and other magazines less appropriate for the coffee table, but those are kept in Lily's bedroom until needed. "Is Misses Slatsky taking care of you, Lily?" Misses Slatsky is the apartment manager, an ancient Polish woman who barely comprehends English. When I first installed Lily here, Misses Slatsky was alarmed at all of Lily's ramblings, her crying jags and screaming sessions. Two things assured her that all was well. First, she was told that Lily had a long history of mental problems and to ignore any strange things she might say. Second, the rent check was voluntarily doubled. These seemed to calm the Polish landlady's concerns at once. And since then, of course, Lily has calmed down to a significant degree. So much so that it has given birth to an idea I've been toying with. "Oh, yes, Darling! Just fine! I hope she hasn't called to complain again to you," she bites her lower lip, "I promise I've been behaving myself." I nodded, dropping myself into one of the chairs. "Be a good girl and fix me a drink." She nods and smiles sweetly. "Scotch and water, My Love?" I nod and she minces off to the kitchen. I pick up the book opened flat on the coffee table. "This what you're reading?" She returns with the drink, handing it to me. "Oh, yes! It's just the most super book I've read in a long time. Thank you so much for giving it to me. I'm learning so much about," she stops then continues, "you men and how you think!" She sits down next to me, her kimono rising up her smooth thighs. "Women Are from Venus, Men Are from Mars," I read the title. "Yeah, some of the secretaries said it helped them understand their boyfriends and husbands better. So, what are you getting out of it?" She looks down as she answers, her ponytail flouncing as she speaks. "Uh, it talks about how men use language as a weapon to dominate and how we, uh, females try to use language as a way to please." I sip my drink. It is mixed perfectly. "Oh really? So you girls are better at language than we men?" Lily shook her head. "Oh, no, Darling! I'm just not explaining it right at all, am I? I'm just repeating things that I don't really understand-- I'm such an airhead at times, aren't I? Oh why do you put up with such a stupid girl?" She snuggles next to me and I stroke her thigh. "Maybe because she's about the sexiest little doll in town." I looked at her purposively. She immediately assumed a big gushing grin. I continue. "Don't worry about it. You just keep reading your book about boys and girls. I'm sure it's helping you understand things better--even if you can't explain it very well, isn't it?" She nods, pressing her face against my arm. I stroke her thigh again. "Did I tell you about Lyle's old secretary the last time I visited?" "Lola?" Lily lookd up, her lips parted. She gulps and shakes her head. "No, Darling, you didn't." I take another deep sip of Scotch. "I fired her." Lily's green eyes widen. "Really? Why?" I smirk. "I got tired of her. I'm surprised Lyle kept the bimbo around as long as he did. What a slut! She's pretty loose if you understand my meaning. After Lyle's accident I took her on as my executive assitant. 'Course, she was desperate for a job. You know, a single mother with a teenage daughter, lots of debt. That was how Lyle got her to do anything he wanted-- he'd just threaten to fire her. So she went along with it. She didn't need much breaking in either." Lily was listening, trying hard not to display any emotion. Her deep green eyes stared hard into the pink plush carpet. "She was good at giving blow jobs. Seems that what Lyle used her for, even bought her knee pads-- what a prick that Lyle was, huh?" Lily nods solemnly. "Oh, yes Darling! Just awful!" "Well," I continue after a deep slug of Scotch, "she was good on her knees, but she gave me a hassle when I told her I wanted to do her from behind. Lyle never did her that way, she said. So I fired her. She started to cry, begged me to keep her on. She said she'd even let me do her any way I wanted, that she apologized, that she would be a good secretary." I stopped. Lily looks up sadly. "So, uh what did you do?" "Well, I told her it was just too late for apologies. And to be honest, I wanted to get rid of any reminder of Lyle anyway. And that she may as well forget about trying to get any kind of job in town that I didn't want her to have-- that I would make calls and keep her from getting work. That put her over the edge. 'But what will I do?' she was crying. I told her if she was a good girl, I'd talk to my friend about getting her a waitress job at the Harem Room, under one condition." Lily gasps. "The strip club? But she's almost forty!" "Yeah. Well, so she cried and finally agreed. What did I want from her, she asked. Then I pulled her up, threw her across the desk and did her from behind. After I was done, I through her out. And now she's swinging her ass at the Harem Room." I chuckle as I recall what my friend the manager told me. "Seems she has to work real hard for her tips because she only gets minimum wage. She's gotten real good at earning those extra dollars under the table. My pal said she found out her kid needed braces and she's begging him to let her lap dance. He's trying her out himself first, he said." Lily looked away sullenly. I held her small chin in my hand. "Guess Lyle's old girlfriend is really used merchandise, isn't she?" She didn't answer, but I saw her lips purse in powerless ire. I let it drop. "Anyway, at least Lyle's wife is doing fine. Heard she got married." Lily fixes her eyes on mine. "What!?!" Then remembering herself, her tone softens. "Uh, I mean, goodness, who did Janet marry?" "That attorney who lived next door." Again, Lily's voice rises uncharacteristically. "Ken Gage? That phoney? She married Ken Gage?" Again, I take her chin in the palm of my hand. "You keep your voice nice and sweet missy! And yes, she did. Turned out she was having an affair with him for years and when Lyle had his tragic accident, she married him. They left town with the big insurance check she got for Lyle's accident. I know they got what I got for the policy I put on Lyle shortly before the accident occurred-- a cool million." Lily's face burns bright, her cheeks flared red in impotence. She kept her pouty mouth shut, unwilling to further enrage me. "I don't think you ever knew that I had a policy on Lyle. But that was the money that I've used for all your treatments. Why, Lily-- you're the million dollar girl!" A tear dropped from her hard emerald eye, but she remained silent. I brushed it from her cheek. "There, there, Doll. No tears on that pretty face. I want to see a smile." I can tell my bombshell has devastated her. Nevertheless, she looks up and and forces her plump lips into a cheerful smile. "Good girl," I respond. "Let's take this off now, shall we?" I unloosen her kimono belt and draw it off her pale shoulders. She shivers as I caress her bare shoulder through the red half chemise. The half-top rises high on her trim, flat tummy and over her small but pert pair of breasts. I finger the spagetti strap of my mistress'es chemise. "Very sexy. Victoria's Secret?" Her breathing is harder and I watch her petite chest rise and fall with fascination. I savor her nervousness with selfish abandon. "Uh, no, darling. Playtime Designs." Her smile is thinner, her voice more brittle. You'd have thought after a whole year, Lily would be more relaxed with my hands on her lithe, taut body! I let my hand drop to her lap, and my fingers tug gently at the thong panty waistband. "Very hot. Stand up, Lily girl. I want to get the whole effect." Lily obeys, rising in her high-heeled mules and facing me with a wistful, concerned gaze. With invisible grace she spreads her legs ever so slightly. One palm sinuously rubs up her thigh, till it finds rest on her hip, while the other remains still by her side. Her head is held high, though her eyes are on the carpet. She hates being scrutinized this way, like a mannequin, but I love it. I drink in the stimulating vision of my young mistress thus posing in her lingerie for me, her little bumps of breasts straining against the tight red silk of the half- chemise, nipples rubbing hard against the soft fabric, the way her red thong panty jealously guards the feminine charms of her velvety boyish hips. "Turn around." She spins like a top, pirouetting to display her backside. It is so erotically appealing, such a tender and inviting prize of plump, rounded flesh. I want to rip her dainty red thong off and use her at once, so excited am I by my young mistress! But I refrain. The afternoon is long. I merely pat her briskly and pull her into my lap. As she sits squirming in my lap, I let my hand slope over her thigh and cup the small bulge in the red thong. "And how is Lyle today, Lily?" I ask cruelly. "O.k., I guess, Dear. Only sometime he hurts so much," Lily pouts. I squeeze the bulge and she blushes. "And why is that Lily?" I press. Her sad green eyes look at mine, seeking some mercy. "Sometimes he gets hard and the chastity belt cuts into him. It really, really hurts, Darling!" I shrug. "Guess you shouldn't think naughty thoughts. Then Lyle wouldn't get so excited, now would he? Besides, the only thoughts that should get you hot and botherede are thoughts about me. And those kind soft girl thoughts wouldn't get Lyle horny would they? " She nods, giving up the subject as easily as I brought it up. "No, Honey. They wouldn't. I'll try hard to keep thinking about you and not to think those other thoughts. But after I've learned My Lesson, then it can get hard again, can't it My Darling Dearest Lover? And maybe Lyle can come back again?" Her eyes are pleading now, frantic to hold onto this thought. I pat the bulge and smile. It is the first time she has whined about being a girl since I walked in the door. She has been getting better every day about refraining from asking the perrenial Question. Though naturally it spills out. She can't help it. The fact of it is that my Lily doesn't really like being a girl for me, not matter how much she proclaims her feelings for me. "Oh, maybe." I give her this small hope to hold onto. It doesn't do any harm and gives her something to hold onto. Naturally she won't be returning to her former masculine self. She is too delicious a mistress. My hand is creeping up her chest now, exploring underneath her chemise. "Any change in your bra size, pet?" She sighs. "No Darling Dearest. Still 32 As. I know how disappointed you are in me." She watches me twiddle her hard nipples with a sulky sour expression. She hates having breasts, hates that I point out how tiny her bosom is, hates how every day her measurement is still the same unacceptably small size. "Hmmm," I ponder, "perhaps you'll have to see Dr. Villanueva for some help in that area." She squirms. She can't help it. Lily equates the good Doctor with every kind of physical agony it is possible to conjure up. It was Villanueva who helped me transform Lyle, my young, promising, overly-ambitious protege into Lily, the delightful feminine toy I now hold in my lap. "Darling," she begins cautiously, "is that really necessary? I thought you said last time that you were getting to like my boobs?" She thrusts her chest out ever so teasingly. Lily isn't exactly telling the truth -- what I did say was that I was getting used to her little knockers. But I have spoken to Villanueva about her boobies already and it seems quite hopeless. The hormones have done what they could and implants are the only option. Which would be fine, except that when Dr. Villanueva conducted the radical surgery that turned the 5' 9" 155 pound Lyle into the 5" 4" 115 pound woman that is now Lily, he did such a complete job that any alterations now will jeopardize Lily's health. Her reduced frame simply couldn't carry the increased weight of more eye-catching breasts-- even B cups! Villanueva tells me it is a problem many flat chested women have discovered with implants in the last decade. Though often the increase is minimal at best, the adding strain can wreak havoc on the back and neck muscles. So Lily, though she doesn't know it, is permanently stuck with her pointy, perky girlish boobs. Because just as you can't increase the strain on the subject's body, you can't just change it back either. Ironic, isn't it? I allow her to hold onto the slim hope that she may someday be allowed to be a male again-- if she learns all her "girlie lessons" to my satisfaction. But if I ever did turn her back, she wouldn't survive the transition! The metamorphisis-- including metabolism modification, feminized body chemistry, artificial female hormone generation, the surgery that increased the body fat around her hips and bust, the shorteniong of her calves to better accept high heels, the miniaturization of her feet and hands, the collagen that gives those lips their pouty lift-- all of it is now impossible to turn back. But she isn't yet ready to accept that fact yet. So I continue with the charade that it is still possible for her to become a 'him" again. It comforts her when I am out of patience with her or particularly harsh. Someday I will tell her though, I suppose. She grins blissfully as I tweak her nipples. I don't bring up the doctor again. "Oh, Darling! I am trying to get all those bad boy thoughts right out of my head! How lucky I am to be such a girl now! I'm sooo very happy now-- I can't believe I was ever a boy, even for a single minute!" She bent down and addressed her remarks to the small bulge tightly packed into the locked chastity belt she wears underneathe her thong. "Oh, how I hate that awful thing!" She looks up at me, all sweetness and hot, breathy promises. "Darling, I'm trying so hard to be the perfect woman for you! All I want to do is make you happy! I miss you all day and I'm so lonely when you're away from me! I promise, I'm trying to be such a good girl for my man." The little minx rubs her hot cheeks against mine. "Your Lily wants you to forget all about that naughty boy Lyle!" Her lips part and she takes my hand in hers, kissing it dutifully. "I'm going to prove to you that I'm just what you want me to be-- your precious princess, who loves you with all her heart!" She takes my finger in her mouth now, letting her tongue worship the digit as I pump it in and out. "I'm your man, am I?" I ask snidley. She stops sucking on my finger, looks up and gives me a "dirty girl" leer I know she's been working on all morning. My feminized beauty nods and slips off my lap and to her knees. I watch as she gingerly unbuckles my belt, unzips my fly, all the while licking her moist lips. My cock springs out, staring back at her at rigid attention. Lily looks up to read my mood. "Lily, you little whore!" I chide playfully. She gives me a dainty shrug. "You're my man though. So it's alright, isn't it My Love?" And taking my silence as permission, she opens her mouth and takes my man meat within her sweet mouth. As she takes the head deep down her throat, Lily's cheeks hollow out, suctioning every drop of the cum now spurting in her mouth. I let her do the work as always, watching the red lips greedily draw in every raw strand of my milky jism from my cock. In a minute it is over. With ladylike care, Lily draws the flat of her hand gingerly over her lips, wiping off the residue of my cum. She is so much better now she she was only a few months ago. When I first introduced her to the art of oral worship, she was prudish in the extreme. A few spankings were required to convince Lily that yes, she would learn to become an accomplished and pleasing cocksucker for me. Gradually she accepted the necessity of learning to do it, then doing it to my satisfaction. Many tears were shed because of Lily's refusing to deep throat, then swallow, then swallowing whole. And they were not my tears that were being shed either. But now Lily is thoroughly proficient at her new skill. She performs her new duty at least as well as the actresses in the hardcore porno movies she must watch. Porno movie watching is Lily's "homework"-- she has dozens and dozens to learn from. Depending on which area she needs "work in" I will pick a tape for her to watch. Favorites include "Mouth Whore," "Lingerie Slut," "Backdoor Bimbo," and "The Master's Pet Bitch"-- my favorites naturally. Speaking down to the kneeling girl, I compliment her. "You are learning your Lesson well, baby. You are making a better mistress every day. Get up--" Lily rises, still grinning at my praise. She has missed a drop of my spunk on her lower lip and it gleams in the glow of the afternoon light. I cup her chin and she realizes the goo she has missed. With kittenish zeal, she extends her tongue and draws it into her mouth, all the while looking at me with her glinty emerald eyes. "Let's go into the bedroom, Lily." I pat her butt, which she wriggles for me and off she goes, prancing into the bedroom. I follow, enjoying the enticing sight of her exagerrated hip swivels. Very nice. In the bedroom, she first unbuttons my shirt and carefully hangs in in the closet. Next she kneels and takes my shoes, socks then pants off. As she pulls off my boxer shorts, there is an intensity in her face as she looks at the hard black mass of my pubic hair. It is moments such as this, undeniably face to face with the object of her humiliation and servitude, that Lily my mistress must think of her former life as my young protege Lyle. Such a promising young executive he was-- full of vast ideas and plans for the furtherace of my commercial empire. He was so like me-- ambitious, self-absorbed, without a trace of pity or regard for others. His ruthlessness was matched only by his brilliance. He must have thought he was bound for success when I asked him to join me on that fateful business trip, the one on which he "died." How could he know that what I was interested in was a mistress, not a loyal aide? And how could he know that the very attributes that made him a merciless businessman could be so easily turned inside out to transform him into this simpering, sexy playmate? The bed is turned down and slip into it. Lily follows me. She watched me with the eye of a trained observer. The thoughts go through her mind-- what will I want first? How will I use her? How can she accomodate me? Will she displease me and find herself punished? The riding crop is on the nightstand, a silent and everpresent reminder of my willingness to "correct" her wayward performance. I stroke Lily's thighs and she responds with girlish abandon, her arms on my bare chest, her soft cheek rubbing against me in rising heat. All an act. Too bad they dodn't give out Academy Awards for being a sex slave. Lily would win one for sure. I know she really hates it to her core, hates my hands on her, hates this role I insist she play for me. She thinks that her life is to play the role of fawning sexpot. What she will soon realize is that her role is her life. I tell her to assume the position and with a lazy smile, she rises on her fours, places her cheek on the pastel sheet and flips her ripe red thonged bottom up into the air obediently. The dreamy expression on her face anticipates a deep and hard pentration. Like cocksuking, Lily has learned to be used like a woman through many hard and severe lessons. She detested being penetrated at all when first put through that experience. She would buck helplessly, screaming in her bounds as I used her from behind. As in all the other changes she has endured, she accepted the act in degrees. She stopped struggling, then sullenly began to take an unwilling part. By then I had disposed of the bounds-- my dove had been convinced of the incontrovertible fate that awaited her. Then she discovered I could be kind if she were more cooperative and she assumed a pliability, allowing her supple body to be used by me without too much trouble. Within a few months, she was beginning to recognize her ability to please me afforded her supreme opportunities and I noticed her devouring articles in her many women's magazines about the female orgasm. It wasn't long before she was actively faking orgams to impress me with her femininity. Kneeling behind her, I yank the thong down. She spreads her legs wide-- as she had been taught-- and braces herself. My cock is erest now, a missile aimed at her netherhole. I drive it inward with vigor, grunting as I invade the dainty space with all my might. Lily gasps as my masculinity conquers and occupies her plucked and feminized portal, bucks as I plunge in and out of between her girlish hips. Lily's "Girl Lessons" are preceding well, so much so that in recent weeks her "orgasms" have become better and better simulated-- so well in fact that at times she acts just like a twenty-five year old woman in the throes of sexual bliss. I feel the internal pressure building up within me and I prepare to explode in my dainty partner. Lily senses with her growing feminine intuition that I am ready. She has learned from her reading that it must be perfect-- for me, not her. She must "cum" when I do. His moans and whimpers quicken, my love victim beginning her own ascent to feigned satisfaction. At last she has achieved a certain counterfeit grace in mimicking the ultimate moment of female bliss and as I plunge into her from behind, we both merge-- master and slave. Lily is a "moaner" and her sighs are music to me, the soft moans from which I take pleasure. I withdraw and she slumps forward, a sulky frown on her face as she feels the cock which has filled her leave her so empty. I lay on my back and she presses her face to my chest. She knows it is her place to want to "cuddle" after lovemaking, so she dutifully rubs her body, slick with perspiration, against mine. I gently press her head, which is pressed against my chest, down to my lap. She opens her mouth to protest, but clamps her full lips closed. She knows what I desire and must obey. Her loose straight auburn hair falls over my limp member as she forces herself to clean it with her tongue, my palms guiding her mouth over the spots where I wish to feel her velvet ministrations. As she services me, I reach casually to the nightstand where her diary resides. I can feel myself grow thick and heavy down below as I flip through the scented pages, scanning for the more recent entries. Lily must keep a full account of each and every one of our sexual escapades-- a little chore that I feel reinforces her identity as a nubile young mistress. I smile as I read of my visit just a few days ago. "My beau has just left and I am already so lonely! I press the pillow just to smell him! This time was so special, so exciting! He called from work, saying he was passing by the apartment and had time for a "quickie" between meetings. I hurried to get ready and when he arrived I met him at the door on my knees, ready to give him a great big kiss where I know he wants it! I had his zipper down and was ready to get to work when Misses Slatsky passed by! What a sight she saw-- me tricked out just like a callgirl in my sexy black lace panties, bra, garters and fishnet stockings on my knees ready to give my lover a blowjob! My beau just laughed. "Good day Misses Slatsky!" he said and shut the door. We both laughed-- how funny! Then he pointed to his wristwatch and reminded me why he was here. Of course I got back to work. Then when he said so, I stood up. He took me in the kitchen, bending me over the table--" I scanned to the bottom of the page and saw her sticky red kissmark with the number "124" penned in small numbers. Lily keeps a strict accounting of the times I use her for my pleasure-- it is absolutely crucial she does so. The number symbolizes the count toward freedom-- her "quota" if you will. The rules are strict. She can only count anal penetration-- oral doesn't count. Thank goodness or she'd already be up much higher that she is. She can't wait til she reaches 1,000. That's the magic number, you see. When she reaches 1,000, I have told her that I will free her-- that I will turn her back into a male and return her to "the world" with a small bit of money and the chance to leave this life as my submissive mistress. Why would I make such a promise? You have to understand the ambition and efficiency of my former assistant and protege. Lyle was a driven personality, absolutely fixed on the objective at hand. Give him a goal and he wouldn't stop til he achieved it. It was an element of his personality that I wanted to retain in his new role as my mistress-- one I knew would lead him to become the perfect sexpot afternoon plaything. Thus I gave Lily her quota-- she would need to service me like a woman 1,000 times and if she did this I would release her from her gender. In doing so, I knew she would need to work as hard as she could to becoming the sextoy of my fantasies. One thousand. And so she did. Unwilling at first. I am not a strong man, but I am not weak either. I found it fairly easy to punish my frail pretty girl when and however I liked whenever I felt she wasn't "trying" hard enough. The crop scares her and she fears the thick black belt I keep in the nightstand. But for the most part, an over-the-knee, panties-down-now! spanking is sufficient to lead her back to the light. And so my Lily began to act her role in earnest. Now she plays the part so well-- the coy "good girl" who I force to be a "bad girl" in bed-- that I know she will never regain her male identity again. The swaggering young executive is gone forever. I know this. She does not. One thousand. As my kitten licks me clean, I once again consider my plan to turn her into my secretary. She won't be an assistant, like all these young college women demand. Oh no-- Lily will be an old-fashioned secretary, one that will do all the menial, common things that powerful men such as myself shouldn't bother with- - fetching my coffee, picking up gifts for my wife, sewing on the odd loose shirt button, and so on. Sort of like a maid at the office. I probably won't even have her type or file-- I'll have other girls do that and keep Lily concentrated on my personal needs, if you get my meaning. One thousand. And like an old-fashioned secretary, she'll dress and act the part. She'll prance through the halls in tight revealing miniskirts, sheer blouses, lots of make-up, big hair-- the works. Lily has learned to strut with the best of them and I'm sure she'll give the passerbys in the hallways quite a show in her high heels and long legs. I won't be shy about giving her pats on the fanny in front of my employees and treating her like a kewpie doll. She'll hate it inside-- the former hotshot being condescended to and groped. But she'll smile like a spoiled kid on the outside. One thousand. And behind closed doors, well-- use your imagination. There is only one reason for having a sexy, young single woman as your very own personal secretary. And unlike wives and career gals, good little secretaries don'y DARE to talk back or disobey. That's what I've planned for Lily for months and months. And, believe it or not, she'll be thrilled at the prospect of becoming my hot, horny secretary. It just gives her even more opportunities to reach her magic number. One thousand. But what will happen when she reaches that final number, right after the thousandth time she has offerred up her tight, rounded pantied backside to my needs? Will she rise from her submission, triumphant in the expectation I will free her? Or will she realize then that she is unable to escape her conditioning, that she NEEDS to be treated like the slut she has become? What will I do as she yanks up her panties-- merely pull them down again, begin to fuck the bitch for the 1,001 time and begin the next millenium of her life of rape? I just can't wait. Lily raises her head, her tongue now sliding eagerly over the stretch of my "foot- long" giving me her best Julia Roberts "I'm hot for you!" leer. I command her to get on her fours and the feminized executive scampers to obey. So efficient, so erotic my mistress is. She shall earn two little entries in her diary today. THE END