The Making Of Lisa Stevens free porn video

The Making of Lisa Stevens by Aleisha James The following is a work of fiction, intended for the enjoyment of adults only. It contains depictions of sexual behaviour including themes of forced feminization. Do not read this story if such themes are offensive to you or if you are below the age of majority in your location. If, on the other hand, you enjoy this kind of story, and are old enough to be legally permitted to read it, then I hope you find it to your liking. Any writer needs (craves) feedback. If you like this story, and want to see a continuation, please post your reviews. If you fell it lacks some qualities which you feel should be present, then add your constructive criticism. My thanks to those who have posted reviews of my earlier efforts. My apologies and acknowledgment to Leigh de Santa Fe for the similarity of my title (and the parallels in my story) to her magnificent work: The Making of Sabrina Turner. The Making of Lisa Lisa sat almost motionless, her wide eyes staring intently at her reflection in the gilded mirror which sat atop the ornate vanity. Jars and vials of cosmetics were strewn across the surface before her. Only the quiet movement of her chest and her slow, soft stoking of her silk-covered thigh betrayed that this was a living person rather than some wonderfully realistic mannequin. The perfection of her face, the still calmness of her expression might otherwise have confused any onlooker. Then she blinked, her mascara'd eyelids flickering over the brown irises, with their intriguing flecks of gold and hazel. Those eyes were, she had been told repeatedly, perhaps her best feature, and she had to agree as she gazed silently at her image. Large in proportion to her face even before her training, she had learned to emphasize their apparent size so that they dominated, lending her an air of innocence while at the same time, by the dramatic use of eyeshadow, she appeared sexually sophisticated. It was this mixture of innocence and sophistication that was her main weapon in her campaign to capture the lust if not the heart of her guests. Her clear skin needed very little foundation. Repeated treatments had eliminated all facial hair follicles and closed the pores in her face. Her skin was now as soft as that of any sixteen year old girl, kept away from astringents or damaging sunlight. High, arched eyebrows required no plucking to hold their elegant shape. Her lips, fuller now after the collagen injections, were wide and generous, quick to smile or to laugh, in a quiet, decorous tinkle. Her Adam's apple had long since been surgically reduced and her slender neck gave her a swan-like grace. Surgery had been required on her nose and, to a lesser degree, on her lower jaw. She had been born with a hint of a Roman nose, but now she looked upon the reflection of what she knew was a cute, upturned button, which meshed perfectly with the oval shape created by the trimming of her lower jaw. Her earlobes had received a minor adjustment as well, reducing them in size. It was the sparkle of the diamonds hanging from her gold pendant earrings which brought that recollection to mind. Rich, lustrous chestnut brown hair, streaked with traces of auburn, framed her face and hung to just below her shoulders. She wondered, idly, whether she should have it permed; whether she would look prettier with waves in her hair. She had been fortunate, she knew, that she had had a small head, with unusually thick hair, for a male at any rate. Doubly fortunate that she had been slender and small-boned. Had she been closer to the norm for an eighteen year old male two years ago, then she would either be dead by now or perhaps wishing she were so. She heard the muted sound of the doorbell from below. Her guest must have arrived. It was time. She stood and walked towards the bed beside which her shoes lay on the plush cream carpet. Her negligee hung open, the champagne silk parting to reveal between the lace trim that she wore a matching babydoll nightgown. Her small but shapely breasts pressed against the bodice of her gown, the feathery, delicate lace looking white against the faint pink of her skin. Her nipples were already erect, and visible through the gown. She sat on the edge of the bed, taking care to keep her knees together. Her gown was so short that she ran a real risk of exposing her genitals if she was at all unlady- like. Her guests found the vestiges of her original gender to add that extra zest which justified the price they paid for her services, but she had long been trained to be as modest as possible in terms of letting her precious secret be readily seen. She leaned over, holding back the edge of her negligee with one carmine- tipped hand while wriggling her small feet into her shoes. They were open- toed heels with three inch heels. They added some height to her short frame and served to emphasis her rounded buttocks. She spent so much time in heels these days that she welcomed the sensation she felt in her calves as she stood. Walking on even higher heels was no problem for her despite the depth of the carpet. She glanced with approval at her pedicured toes, their crimson paint matching the shade of her fingernails. She was ready. She returned to the red-satin cushioned stool on which she had sat while doing her makeup. She turned so that her profile would be seen by whoever entered her boudoir. She crossed her left leg over her right, making sure to keep her feet close together, with the toes pointed down. She smoothed her skirts and folded her hands in her silken lap. She turned her face towards the door, a welcoming smile ready to greet her guest. She felt the familiar excitement begin to build. Soon she would be delighting her guest, while experiencing the intense pleasures which conditioning had inculcated in her. She would be everything her guest could desire in a courtesan; alluring, attentive, feminine and submissive. It had not always been this way, and her current way of life would have horrified and disgusted her had she known of such things two years earlier, when her life had changed for ever. Kevin Stevens was thankful that the friendship between their families had allowed him to grow up with John Bates as his friend. They had been born within weeks of each other, and although John's parents had seen their wealth escalate far beyond that of Kevin's family (who were not exactly broke), the boys had spent most of their early life as playmates. Thus it was that they were best friends even when John went away to an exclusive military academy when he turned twelve. Now almost six years later they still spent most of each summer sharing adventures, such as this tour of Italy. They were allowed a great deal of freedom, although much of this was an illusion. John's security was unobtrusive but omni-present. The risk of kidnap for ransom was very real, and both boys had received lectures on the subject not only from their fathers but also from the former FBI agent who served as head of personal security for John's family. But the two boys were at that age where threats seemed to be challenges, and besides, such things had never actually happened in their experience. So it came as a shock when the kidnapping occurred. Kevin remembered the astonishing noise as their car, a powerful, heavy Mercedes, was rammed from the side. The impact was to the front passenger door, and it threw the car off the road into the ditch. All of the airbags went off, and for some reason the horn stuck on. Popping sounds from outside hardly sounded like gunfire, but the boys could see bodies lying half in and half out of the escort car behind them as they were hustled from the wreck. The rear doors had been jacked open by jaws of life, after dull thuds from the front had left powdered armored glass floating in the air and settling like snow on the two terrified boys and the just-shot guards up front. The kidnapping had all the hallmarks of a precision military operation. It had been carried out with ruthless, overwhelming force. It was only later that Kevin learned that he had been spared only because in the confusion of the scene his captors were uncertain which of the two boys was the one they were after. Kevin and John looked enough alike to have been brothers, both under five foot seven, although John was still growing, and both dark-haired and slim. Dressed casually and with hair uncut since their arrival in Europe a month ago, they were virtually indistinguishable in the smoke, noise and haste of the kidnapping. Kevin remembered being thrown violently into the rear of a mini-van. Shortly afterward a rough hand clamped an evil smelling cloth over his face and he was eventually forced, by impending asphyxiation to breath in the fumes. His head began to spin and he lapsed into unconsciousness. Captivity turned into a mix of boredom and terror. The two boys were usually left alone in a dank room which appeared, from the lack of windows, to be in a basement somewhere. Faint noises suggested maybe a farm, but apart for the occasional buzz of a passing aircraft, they heard no traffic sounds. The walls were made of brick, and from the appearance of the bricks and the mortar, the building was very old. They tried to loosen some of the bricks but they had nothing to use as a tool. Plans to purloin a spoon or fork fell apart when their food was served either in the form of sandwiches or with cheap, flimsy plastic utensils. Even these were carefully counted by their guards, and Kevin received a heavy blow when he tried to hold back a spoon. They had nothing to do except to talk or sleep. They discussed their situation. John was initially confident that his father would soon have them rescued. He told Kevin that while his father had long established a company policy of never paying ransom demands, he coupled that with a policy of spending whatever it took to find and rescue the victims. This had happened several times with company executives in Latin America. The theory was that the kidnappers might be allowed to escape, so long as their hostages were unharmed, but no money would ever be paid. As the days passed, John's confidence began to wane. He began to talk, wistfully, of how his father would surely change his policy when it was family involved. Efforts to communicate with their captors were fruitless; either they genuinely did not speak English (and genuinely couldn't interpret the boys' pidgin Italian) or they were just well-trained. Kevin tried to keep their spirits up by pointing out that their captors' insistence on not speaking and their continued wearing of masks meant that they must be planning on releasing their captives. Surely the reason for the secrecy was that the boys would one day soon be in a position to describe to the authorities what they had heard and seen. The days turned into weeks and they both began to despair. Even their guards, who had been inscrutable for so long, appeared to be turning sour and foul-tempered. Then one morning, or so they assumed since they had just been woken, there came a change in the routine. The door opened and the two main guards came in. So far this was the normal way the day began. But the third guard, the one who brought the food and drink and then carried out the latrine bucket, did not appear. In his stead came three other men. The last to enter was a tall, older man, perhaps in his fifties. He was dressed in an immaculate business suit and what was most remarkable was that they could see his face. He had cold blue eyes and a sharp nose set in a thin, unhappy looking face. Graying hair was cut close to his skull. His companions were younger and more burly. They looked almost too stereotypical to be bodyguards, but that in fact was their function. The two boys were ordered to stand. The older man spoke accentless American English, but something about the way in which he spoke conveyed that it was not his native language. In the same flat voice he told them to strip. Kevin risked a glance at John, who he saw was staring at their visitor in much the way which Kevin imagined a mongoose might stare at a cobra. A slap to the back of his head brought tears to his eyes, and forced him to comply with his instructions. The two boys stripped to their shorts and hesitated. "All the way" The disinterested way in which these words were spoken still left no doubt that the command must be obeyed. Soon the two boys were standing in front of the visitor, their hands cupped in front of them in an effort to preserve a shred of privacy. "Raise your hands above your heads and turn slowly.. slowly around." They obeyed. Kevin was feeling the same terror which he had witnessed in his friend. He had no idea what was going on, but one thing was for sure: this didn't seem like any part of a kidnap any more. They stood still as the visitor moved silently behind them. They could sense his presence from the quiet sound of his breathing and the rustle of his clothes as he stood immediately to their rear. Then came the sound of him walking away. They heard the door close and finally they received a guttural command form one of the original guards to get dressed. It was while they were putting on their clothes, dirty and stiff from weeks of wear and no laundry, that their breakfast arrived. They were in for a treat, it seemed. The tray carried, in addition to the usual cereal and milk, tow glasses of orange juice. The boys were too shaken from the experience of the morning and too grateful for the change in the monotony of their diet to question the slightly acidic taste of the juice. It was only ten minutes later that the drugged juice took hold, and the boys passed out. Kevin woke strapped into a seat; a seat which he quickly saw was in the cabin of some expensive-seeming small jet; perhaps an executive jet similar to that in which he and John had flown to Europe. Now as then, he was sitting beside John. But this time they were captives rather than youths en route to a wonderful summer vacation. John was looking at him and as soon as their eyes made contact John called out. ' "He's awake, Sir. Kevin's awake!" The older visitor from what Kevin remembered as that morning (although it had in fact been the day before) appeared in the seat in front, leaning over the back to look down at the two boys. His expression was as deadpan as it had been when they had first seen him.. Kevin was struck by the utter lifelessness of the man's eyes. There appeared to be no trace of human contact possible with this man. "I'm not going to waste my time. I'll tell you things once, and once only. No questions will be permitted. You break the rules and you will be punished. It will hurt.. a lot. You continue to break the rules and I kill you" The complete lack of expression, in the voice or on the face, served only to make the words even more compelling than they sounded. "My firm bought you. We own you. Your dad (he indicated John with a twitch of his chin) chose not to play ball. Another time, that might have cost you your lives. You may grow up to wish it had, but it didn't. You belong to me now. I spent a lot of money on you, and I didn't do it because I give a fuck about you or your families" "I'm a businessman. When I discover a market, I try to service it. My markets include drugs and prostitution. You boys aren't any good as drugs, but you have the makings of good whores. You're going to learn to be pretty, to like looking pretty and to servicing the clients we send you. You are probably thinking that that's impossible; that you'd rather die. Dying may be an option, but not one we'll let you choose. No, you too are going to repay me for the money I've spent and if I am any judge of character, you're gonna thank me for it eventually" He left without a backward glance. Kevin turned his head to look at his friend. John was crying, his face ashen and his pale lips trembling. "What are we going to do?" he whimpered. Kevin was numb. He couldn't think of anything he could say to reassure his desolate companion. The complete lack of affect on the part of their new jailer left him convinced that the man meant every word he had said. Kevin felt tears well in his eyes, and he surrendered to the wave of self-pity which swept over him. Of course, the sounds of the two boys weeping at their plight merely made the older man smile to himself. His plan was proceeding well. The boys were drugged long before the plane came down through the cloud cover, and they had no idea where they had been taken. They would have been surprised to learn that they were in Moscow, where they had become the property of the Russian Mafia, an organization so well connected that no police would ever come to their aid even of their identities became known. Kevin woke in a strange room, strapped to a hospital bed. He saw tubes coming out of his right forearm, which was immobilized by his side. He could move his left arm, but only from the elbow down, so he was unable to pull out the iv's. His face felt swollen and when he tried to open his mouth he found that it was wired shut. He was barely able to lift his head, which was already elevated since the head of the bed had been raised. He saw, with mild alarm, that the sheets were mounded in an unusual way over his chest, which, now he thought of it, seemed sore. He knew that he should be scared, but mild alarm was as excited as he could get. He understood that he must be still drugged and he wondered where he was and what had happened to him. His last memory was of the basement room; his mind had temporarily blocked out the more recent events. He wondered whether he had been rescued and was in hospital recovering from injuries suffered in the rescue effort. The thought allowed him to relax a little and he even smiled to himself under the bandages which covered almost all of his face, wrapped up around his ears and over the top of his skull. Even this modest effort exhausted him and he fell asleep once more. When he next awoke, he was still in the same bed, but the tubes were gone. He was still restrained and his head was as bandaged as before. He was staring straight ahead, still half-awake, when the door opened and a tall, thin man in a medical coat walked in, carrying a clipboard bearing papers which he was reading as he walked. The doctor, or so Kevin assumed him to be, stopped beside the bed and smiled down at Kevin. "Our patient is awake at last." Kevin tried to speak, but had difficulty enunciating the words through his wired jaw. The bandages muffled what sounds he was able to make, but the doctor seemed to have little difficulty deciphering his speech. "No, I'm afraid you haven't been rescued, little one. In fact, you're midway through a major change in your life, but I expect you were told about that. I'm going to give you another little shot and then I'll be able to examine you without you getting all excited" The doctor suited action to words, cutting off Kevin's horrified recollection and dawning understanding of his situation. The doctor unwound the bandages and checked the surgical scars. They were healing nicely. His patient's ears had been trimmed: they were quite beautiful, if you liked such things on boys. The doctor did not, himself, but he did not care. He made a lot of money and paid no taxes. Unlike his former colleagues who still tried to serve their society, Dr. Prokovich had completely converted to what he viewed as the American or capitalist way. He was in it for the money. Let the politicians squabble about principles and ethics. They all talked a good game, but in reality they all were out for number one. The jaw surgery was healing well. He had been concerned that the boy might suffer some calcification below the shaved bone, but there was no sign of it yet. The muscle attachments seemed intact, and the scars were all below the chin, where they should be almost invisible. No doubt the boy would learn the use of makeup to hide whatever tiny flaws remained. The nose was perfect! And the collagen implants in the lips and along the cheekbones seemed to have worked out just right, now that the swelling in those areas had subsided. The doctor turned his attention to the boy's chest. The implants were in perfect position, although the swelling had not gone down quite as quickly as he had hoped. The boy would need hormone treatment to flesh out his new breasts, and to soften the way they felt. Once the swelling resolved, they might feel too hard to be considered flawless without such therapy. Prokovich knew that the boy faced more surgeries as his transformation progressed, and knew that he would be seeing him again. He wondered how far the boy's psychological transformation would have progressed by then, but that part of the process was not his concern. He made a few notes on his chart, checked the boy's pulse and respiration and left the room, thankful that all was at last proceeding well. The boy had had a bad reaction to the first general anesthetic they had used, and the surgeries had had to be delayed for several days. This boy was now behind his friend in terms of schedule, and Prokovich had been worried that his employers might blame him if further problems had developed. Those employers paid handsomely, but they did not tolerate delay well, no matter the cause. Kevin was kept heavily sedated over the course of the next week, while the swelling diminished and the scars healed. Sutures were removed, and Prokovich was pleased and proud of the rapid fading of the tiny surgical scars. The massive doses of hormones caused some concern, since liver damage was a real possibility. Careful monitoring showed that the boy was tolerating the treatment well, and repeated weighings, during which the semi- comatose boy had to be helped into a chair, the weight of which was already known, showed the expected loss of weight. The enforced lack of exercise and restricted diet caused a rapid dystrophy of his major muscle groups, while the hormones and the carefully regulated fat content of his food caused a redistribution of his shrinking body fat reserves. By the time the boy was released to the next phase of his treatment, his waist had shrunk to a soft 27" while his hips had increased to almost 36" from their previous 34". His breasts had begun to fill in, and the aureoles around his nipples, while not yet at their full size, now more closely resembled those to be found on a young woman than those of a young man. Kevin was only half conscious when he was dressed in a loose-fitting hospital gown and transferred by wheelchair to a brightly painted room with a normal bed and colorful floral print curtains framing a window which provided a view of unlimited forest. The boy did not know it, but he was in a dacha some fifty miles from Moscow; part of a compound where this branch of the Mafia carried out its more unusual activities. Kevin was placed in the bed, and the satin sheets were pulled up to his chin. He lay for a while, looking at the textured ceiling. He thought that he could make out faces and animal shapes in the stucco, and his mind amused itself with this task for almost an hour. By then the medication was beginning to wear off. He sat up, taking an interest in his surroundings for the first time since his arrival at the hospital. He was in some kind of bedroom. The walls were a pale lemon, with white trim and a white, textured ceiling. The beige carpet looked worn but serviceable. A vase of fresh-cut flowers rested on a small cabinet to the right of the bed, while a bleached oak armoire stood against the far wall. A plain wooden chair sat on the left of his bed. There were no paintings or pictures on the bare walls, although he could see a faded outline of where one had hung in the past. He saw cobwebs in the upper corners of the room, testifying to the cursory nature of the housekeeping. His inspection of the room, conducted from his bed, was interrupted by the sound of a key being turned in the lock of the door. He turned towards the sound to witness the appearance of a strikingly beautiful young woman. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, although Kevin was at that age where anyone more than five years older than he seemed so much older. She was dressed in a simple sleeveless black dress, with a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her blonde hair framed a smiling, tanned face. She strode confidently across the room to sit in the chair beside the bed. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest as she returned Kevin's questioning look. He noted almost as an aside that she had a fine figure and very attractive, smooth legs. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. She was the first to speak, unfolding her arms and legs and leaning forward to offer her hand. "My name is Katrina. I'm going to be your friend and your teacher, Kevin" Her voice matched her appearance, confident and friendly. He felt an instant liking towards her. "Where am I ? What's going on? Where's John? Is he all right?" The questions flowed in a torrent from his mouth. He had so many questions, so many fears. She shushed him. "All in good time, darling. Your friend is doing well, and you'll see him soon enough. You only need to know that you are safe, and that you will be well treated, so long as you do as you are told. In fact, I think that with my help you will come to enjoy your stay with us" "How long am I going to be here? And what's happened to me?" Kevin had not yet noticed all the changes which had been visited upon his body, but his subconscious had been sending signals to his mind that something had happened; something he maybe did not really want to know. "Close your eyes, my dear, and get out of bed. Don't worry: I'll help you. You'll feel dizzy to start with, but keep your eyes shut and I will be with you" He obeyed, feeling awkward and surprisingly weak as he struggled to his feet. He could sense Katrina's presence and was grateful for the support she afforded him. A wave of vertigo almost caused him to fall back onto the bed, but it passed. Once the boy gained his feet, and ceased swaying like a reed in the wind, Katrina led him toward a tall mirror which rested on a stand in one corner. It had been turned so that it faced the wall, and Katrina had to let go of the boy to turn it around. She then told him to let her remove his gown, while still keeping his eyes tightly closed. The gown was open at the back, held loosely closed by several velcro'd tabs, so it was easy to remove. She stood to one side, keeping her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Take a deep breath and then on a count of three, open your eyes. You'll see some changes, but don't panic. We'll talk afterwards. One.. Two? Three." Kevin opened his eyes and looked at the image reflected before him. His mouth went dry, and he felt as if a cold, lead weight had appeared in his stomach. Staring back at him with an expression of shock and fright was a young woman. Her face looked almost like his own, but was subtly different. Her hair was longer than he remembered ever allowing his to become, and it had been styled so that it curled gently in towards her as it hung on either side of her face. Her eyebrows were narrow arches, which gave a dimension to her eyes unlike anything he had seen in his own image. Worse still was her chest. Two pert breasts, with slightly upturned nipples, stood proudly on her torso, while beneath them her waist narrowed before flaring out to her hips. The very worst, however, was a part of him which had not changed. His genitals were on full display, although his penis seemed somewhat shrunken; as if he had just come out of a cold swimming pool. It was the sight of his genitalia that brought home to him that it was truly his image which was reflected back at him. An extra chill of dread flowed through him as he saw that his body was hairless, apart from the luxuriant hair on his scalp and a tiny triangle around his groin. His hands found their way of their own accord to his breasts. "What's happened to me?" His voice broke as he almost sobbed the question. Katrina used the pressure of her hand on his shoulder to pull him away from the mirror and lead him back to the bed where he obediently sat, a dazed look on his face as his hands continued to explore the changes to his body. "Kevin: look at me!" Her voice took on a stern edge, compelling his attention. "You remember what you were told in the plane, don't you?" The memory of the older man leaning over the seat in front of him surfaced in his mind, and he shuddered with the recollection. The same fear and despair which had coursed through him then returned and he felt nausea mounting within him. "You have to pay attention, honey" The words cut through his fright, and he looked up at her, tears just starting down his cheeks. Katrina sat besides the now-naked boy, pressing her thigh against his while placing one arm around his shoulders. This was a critical part of Kevin's training: he had to become dependent upon Katrina, to view her as his friend and ally. "I know how terrible this seems to you now. I wish I could stop it or help you get free. But I'm as much a captive as you. I can comfort you, I can help make life better for you, but I can't stop them" He turned towards her and she took advantage of the opportunity to kiss him. He was startled by the soft touch of her lips and it was several seconds before he responded. Her hand 'accidentally' brushed his thigh as she moved a few inches away. She looked at him intently, measuring his response. Sure enough, his pupils had dilated slightly. Good, she thought to herself, he's attracted to me. She stood and, to Kevin's astonishment, began to remove her clothes. "They are trying to make you into a girl, Kevin. I think that maybe I should help you remember that you are a young man" He marveled at her body. He had had sex only a few times before, brief unsatisfactory couplings in which his eagerness and inexperience had resulted in very early orgasm, and little satisfaction for his partner. Katrina was the first 'mature' woman he had seen completely naked and she was far more beautiful than any of his earlier partners. She looked like a movie star! She stood over him and pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him. She kissed him urgently, while stroking his body with her hands. He kissed back, enjoying the feeling and the taste of her lipstick on his mouth. Her tongue surged into his mouth, past yielding lips and she writhed on top of him. Had this happened even three weeks ago, his body would have reacted immediately. But now, with far more female hormones inside of him than male, his penis barely twitched. He was acutely aware not only of his lack of response, but also of the unusual sensations in his nipples. Those sensations exploded when Katrina removed her mouth from his and, twisting her body, suddenly began suckling and nibbling on his breasts. Now his penis became erect, although it was still far from as hard as it used to become. Katrina rolled over, holding him so tightly that he ended up on top of her. She looked up at him, his pupils now fully dilated and his nipples harder than his penis. "Fuck me, Kevin. Show me you're still a man" He tried, but his penis had already begun to deflate and he couldn't achieve penetration. He tried again and again, at one point reaching down to see whether he could manually arouse himself sufficiently. Finally he rolled off, tears of frustration and depression mingling on his cheeks. He buried his face in the bed cover, trying to avoid looking at Katrina. She rolled over to rest on one elbow as she gently stroked his back and whispered in his ear. She told him not to worry. It was probably just the stress. Many boys had the same problem, it didn't mean that he had already become a girl. He raised his tear-stained face towards her. "Is that the truth, Katrina?" he begged. "Yes, honey it is. Besides, I've got a secret I should share with you, if you want" He nodded, his eyes intent on her face. She bent to kiss him once more. "I actually prefer girls, you know. And I think that the best possible girlfriend I could have would be a girl with a penis. I think that's why I was sent to meet you. They thought that I would find you very attractive" She paused, continuing to smile down at him. She saw his body tense as he waited for the rest of the sentence. "And they were right, honey. You really turn me on! We'll work on that little problem (she touched his penis with her left hand) and then we'll have all kinds of fun!" He looked at her in much the same way a man dying of thirst in the desert would look upon a cool glass of water. He had failed as a man, and he was being twisted into something he did not want to be, but Katrina, this beautiful, warm Katrina still liked him, still wanted to spend time with him. After the nightmare of the kidnapping and the even worse, although subjectively much shorter terror of his transfer to this place, he was especially vulnerable to any sign of friendship. He might have found Katrina irresistible anyway, but in these circumstances, the outcome was inevitable. She persuaded him to lie flat on his back and she began to kiss him all over. She started on his face, rapid, light kisses over his closed eyes, his cheeks, and his mouth. She moved down to kiss the soft skin of his throat and the hollows over his now prominent collar-bones. His breasts were her next target, and she spent a long time sucking, licking, teasing and nibbling his new mammaries. They were as sensitive as she had been told to expect and before long his penis was waving almost as hard as if he were still entirely male. She moved further down, licking his stomach and sticking her tongue into his belly button, while continuing to stimulate his breasts with her hands. Then she reached his groin. She took particular care in flicking the tip of her tongue over the top of his penis, and then along the sensitive underside of its head. She opened wide, and took the smooth, warm shaft into her mouth. The organ was short enough that she had no trouble taking it all in, and she used her hands to caress and softly squeeze his balls. The boy began to move his hips in that age-old instinctive rhythm . She moved her head up and down in time to the motion, slowly increasing her frequency as she felt the boy react. She pulled her head away and manually manipulated him as he neared and ten reached orgasm. She pumped furiously, extracting as much semen as she could. There was in fact not very much, due to his high hormone level. She crawled up alongside him and held her white-streaked hand to his mouth. "Taste it, honey" she said. He twisted his head away, but she would not take no for an answer. She made him stick out his tongue and take a small drop of his own semen in his mouth. Satisfied with this first step in his submission, she climbed of the bed and, pulling a kleenex from a box she found in the bedside cabinet, she wiped her hands as clean as she could. Kevin was lying still on the bed. He was looking at her with a numbed expression. His orgasm had made him feel much better, but then she had made him taste his own cum. He was confused by this beautiful woman to whom he was so strongly attracted. She claimed to want to help him, but she evidently liked the fact that he had real breasts and looked in many ways like a woman. He wanted to ask more questions, but Katrina dressed quickly and, after a quick kiss, left the room. He heard the key turn in the lock. Her parting words were to tell him that next time she visited him, she hoped that he was more adequately dressed. "That hospital gown does nothing for you at all, honey" Feeling weak and confused, he nevertheless felt that he should get out of bed. He walked to the window, aware of his nakedness and feeling an irrational urge to cover his breasts. Cautiously peering out, he satisfied himself that no-one could see him. Neither could he see anyone. Three stories down a gravel driveway ran along the side of the red-brick structure. He could see windows on the two floors below, but they seemed closed. Craning his neck, he saw that there was another floor between him and the overhanging eaves. The walls were bare, not even a drainpipe near enough to afford any opportunity of escape. His instinctive dislike of heights made him pull back inside, but not before noting that across the other side of the driveway was an unkempt patch of lawn and a tall wire fence. He thought that it must be electrified, since he saw insulators at each fence post. Beyond the fence was a strip of pare, defoliated land maybe twenty feet wide after which he saw only unbroken forest. He moved towards the armoire, within which he hoped to find clothing other than the hospital gown. He remembered the smell and feel of his filthy clothes at the end of his hostage ordeal, and noted that at least he had been cleaned up. He walked past the mirror on his way to the armoire, and the sight of his reflection drew him like a moth to a flame. He stood once more, this time alone, and inspected his image. His breasts looked, and felt, very real. He was aware of the weight as they pulled on his pectoral muscles. He felt their slight bounce as he walked. He rubbed the nipples wonderingly. Sure enough, they responded, shivers of electricity shooting through him, although with nothing of the intensity evoked by Katrina's expert tongue. He marveled at his waist, and turned to one side to see the fullness of his rounded cheeks. 'It's gonna take a long time to undo this' was his only thought or, more accurately, the only thought he allowed to enter his conscious mind. He tore himself away and opened the armoire. There were several drawers, all full of clothing. The top drawer contained an assortment of panties and bras, in various pastel colors. The material ranged from plain cotton to saucy satin and lace. He pulled several out at random. He had rarely had the opportunity to touch a bra, and then only when it was being worn by a girl with whom he was trying to score. Now, knowing that these were intended to be 'his', he looked at them from a different perspective. It seemed to him that there were several different sizes in the drawer. He decided to try on the smallest. It took him several attempts before he realized the futility of trying to fasten the hooks behind him. His difficulty was accentuated by the fact that his nails were longer than he was accustomed to. Inspection revealed that they were now oval in shape, and the cuticles had been carefully manicured. He triumphed over the bra by fastening the hooks in front and twisting the bra around him afterwards. He felt weird placing his breasts into the cups and then pulling the straps over his shoulders. The bra seemed to fit well, and he could not resist an urge to look at himself in the mirror. Once again, the person who looked back at him was half-woman and half man. The contrast between his breasts, the nipples prominent through lacy upper part of his cups, and his flaccid penis struck a discordant note, which made him turn away in embarrassment. He was almost relieved to pull on a pair of panties. Pushing his penis back between his legs left him with a surprisingly groin and virtually removed all trace of masculinity, as a quick look in the mirror told him. 'In for a penny, in for a pound' he thought as he opened the next drawer. This one was full of slips, camisoles, and teddies, in a profusion of colors. They were all in silk or satin, and most were heavily trimmed with lace. He felt the smooth texture of one slip, and wondered what it would feel like on his body. He held it by the straps, and then stood before the mirror, the slip held in front of him. 'What am I doing?' Revulsion ripped through him and he pushed the slip back into the drawer, heedless of the disarray his urgent gesture caused. He was about to remove his panties as well when the spasm of revulsion passed, leaving him feeling helpless and abandoned. He sat on the bed, his shoulders hunched as more tears cascaded down his face. He sobbed himself dry of tears. By now the sunlight was beginning to fade, and with it, the warmth was seeping from the room. He began to feel cold, and hungry. He stood, looking over at the armoire, knowing yet dreading the need to put on more of that clothing. He saw, to the left of the armoire, a set of closet doors. Perhaps, he thought, my old clothes might be there. But that forlorn hope was dashed when he looked within. The closet was mostly empty, wire hangars dangling from a bare wooden pole. What clothes were on display were dresses in various styles. He knew, without bothering to check, that he would find them to fit him perfectly. Throughout this time Katrina had been observing him by way of a hidden video camera. She had been pleased to see that he had kept his panties and bra on even while discarding the slip. Her employers had told her that the psychologist in charge of the project had thought that it was too close to call. His acceptance of his new attire was an important indicator that the conversion might happen sooner rather than later. She walked back into the room while Kevin was still standing in contemplation of the closet contents. "My, you look pretty!" she said, cheerfully. She took him in her arms and kissed him passionately, rubbing against his breasts. She knew that reinforcement of the pleasurable feelings he derived from his new breasts was an important part of his conditioning. He had to want to feel good about himself, and he had to want to make her desire him. She truly enjoyed this part of her job, since she had been telling Kevin the truth when she said that she preferred girls to boys. She had learned years ago that feminized boys were an especial turn-on. She had been abused in the foster home where she had grown up, and deep within her lay a desire for revenge on all males; a desire that found fulfillment in seeing a male turned into the type of sex object she had been treated as by her abusers. Her employers knew of this characteristic, even though she herself never analyzed her feelings. It was enough that she made good money, and had a job which pleased her in such a subtle way. Kevin felt warm and safe in Katrina's embrace. Her words meant little in themselves; but her obvious liking for him melted any possible resistance. "It's time for dinner. I bet you're starved" He nodded his agreement. "Then let's get you dressed. You can't go out of this room dressed like this!" "But there's nothing for me to wear" "Nonsense. You've got a lot of clothes. Many girls your age have fewer clothes than this. And I know you have a wonderful selection of lingerie" "But I'm a man.. you said so yourself.. " "Honey, I know that. You know that as well, and that's good. But they are going to force you to pretend to be a girl. They have ways, horrible ways, of making you do what they want. I don't want them to hurt you. It's best if you go along with them for now. We will think of something later" He bowed to the inevitable, her obvious sincerity and concern for him persuading him that he had no choice. Katrina's bubbly mood quickly resurfaced as she helped him choose his lingerie. She held up one delicate garment after another, talking cheerfully about how pretty each would look on him. He found it impossible to remain sullen in the face of her behaviour and so it was not long before he was smiling, admittedly with a tentative expression, as he looked into the mirror while she held various garments in front of him. They settled on a short peach-colored silk slip, with black lace around the bodice and hem. He had to admit that it looked pretty as he modeled it before the mirror. Katrina told him that he looked wonderfully edible, and that if they weren't Katrina cautioned him that wearing any strong color of lingerie meant that he had to choose an opaque dress or skirt/blouse combination. She helped him select a black dress similar to the one she had on. She told him that while he would eventually have to wear nylons and maybe a garterbelt, she thought that he could get away without them just now. She helped him on with a pair of black leather shoes, with low heels. Even though the heels were less than two inches in height, he found them awkward. She made him practice by walking around the room. He felt silly, and strangely exposed in his short dress, while wobbling back and forth. She told him to place his weight on the balls of his feet, and to try to place each foot more or less in front of the other as he paced the room. Katrina delighted in watching the youth mince around the room. The combination of his heels and his efforts to walk as she directed lent a very attractive sway to his hips. He looked like a young girl just beginning to explore the world of femininity. When he had made it around the room completely without stumbling and without needing to look down at his feet, she told him that it was time to go to have dinner. He followed her out of the room, his nervousness apparent on his face. She led him down the stairs to a dining room on the second floor. He had to hold onto the banister as he made his way down the stairs, still uncertain of his footing. The small, dark-paneled room into which Kevin was led contained a modest, somewhat battered oak dining table with six mismatched chairs. To one side was an oak buffet standing beneath a window which looked out into the growing dusk. An ancient chandelier, missing several pieces of crystal, cast an uneven light on the table and the two people already seated there. Kevin almost backed out of the room when he saw them. He felt humiliated by the prospect of anyone, other than Katrina, seeing him wearing a dress. Especially, he thought, a man. The young man who looked up at him, with a welcoming smile, was tall, with broad shoulders and close-cropped dirty-blond hair. Muscles bulged from the short sleeves of his casual shirt. He half-stood in greeting. "Hello, Kevin. We're glad you could make it tonight" His English was as fluent as Katrina's although more heavily accented. His companion was a young woman whose head was averted as Kevin entered the room. Her dark hair was pulled back around her head, held in a long ponytail. Wispy tendrils hung down in front of her ears, in the lobes of which gleamed gold earrings. She was wearing a white silk blouse, open at the top to reveal the swell of her breasts and the sparkle of a small diamond suspended from a thin gold necklace. Kevin's instinctive reaction was that she looked very pretty, but that thought froze in his mind as the girl turned her face towards him. He should have expected it, but it came as a shock nevertheless to see his friend John sitting there looking for all the world like an attractive young woman. Kevin saw that John was even wearing a touch of makeup: his lips were painted red and his eyelashes seemed longer and darker than they ought to have been. He was wearing mascara! "Hello Kevin" John's voice was muted, but even so it sounded higher- pitched than Kevin was used to hearing from his friend. It was as if John were trying to speak like a girl! "Hi, John" he replied, hesitatingly. Katrina bustled around, getting him to sit opposite his friend, while she sat facing the young man. "Kevin, I'd like you to met Gregor. He's John's special friend and trainer. Gregor, this is Kevin, but then, you already know that" Gregor had re-seated himself as Kevin smoothed his skirt beneath him as he sat. Gregor patted John on his knee, a motion just visible to Kevin. "You look very pretty, Kevin. Don't you think he looks very pretty, John?" John looked up briefly. Kevin could see the pain in his friend's eyes as he nodded and muttered some response which Kevin couldn't hear. "John, don't be a bad girl. Tell Kevin whether you think he is pretty!" Gregor's tone was light, but Kevin saw the reaction his words evoked in John, whose body tensed, and moved very slightly away form his 'special friend'. All the color drained from his face. John raised his eyes once more and this time in a clear, falsetto voice said: "Kevin, you look very pretty. I'm so glad to see you, dear" Kevin felt his cheeks flush. He wanted to be anywhere but here, seeing anything except his friend's painful capitulation. But Katrina had quietly placed a hand on his thigh and the pressure of her grip warned him that he was a prisoner here, with as little chance of escape as John. The meal was a desultory affair, with neither Kevin nor John speaking unless in response to commands from their companions. Katrina and Gregor kept up a bright but inconsequential conversation through the watery soup, poorly cooked entree and starchy dessert. The two of them had a glass of wine, but the captives were offered nothing but water. Kevin was relieved when the meal was over. Gregor was the first to make a move to leave. He stood and watched as John pushed back his chair. Katrina began to rise and motioned for Kevin to follow suit. Gregor told John to say goodnight, the way he had been taught. Once more John's face turned white, but he turned to face Katrina and Kevin. He lowered his head and bobbed in a brief curtsey while saying, in a faint voice: "Good Night. It was a pleasure to meet you" Kevin saw tears begin to roll down his friend's face before John turned away and hurried out of the room, with a smiling Gregor in close pursuit. Kevin looked at Katrina. "What are they doing to John? What's happening to him?" "Don't worry about John, dear. He's come a long way already. It won't be long before he fully adjusts. This is probably the worst time for him, but by this time next week he'll be feeling much better about himself. Gregor's done this before: he's a really nice man and he knows how to train new girls, like your friend" It was the matter-of-fact calmness in which she spoke that most affected Kevin. "he's not a girl, any more than I am. This is wrong! You said you were my friend! You said that you'd help me!" He felt on the verge of tears. She took him in her arms and, as she knew she had to at all moments like this, she kissed him tenderly. She put her lips next to his ear and whispered. "I am your friend. It's you I care about. I can't help John, and nor can you. At least not yet. Our only hope is to pretend to so-operate: be as enthusiastic as you can, and maybe their security will relax, so that we can do something. But you have to help me, by going along. You have to pretend to want to become a girl: not right away, since that would be too obvious, but soon" She pulled her head back, holding his with hands on either side while her eyes searched his. "Understood?" she asked. He nodded, a small motion of his head. "I guess so" She led him back to his room. The drugs in his dessert were already taking hold, and he felt tired. She encountered little resistance as she helped him out of his clothes, monitoring him as he hung up his dress and placed his lingerie in a laundry hamper in one corner of the room. He acquiesced in her choosing of a silk nightgown, which he donned without protest. She waited until he was lying in bed before kissing him on the lips and wishing him pleasant dreams. He woke the next morning, feeling rested. The lay in silence enjoying the morning sunlight flooding into the room, adding a lightness to the air. Then the memories returned and he had to fight back tears. He remembered Katrina's whispered advice and he wondered whether he could pull it off convincingly. He thought about getting dressed, maybe selecting something pretty to wear, but he felt that maybe he should wait until he had had a chance to shower and brush his teeth. No sooner had he thought that than the door opened and Katrina entered. "Ready for your new day?" she asked. "Yes, but can I have a shower first?" "Of course, honey. Come with me" He tried to ignore the sensation of silk sliding over his bare skin as he walked. A reproving comment from Katrina made him begin walking with a sway to his hips. She had told him that he was walking like a boy, and it was clear that that was an error on his part. She led him in the opposite direction from the stairs, to a doorway immediately down the hallway from his room. He could hear the sound of water running inside, and hesitated before the closed door. He turned a questioning look to Katrina. "Don't worry, it's only John. This may be a good time to have a chat with him. Remember, don't be shocked by anything he tells you. You are going different paths, and you cannot help him yet" Chastened by these words, Kevin reluctantly opened the bathroom door. John was still in the shower, but Kevin heard the sound of the water being turned off. He was leery of being seen by John while wearing his silk nightgown, but then he saw what had to be John's clothing hanging from a peg on the white-tiled wall. It was a beautiful pale blue gown, with off-white lace trim, although Kevin could not make out its exact appearance as it hung softly from the peg. His attention was distracted by the sound of the shower door opening. He turned just in time to see his friend step out of the enclosure, his head down as he ran his hands through his hair, squeezing excess moisture from it. John looked up and the two boys simultaneously let out gasps of surprise. John was evidently shocked to see Kevin in the room, while Kevin's surprise was more at the way his friend looked so much like a girl. Kevin knew that he should have expected this, since he himself now more closely resembled a girl than a man, but the reality was something for which he could not have prepared. The most striking aspect of John's appearance was his figure. His skin was flushed pink from the heat of the water, but it was apparent that it was soft and smooth. His collarbones were clearly visible, while below them his magnificent breasts rose and fell in time with his anxious breath. His nipples stood out from his dusky-brown aureoles, small rosebuds on his delectable mounds. He had a narrow waist, which served to make his hips, slim as they were, wide enough to complete the illusion of his new gender. Only his genitals spoiled the image, and there too his pubic hair had been shaved into a feminine triangle. John reached blindly for a towel and started to cover himself. He could not decide whether to hide his breasts or his groin, and ended up concealing neither. "John, don't worry. It's only me!" "Oh Kevin, I'm so ashamed. What have they done to us?" Kevin ran to his friend and took him in his arms, heedless of the moisture which dampened his gown and made the silk cling tightly to his body. He felt the warmth of John's body and his desperate trembling as John lowered his face onto Kevin's shoulder. Sobs racked John's body as the two boys clung together. At last John's sobbing receded and the tow stood facing each other, their hands on each other's shoulders, their faces close together. "I know it's awful, John. But we have to hang in there. Katrina's going to help us get away. We'll be boys again" "You don't understand. Gregor's not like Katrina. I've been under training longer than you. You had complications, so they kept you under for several days after they woke me. It's too late for me" "Don't worry. It can't be too late.." "Has Katrina had sex with you?" Kevin nodded, an awful feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as he realized what John must be leading up to with that question. "Well, Gregor and I have had sex as well" John looked almost defiant as he said this, although Kevin could see his lower lip tremble. "I can't tell you about it, other than to say that he's made me do things that disgust me. Sick, perverted things, while all the time telling me how much he likes me, how much he wants to help me" "John, that's not you. It doesn't matter if they force you to do things. It doesn't mean you're a pervert. As soon as we get out of here you can forget all about it" John removed his hands from Kevin's shoulder and moved away. Kevin stood helplessly as his friend finished toweling dry. Neither spoke, although Kevin sensed that he should wait for his friend to respond. John took his nightgown from the peg on which it hung and pulled it over his head. He adjusted the gown carefully. He then wrapped his long hair in a towel, turban style and walked towards the door. He pulled it open and, partway out, turned to Kevin with a small smile. "The worst of it is, Kevin, that I like what he's doing to me!" The door closed and Kevin was left alone, feeling a terrible hopelessness fill him. He showered without thinking and dried himself off in the same careless manner. Katrina was waiting for him outside the bathroom. She must have sensed his mood, since she wordlessly embraced him and led him back to his bedroom. Once there, she kept up a cheerful babble while helping him get dressed. She made him choose articles of clothing, while commenting on his choices and asking questions about why he had made his selection. "Remember, you must be color-co-ordinated. You must know what you are going to wear on the outside before you choose your lingerie. You would be silly to wear black silk underwear and then a white blouse! You would be just as silly to choose a pretty slip and then try on a pair of jeans. A girl has to think carefully about the image she wishes to project. Kevin knew that Katrina was only carrying out the plan which she had suggested to him, and he knew that he had to look and sound as if he were succumbing to the changes wrought in him, but it took a real effort to play along. Nevertheless, he smiled as often as he could. He even asked for help on whether he should try on a garter-belt. "Honey, you should save those for special occasions. There's nothing sexier than a pretty girl in nylons, garterbelt and heels. You'll see! And when you do, you'll find that sex is even more fun than it is other times. In fact, if you're a good girl today, maybe we'll let you try them tonight!" Kevin eventually settled on a matching panty and bra set in plain white silk, with a short white slip and a simple yellow dress. He chose, with Katrina's nod of approval, a pair of yellow shoes with a three inch heel. "They are a bit much for ordinary wear, but we have to get you used to wearing heels, and you'll be wearing much higher ones by the time we're finished" Kevin sat on the side of the bed while Katrina brushed his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, which she tied with a yellow ribbon. She made Kevin look at himself in the mirror, and once more Kevin was astounded at his appearance. He seemed to be the very ideal of a pretty young girl, new to womanhood, and still at an age where her femininity was an unexplored territory. "You look really pretty, honey. But there's something missing. Can you tell me what that is?" He looked closely, turning so that he could inspect his profile. He straightened up, holding his shoulders back, which had the effect of emphasizing his bosom. "Not that, sweetheart!" Katrina chortled. "Look at your face" He did so, but couldn't think of anything that might be wrong. "Makeup" That one word broke the dam which had been building ever since his encounter with John earlier. Makeup! He was supposed to want to wear makeup. Katrina smiled inwardly while outwardly making a show of fussing over him and whispering in his ear that this was all pretend; that he had to go along with her for now. "Wait" she told him. Of course, all of this was planned, right down to the trigger word, which had been implanted, along with others, during Kevin's unconsciousness. The plan was to shock him periodically and then allow a brief period of recovery before demolishing whatever facade he had been able to construct. With repeated confrontations with his new image, his internal picture of who and what he was would soon crumble, to be rebuilt in accordance with their wishes. John was already well along the path, and Kevin had no possible escape. Reshaping boys like Kevin made Katrina feel good inside. She resented rich Americans, with their innate feelings of superiority. This resentment was based only on media impressions; she like most Russians had little knowledge of how Americans really lived. Her prejudiced outlook was combined with a dislike of macho males and a strong attraction to feminized boys, which had only come to surface after she had begun her employment here. Of course, her employers had detected this trait when they had had her psychoanalyzed when looking for potential trainers of their new recruits. Katrina led the unprotesting boy to her room, on the top floor of the building. She lived in a suite, which had its own bathroom. She spent the next two hours giving him instruction in the use of cosmetics. Kevin learned that how one applied makeup depended on the time of day and his plans for the next while. "If you are just spending the day at home, or maybe going shopping, you'll want to use only a little makeup. A girl may feel naked without a touch of lipstick, especially since you have such beautiful lips, honey" "If you have a romantic evening planned, with candlelight and soft music, then you should choose more dramatic makeup: lots of eyeshadow, mascara, blush and a sexy color for your lips." He tried different combinations, making a complete mess of his eyes several times. Applying mascara was particularly difficult, with speckles of black under his eyes requiring patient removal and repeated practice. He learned to lean towards the mirror, his mouth open while he focused on keeping his hand steady. He actually felt a thrill of success when Katrina praised his last effort. He had been so wrapped up in the process that he had not internalized how he looked, until he sat back, the mascara brush in one hand. Katrina was standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder. He stared in the mirror, feeling a twisting sensation in his stomach. He was truly beautiful! He had created this gorgeous creature himself! His eyes were huge, dominating his face. Pale blue eyeshadow on his lids darkened by subtle degrees as one looked outwards. High cheekbones added an aura of sexuality compounded by his wide, generous lips. Blush artfully applied to his cheeks made him appear flushed with sexual desire. His face contrasted strangely with his casual dress and hair. He felt as if he should be wearing an evening gown, perhaps with a tiara in his hair, pearls around his throat and earrings dangling from his ears. he felt a need unlike any he had experienced in his sho