The Point Of No Return free porn video

The Point of No Return By Callie Messenger I read and re-read the advert every day for a fortnight before replying. SWM seeks same, 18-30, submissive, to train/transform into the woman of your dreams. On the fifteenth day I replied. It was a Thursday. There was nothing special about that day. There had been nothing special about any day for quite some time now. I worked, I got home, I watched TV, I slept. On weekends I drank. Sometimes I met people. I had few friends - had had few friends since my fiance died. There were many reasons for choosing a new life, just no reasons particular to that Thursday. I asked for more information. Quietly. "I've seen your ad. What are your expectations and intentions?" I hoped the reply would be a joke. I hoped it would exclude me. I hoped there would be no reply. So when there was, I was afraid to read it. Nervous, at least. "You have a dream," it began, "of becoming a beautiful woman. I have the desire, the will, the time and the money to make that dream come true. "You should be TV, perhaps TG to some degree. Gay, bisexual, or at least willing to try. You will live with me full time. I will train you, and you will study to become a woman. You will consent to required alterations, which will be discussed. "You should have no ties. I will provide for you, care for you and nurture you. You will not need for anything. "If you wish to meet, I will describe myself and I will meet you in a place of your choosing." The email was signed simply 'Bill'. I read and re-read it but could find nothing that wasn't plainly stated. This 'Bill' wanted to transform a man into a woman. I, with a little reservation, wanted to be transformed. I replied immediately. We met at a bar in Victoria station. He approached after I caught his eye and asked if I would like another drink, introducing himself as a by-the-way. We found a pillar and stood, quietly becoming acquainted. Anthony, and not 'Bill', was a few years older than me, looking around 35. He was a few inches taller, probably six feet, and similarly built. His blond hair was simply styled, as were his casual clothes, a YSL polo shirt and Armani Jeans. The women in the bar glanced at him. A few of them had glanced at me, and I had been tempted to jilt Anthony for a night on the town and a train home. Anthony was a nice guy, though. We talked through a couple of pints, and agreed that if all went well we should meet in the same bar in a week's time. All that had to go well was the cutting of my ties. I was concerned for my flat and a few of my possessions. I was quickly able to hand my flat over to a management agency, along with the details of a new bank account for rental payments and maintenaoce costs. My furniture was quickly sold or junked. I filled a rucksack with what I thought I might require of my clothes, and the rest went to charity. The week passed. I had my rucksack and money in my pocket. I had called my brother to tell him that I was travelling the world. I figured I could get somewhere if Anthony didn't turn up. I expected him to, and he did. We had a couple, and then we took a taxi back to his flat in Euston. We began to talk about what we were about to begin. I told him that I wasn't gay, though I never excluded the possibility of feelings toward a man as I imagined my feelings to be based on aesthetics. I could certainly imagine sex with a good-looking shemale, so genitalia weren't the problem. Anthony concurred, explaining that while he was bisexual, he preferred the female aesthetic. I attempted to put into words my desires concerning becoming a woman - I wanted to flip, literally, from being a man to being a convincing woman, so that there would be no potential embarrassment involved. Anthony was adamant that not only did he want me to be a convincing woman, he wanted me to be beautiful, and entirely feminine. He explained that whilst he had met many beautiful women, he had never met one who matched his ideal in personality or traits, and none who would submit to his wishes for change. He had met transsexuals who did match his requirements, but who were often under-feminine, or over-sexed, or just plain masculine. He decided he needed a blank canvas. To start with I would remain outwardly masculine. I would begin on hormones. There was an exercise bike in my room, with a plan that Anthony had set up, along with a diet. Inside the flat, alone or just with Anthony, I was to wear female clothes that Anthony would provide - I wouldn't have to open the door to anyone. Outside I would wear female underwear. Whilst in the flat I would keep-house for Anthony and myself. This was to include breakfast and dinner. I was to study and practise feminine speech with a course that Anthony had downloaded from the Internet onto his PC. (I was permitted to use a few restricted sites on the Internet for study purposes.) I was to study and practise make-up, though we agreed that that could begin after successful electrolysis of my facial hair. I was to study fashion and hairstyles. Finally, to cover any periods of boredom that would inevitably arise, Anthony and I agreed that I should practise secretarial and accounting skills, in order that I should have skills to complete the person I was to become. Perhaps I should fill in a little about myself. I was born John Jackson Parks in August of 1973, making me 26 years old. My parents both worked, so I spent a lot of my childhood with my aunt and older cousin. When my cousin, Liz, started spending days in the holidays with boyfriends I was left on my own in the house, with her magazines, clothes and makeup. Finally I discovered girls other than my cousin, and began enjoying their company, until in university I met Fiona, to whom I later proposed. For a time, whilst living with Fi, I was out of work, and rediscovered the thrills of illicit cross-dressing. I never did quite have the strength to bring it into our sex lives, let alone further, and then Fi was taken from me. I think that I replied to Anthony in order that my fantasies would be thrust into the open. After I while I would see them fulfilled and return to normality. First came the fulfilment. On the first day my alarm went off at seven. By seven thirty Anthony came into the kitchen to eat his breakfast. He was already showered and dressed while I was wearing a pink silk robe over my boxers. He commented on my apparel, explaining that there were some night-dresses and night-shirts, baseball style, in my underwear drawer. He reminded me that I was to go to register with the local GP today, and get an appointment. By eight he was on his way, and I was left with the dishes and a list of chores. By arriving at the GP's at nine I was able to get an immediate appointment. I steeled myself, and, as coached by Anthony, explained that I wanted a sex change. The doctor, a man of about Anthony's age, simply stated that he would talk with a colleague of his, and the result would probably be another appointment in the near future, perhaps with a psychologist. I left the clinic feeling like I'd just performed open-heart surgery on myself, and survived. That was really the hard part over. Anthony returned at about six-thirty. I met him at the door wearing jeans and a sweater, which covered a small, stuffed bra. He kissed me on the cheek as he came in, which shocked me, and I didn't know how to respond. However he just charged straight into the kitchen, where dinner was being prepared. He didn't agree with the jeans either, wanting me in dresses and skirts until I could fit into women's jeans. I acceded to the request. I wondered about why I didn't feel self-conscious wearing women's clothes around Anthony, until I realised that I was doing it because of him, and not despite him. There was nothing illicit about what I was doing, and therefore no embarrassment upon being 'caught'. As I was otherwise alone in the flat, and would not open the door to anyone, I couldn't be caught, and felt my inhibitions dissipating. During the first week a number of packages were delivered to the lobby. Anthony would bring them up and flourish them with a smile. They were mostly for me, and included boxes of pills and creams from various suppliers, clothing, shoes, makeup, books, magazines, cassettes and various other items. Only twice, I think, did a package arrive that was for Anthony alone. I got to play with a home electrolysis kit - I took two days to do my chest and stomach, whilst Anthony spent our first Saturday morning together removing any hairs from my back. He did my backside too, stopping the once to stroke it with his hand. I tensed, more than I was anyway with my backside presented to a guy, but he didn't do anything else. Why not?! And why was I thinking that he should? A hair removal cream dealt with my legs and arms. My face we were leaving to a professional. Anthony had managed to arrange a series of appointments for that in the future. He wanted to wait for the hormones to have a chance to work on me first. Officially, we were waiting on my female hormones to be prescribed by a doctor. Unofficially I had just started using some German pills, a chest cream, which I couldn't believe would have any effect, and a herbal soy extract, which I had to take handfuls of. I began to wear an elasticated corset under my clothes, which I tightened during my exercise. I also began to wear breastforms, instead of stuffing my bras with socks. Even in only the second week, from the neck down I was beginning to look like a woman. If I shaved well and took time over my hair and my makeup, I could possibly pass for female at first sight. Anthony began to build a list of required improvements immediately. My nose was way too big, as I had broken it as a child; my eyes were be a little small, perhaps because of the nose; my hair needed to grow and then we would decide colour; my ears needed a little pulling back due to their size, or large earrings; finally my lips, though large enough, in Anthony's opinion needed shaping. I disagreed with the last and argued that makeup could reshape them, and if not we should wait to see what happened after rhinoplasty. The nose job I actually wanted to see the results of, as I had been aware of the shape of my nose since it was broken, and had always wanted to have enough money to reshape it. In the second week Anthony brought up a letter from the clinic. I was to see a therapist in three weeks time. The delay irritated Anthony, who seemed to think that everything should be progressing so much faster. After a brief discussion he invited me out to the pub for a drink. After a quick wash and change I met him at the door. We discussed the pace of progress over the first pint. I warned him that even after hormones were prescribed, there would probably be no major visible physical changes for months. During those months I would have to practice hard to get my voice trained and to make physical responses more feminine, both of which I suggested would take a long time learning from books. When Anthony returned from the bar with the second round, he had a light in his eyes. He told me that he would find someone to help me learn more quickly. I couldn't really see how anyone could be found that would help me to learn more quickly than the therapist might. On his third pint, by which time I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol free weeks and the diet, he further suggested that my attitude could do with a little adjustment. I wasn't being positive enough about the transformation process and thus really not trying to help it along. I was doing as much as I could, but my argument was met by uncharacteristic disapproval from Anthony. I could see that my case wasn't getting far. As a result of that evening I received a postal invitation to a meeting with a certain Miss Penelope. This was during the third week, at the start of which Anthony had introduced me to a collection of self- motivational hypnosis tapes - that was one set, the other was designed to induce bust growth. Those I mentally filed in the cabinet containing the herbal pills, according to their usefulness. However, waste not, want not, and I tried them out according to the constantly revised schedule. Also, I have to admit to a sneaking desire to be hypnotised, so at some level I wanted them to work. I didn't have a sneaking desire to meet anyone called Miss Penelope. Too much schoolteacher was inherent in that title. Of course I went along, on the Thursday morning, catching a cab to a small flat ten minutes away from mine. I dressed normally, though I admit to a touch of apprehension about stepping out in daylight, as though I might still have a trace of makeup on which someone might spot. The flat was small, with an interior that suggested that Miss Penelope might be a prostitute. After all, I didn't know the purpose of this exercise, except that Anthony had dealt with everything and I just needed to do whatever was required of me. She sat me down at a table and looked me over. She was older than I, though by an unknown amount. I placed her in her early thirties. Straight black hair was tied back from her face, which though pretty, was not striking - apart from her lips, which were both full and red, and very attractive. She was wearing a simple black dress, and knee high boots with heels. She already knew about me from Anthony, so she told me about herself. She had taken up prostitution at the recommendation of a friend whilst looking for funding for her degree, which she completed. However she was earning so much that she didn't look for work in Sociology, or anything else, instead turning to prostitution full time and ultimately turning her talents to the BDSM scene. She was now a professional mistress, MBA qualified, with various other certificates and diplomas in psychology, therapy and counselling that she had determined helped her in her role, and also stated her intellectual prowess. Her job was to rapidly feminise me, to which end she would be using emasculation and sissification techniques, involving standard femdom practices, NLP and hypnosis. My job was to do as I was told. I was actually beginning to think that with this woman, that wouldn't be such a bad idea. She just came across as someone you listened to, worldly and knowledgeable, with a very slight air of menace that suggested you ignored her at your peril. We spent the rest of the morning discussing what progress I was making, while she took notes and made comments. Approaching lunchtime the menace had disappeared, especially with Miss Penelope being so complimentary on my efforts to date. At this point she took me to the sofa where she sat at the other end and told me that she was going to gauge the depth of my susceptibility to hypnosis. Four or five minutes later I was no nearer to discovering what it felt like to be placed in a trance, having up to that point complied with her requests lucidly. I didn't particularly want to respond to her questions, but that was just because I had become so relaxed that I didn't particularly want to respond to anything. At her insistence, however, and remembering that I really didn't want to ignore or upset her, and also recalling that I had agreed to do as I was told, I answered. The questions were only covering much of what we had previously talked about anyway. Then she stopped asking questions and just started talking for a while. Then I lost her. The next thing I remember was her calling my name loudly. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. She explained that I must have fallen asleep as she thought I was in a trance but I didn't wake when she asked. It was a reasonably common occurrence under hypnosis, due to the incredibly relaxed state induced. She surmised that I was probably an excellent subject for hypnosis, as long as she could maintain the trance without allowing me to over-relax. She promised to work on it, and I promised to pay attention to female role models on TV and to mimic their styles and actions as proposed by the most basic tenets of NLP. On the weekend Anthony did compliment me numerous times on my renewed efforts to act the part I was trying to become. I watched TV and selected videos, and tried to spot the tiniest differences in action, bearing and voice that set women apart from men. Any differences spotted I practised in an exaggerated fashion over and over, running through them in my head when practise was difficult. An example of that was running, so Anthony purchased me a treadmill for both walking and running. I copied women talking, I put on wigs so that I could flick my hair, I pursed my lips and pouted, I crossed my legs, brushed out my skirts, and clasped my hands together. I didn't complain that most of the role models that I could see were perfectly coiffed daytime chat queens and Baywatch babes. By the time I returned to Miss Penelope the next week many of my practised motions must have been becoming natural. We started off with a chat about how I had been getting on, and then she sat me down on the couch and began to relax me. This time she had me count backwards from a three hundred, in threes, whilst I could hear her talking me through the relaxation process, which I couldn't concentrate on so it faded into the background. As I approached zero I began to feel everything fading out and put all my concentration into the countdown. Suddenly, as I reached zero, everything clicked back into focus, and I roused with a start. Miss Penelope was looking very happy and congratulated both herself and me on finding a workable method so soon. She assured me that I had been under for a while, and that she had been able to progress quite a few plans with me. Now it was time to gently test them. Out of a cupboard came a maid's uniform, complete with cap and pinny. She helped me to swap my elasticated corset for a boned one, which she tied at the back, and helped me to put on my dress. It was the first time I had worn stockings, usually going barelegged, so it was an awkward first effort at rolling the nylons up my shaven legs and clipping them to the suspenders hanging from the corset. The heels she gave me were very high, almost pitching me forward onto my face when I stood up in them. I was forced onto tiptoes, and could only trust myself to the smallest of steps if I didn't want to turn an ankle. Even so, I began to busy myself about the apartment as instructed, starting with dusting and polishing, through making the beds and onto cleaning the dishes and sorting the laundry. At any time I could not find a job to do I would return to Miss Penelope for instructions. Finally there were no more requirements, and I was instructed to change into my normal clothing. As I returned in my masculine attire Miss Penelope asked if I could get the polish out again for the table, but I replied that I really should be going, to which she smiled, and ushered me out. I was beginning to enjoy my daytime wardrobe, especially as Anthony and I were beginning to see the need for smaller sizing. On the Saturday, ending that fourth week, I weighed myself and discovered that I had lost just less than eight pounds. I was now just over eleven stones. Anthony wanted me to aim for ten, which I had believed to be a little low, given that I hadn't had that much fat on me to begin with. I was beginning to look a little scrawny, but only in men's clothing. Women's clothing was beginning to take shape on me with the reduction in my waistline. My hair had grown in a month, but not long enough to style. I continued wearing wigs. I also began wearing stockings and heels more often. My legs were looking very good. As an average height male, at about five foot nine inches, I was a tall woman. In heels I could almost look Anthony in the eye, and my legs looked incredible. The whole idea was really growing on me now that I could see the results. In the beginning it had been hard to diet, except that Anthony had restocked the flat with health and diet foods, and fruit was the only snack available. It had been hard to practise everything, with boredom setting in often, but now I was diligently practising. I appeared to have a study head on all day, and progress was quickening. This was reinforced by Anthony noticing every tiny improvement and complimenting me upon it, which made me feel great. I wasn't always feeling great though, sometimes having bouts of despondency when I too thought like Anthony and wanted to get everything over with as quickly as possible. When I looked back now, I realised that I had begun to treat this as having the end product of becoming a woman, rather than an exercise in living as a woman for a while. Were the cheap hormones I was taking having this effect? According to the literature they could, and it was advised to take time over every decision. It was so weird that I wanted to rush everything when only a couple of weeks ago I was warning Anthony that everything would take time. Was I enjoying this too much? The rest of the weekend was spent watching videos, and on the Saturday night we went out to a club. I enjoyed that night, but got drunk very quickly, and didn't feel the urge to meet anyone, instead chatting with Anthony all night. I don't recall covering much of consequence, though Anthony did ask for details on how things were with Miss Penelope. I also noted that he treated me differently as a man than as a woman. We were much friendlier. I think we were more equal. At home, as a woman, he treated me much less as an equal, if at all, though I suppose that treatment was part of the deal. Also when I was dressed, other things began to stick out about the way he treated me, as though he was considering something. I got the same thoughtful look once that night, and when I asked him what was up he responded that I had sounded just like a woman when I had answered his question. On the Wednesday I travelled across town for my appointment with the therapist. Once again, as at the doctor's a few weeks ago, I was nervous and had to steel myself to go in. I was very surprised when the first words following the introductions were congratulations from Tracey, the therapist. Apparently three weeks is long enough for many prospective sex-changers to have a change of heart. A cursory physical examination came first, to determine height and weight, and a medical questionnaire followed. After some very brief questions about my sexuality Tracey made me out a prescription for hormone treatment. I questioned the brevity of the encounter and was told by Tracey that any effects at this stage were reversible, and that she would monitor both my physical and mental states regularly to see how I was progressing. She also could see little point in withholding proper treatment, as she could see from my physical that I was already treating myself with hormones, and she advised me to stop doing so. This was the first time that any physical difference had been clear to anyone, including myself. As soon as I got home I changed, and examined my bare chest. They weren't visible, but just under my nipples were small squishy lumps, easily detectable over the harder muscle that still covered my ribs. I felt a moment of euphoria, followed immediately by a strong sense of doubt and fear. I was physically changing my body, with little control. Why couldn't it just happen overnight? Why just this tiny amount, unnoticeable from day to day? Then I wouldn't have this fear, it would just be done. Miss Penelope agreed, when I spoke to her the next day. Now that there was progress, she said, perhaps I should just leap in and have implants. I didn't disagree, but it crossed my mind that implants were not a reversible effect of hormones. It also crossed my mind that I was agreeing to be hypnotised by this woman, and I shouldn't give her ideas about my indecision over implants. When I roused this time, I was given a nurse's uniform, and spent the morning caring for Miss Penelope, and catering for her every need. Again I washed, laundered and ironed, but also I made beds, fluffed pillows, made tea and retrieved anything that was asked for. I liked the nurse's uniform. The shoes were comfortable, and the tights were thick and warm. I did think that the breastforms used were a little small though. Matrons tended to fill out their uniforms in that area, and I didn't. The following week I was dressed up as a schoolgirl. Miss Penelope taught me elocution, and if I got anything wrong I had to write out my name, Victoria, one hundred times, with hearts dotting the i's. I spent the whole morning daydreaming about how I would impress the boys when I grew bosoms, and what I would show them off in. Anthony queried me about names that weekend. He hadn't really addressed me when I was en femme, and was beginning to feel it was becoming difficult to converse without a name to use. I mentioned that Victoria had been a nice choice, and I felt good with it. He was incredibly happy, exclaiming that it was exactly what he had wanted. He spent the Friday evening beginning every sentence with it. On Saturday I went for professional electrolysis. Of course, I had had to grow my beard out a little during the week, but we had a miracle beard cover for these times. It didn't take long to grow though, probably due to me shaving at least twice a day most days. The electrolysis was very painful, mostly caused by the operator pinching most of my face with her tweezers. At the end of the session I left with a very smooth, very red and swollen face, not looking forward to anything growing back. By Monday the swelling had subsided, and in the evening Anthony took another contemplative look at me and went through his list of improvements. There was a passion about the way he went about it, as though things were going well. He felt my chest for the growing lumps, and smiled with satisfaction. Following the inspection he told me that he had booked us into a Harley Street clinic for an appraisal in a couple of weeks time, where we would hopefully finalise facial features. By Thursday some of the hairs on my face were growing back. Some were finer, some were just as coarse, covering my chin and cheeks in patches. I resigned myself to shaving again, and booked another appointment with the beautician for the Saturday week. At Miss Penelope's I asked if she could answer a question concerning my treatment with her. She agreed to following the initial hypnosis session. Then, however, she first dressed me in a cheerleader's uniform, complete with ankle socks and pom-poms, topped off with a blonde wig, before answering my question. While she guided me through a stretching routine she explained that, obviously contrary to my expectations, she was guiding me gently into submission rather than bludgeoning me. She understood from our first meeting that I wasn't actively submissive, and would probably rebel against, or at least not endure, traditional domination methods. So instead she had played on my desire for hypnosis and basically persuaded me to be submissive where the situation suggested it. She hoped that as I practised submission I would come to trust myself in submissive situations, and that with practise it would become as natural as anything else I was presently practising. Then she asked me how I thought I would define myself at present. I replied that I should be very beautiful, taking good care of myself so that I could present myself to my best, and that my beauty and grace were to be used to excite people and direct their support to the team. Also, I was to directly support the team myself, to the best of my ability. I performed a few moves, as instructed by Miss Penelope, and then she asked me to change into a blouse and skirt outfit, changing my socks and pumps for tights and heels. She gave me a pair of glasses, sat me at a desk with a shorthand notepad, and gave me a nail file to tidy up my nails. My shorthand was coming along, so she had me take down a few notes for her. Then she asked me again to define my role. I answered that I was there to support her in her role, to take away the minutiae of her job and to leave her to deal with the major decisions. I needed to respond to her requests, pre-empt needs where possible, and to present a welcoming front to visitors, colleagues and herself. She asked me to change into my own clothes, and then asked if she had answered my question. I thought back and could see that there were connections between the roles I played with her. All were supportive, mostly of an authority figure. All performed tasks for that figure, mostly required, but often tending to empathically fulfil needs. All had to present themselves well, and femininely. Miss Penelope had shown me roles within which I could practise the major precepts of femininity. I asked her about sissification and emasculation. She replied that sissification was an exercise to be performed on sissies. I was not a sissy because her process of emasculation had given me transgendered qualities. That process was performed with my consent when I submitted to hypnotism. She had so far enjoyed her domination of me through both the hypnotism and being the authority figure in the role-plays. I hadn't even noticed the domination, being so caught up in the roles. Now I could see the manipulation and realised that its effects were shaping my acceptance of Anthony's scheme. I was losing control over my desires. Miss Penelope roused me from my reverie by asking me to put on my schoolgirl uniform for the last hour. I apologised and excused myself, but before I could leave Miss Penelope mentioned that I should at least take the uniform with me, in case I wanted to wear it at home whilst visualising my breasts growing. I took the uniform out of the cupboard and couldn't get out of my mind the picture of boys' faces when they realised I was wearing a bra. I slipped on the uniform and went to sit at my desk for Miss Penelope. I wore the uniform home, with Miss Penelope herself driving me back to the flat. I ran up to my room and took off my blouse to check on progress. The lumps were larger, and my nipples were being pushed forward from my chest, on the apexes of squat little cones. I knew that soon I would need a training bra, and resolved to ask Anthony if he could get me one. That weekend Anthony invited me out again. He asked if I wanted to step out en femme, but after studious application of make-up and a long search through my clothes for the right outfit I decided against it. I still didn't feel confident in the way I looked, especially knowing that certain parts of my shape were plastic and padding. I reluctantly put on jeans and a shirt and we stepped out to the pub. We went to a bar in the West End. It was full of young tourists, rich students and few locals. The girls looked fantastic. I was especially envious of those with tight tops or dresses showing off their ample chests. I saw a few that I felt that I could chat to after a few drinks, but I somehow felt that they would find out that I was living a lie. I felt conscious of people being able to perceive that I wasn't who I was purporting to be. They couldn't know, of course, but I wasn't a man, I just looked like one. I couldn't chat up a woman, because I wouldn't want to be with her, I would want to be her. Was I really not a man any more? Anthony talked away through my first couple of drinks about his week, and then I suddenly felt that I couldn't be there anymore. I wanted to get back to the flat, where I could dress up and act up. I asked Anthony to take me home. Back at the flat he asked me what was up. I explained how I was feeling, especially that I couldn't yet go out as a woman and it was frustrating. I agreed with him entirely when he suggested that we should take the process forward as quickly as we possibly could. All the next week, including the Thursday spent at Miss Penelope's, I wore my uniform during school hours. Somehow it seemed right to study in it, and it promoted the belief that underneath the blouse my boobs were growing. Anthony took to calling me Vicky if I was still in it when he arrived home, which I thought was cute. On the Saturday I climbed back into trousers for my second visit to the beautician. Again by Monday the swelling from the electrolysis had gone down. There had been a lot less of it this time. On Tuesday Anthony took the afternoon off and we went down to Harley Street for an appointment at a surgery that performed cosmetic operations. There they were using the latest in digital imaging for consultation, a process that had been used on the continent for a couple of years but was new here. For ten minutes I was photographed form every conceivable angle, initially facially, but then Anthony suggested whole body too. Then my face was shown on the computer screen and we ran through a number of suggestions for alteration with the consultant. Anthony had already told him of our ultimate plan, and so initial androgynous looks were rejected and with my consent we moved on to dramatic alterations. With the consultant having a free hand I was stunned with the way I could be made to look. Neither Anthony nor I could follow the details of how the surgery would be performed, but we had a wealth of options to choose from. Anthony wanted to compare blonde and brunette hair as well, not that the surgeon could give me permanent blonde hair but I guess we could keep it dyed. The consultant preferred to style in accordance with my natural colour, however, and Anthony eventually concurred. With blonde locks framing the face the look chosen tended to the youthful and cute. The consultant was concerned that I wasn't youthful, at least not for much longer, and that the alterations would be too drastic. With the effect of female hormones weakening the bone structure he proposed that it would not be wise to alter that structure too much by removal. We finally settled on a face that simply looked beautiful. The male features were turned into strong female features by emphasising the parts that could more easily be transformed, which were the nose, lips, eyes and ears. The chin would be slightly thinned. There were various areas where the skin would be tightened around the jaw and neck. Below the neck the alterations were more general. I agreed to small breast implants at this stage, and liposculpture should it be required at the time of operation. The finished product looked mature in the face, but slightly juvenile in the body. However, there were many months of hormonal development ahead of me yet. Anthony brought up literature that had arrived from the clinic on the Thursday evening. I had spent the day studying under Miss Penelope again. When he arrived I had just come off the bike and out of the shower, so he waited for me to dress before we sat at the table and looked through the documents. The first item of interest that caught my eye was partway through the accompanying letter from the consultant. The total cost appeared to be almost as much as my flat was worth. I looked up at Anthony and he was just nodding as though it was what he expected. It really hit me how little I knew this man. I asked him how he could afford such a sum. He replied by saying that he was simply quite wealthy. In response to my question of how I don't think he really wanted to answer, but he informed me that he owned a number of properties, had invested successfully in a couple of companies, and generally spent his inheritance carefully, luckily and well. His inheritance had been, it turned out, a mansion, a couple of farms, townhouses in the city, land and a number of large debts. The mansion was now par t of a major hotel chain, and American director of which had purchased his title. The land had been sold to developers. The farms had been let out to real farmers and the townhouses had been turned into flats. The debts were gone. There were now in their places major shareholdings in the hotel firm and a number of other companies, one or two of whom had done quite well. Anthony was a non-executive board member of two of them. He spent his days at an office in another of his buildings from which he ran his properties. Renting out flats in London made him a lot of money, especially with no mortgages to pay originally, though he had bought new properties in the last couple of years. There were more questions that rose into my mind. Why this, why me, and was I worth it? To the former I already had the answers. He had to mould his own dream girl. The second I also knew, and that was because I agreed to it, though I hadn't known that he had met others, and that one prospect had started on the program but had left. Was I worth it? He was enjoying the project, though he had expected much faster results. He appreciated the effort I was putting in, but there was a sticking point, and that was over our relationship. He wasn't sure how I would come to be with him in the way he required. If I did, then it would be worth it. I thought about it, and realised that all the looks, some patches of tension, and numerous other tiny quirks in our relationship could come down to this little sticking point. We were both hoping that our relationship would change along with my physical changes. I hoped so, because if it didn't, and I wasn't sure it would now, I had no idea what would happen next. Especially over that amount of money. Yet the price wasn't upsetting to Anthony, but the wait was. The clinic had booked me in for surgery in three months time. I had been a guest in the flat for almost seven weeks now, and I was beginning to feel like a prisoner. Anthony also would be thinking that he had very little to show for his investment so far, and waiting another three months for an advance looked like it might tip him over an edge. What could I do to help? It seemed like nothing, until Anthony suggested that I could come to help out at the office. There were still my concerns over what could happen if I was seen, but he assured me that I would not have to go out in public. I voiced my concerns over what would happen to the study and exercise plan. Anthony said that if I didn't want to do it I didn't have to, but it was a valid reason. I decided to remain home for now and to consider it. Another week passed. My therapist phoned to see how I was getting along, and complimented me on my speaking voice. She gave me an appointment for the following month for a check-up and a new prescription. Miss Penelope concentrated on my secretarial skills, and asked me whether I wouldn't like to start spending a couple of evenings with her, to which Anthony had already agreed. On the Saturday I weighed in at ten stones twelve pounds. A loss of a further five pounds. My diet was adjusted further, though I hardly ate enough to live on as it was. My waist was now only a little over twenty-eight inches, with little to pinch on it. Still Anthony brought out of a box a replacement for my elasticated corset. It was hard, boned and laced up at the back, and had cups to hold my breastforms. My breasts were visible now, and occasionally I would just be wearing the training bra over them, but with this corset I would be wearing breastforms all the time. Anthony drove me over to Miss Penelope's on the Monday evening. Because he was driving me I was able to carry on wearing my normal day clothes. Miss Penelope thought the corset was perfect for my Maid's uniform, and helped me into it. As soon as it was on, there was a knock on the door, which I went to answer. At Miss Penelope's behest I allowed in the gentleman who was standing there. As I went about my work he was tied down onto a bed naked, blindfolded and gagged. I was ordered to stand at the end of the bed whilst my mistress alternately teased his penis into erection then slapped it down into submission with a riding crop. After watching quarter of an hour of this punishment she ordered me to go and change into my nurse's uniform. On my return she gave me a pot of moisturising cream and told me that I should gently rub it in to his ailing penis. I put some on my finger and started to rub it in, but she instructed me to place a large amount in my palm and fingers and to wrap them around the penis, stroking up from the base and down from the head. Very quickly the penis responded to my ministrations and began to get hard in my hands. I was instructed to maintain the pressure on the upstroke, but gently stroke downwards. The whole process was fascinating. Occasionally it would twitch in my hand and soon I could hear the gentleman beginning to groan through his gag. I put on more moisturiser as my hand began to get dry. Miss Penelope urged me on by saying how much good I was doing him and how you could hear that he felt better. Finally he began to buck his hips and I had to hold on tight to keep my hand on him so I twisted round and placed my other hand on his stomach to hold him down. Unfortunately this meant that my chest was right over his penis as he came, and I was sprayed with gobs of white fluid that spattered my breasts and coated my hands. Miss Penelope sent me straight out to scrub up and change. Anthony was waiting to pick me up. Not once had he ever asked me what went on at the apartment, and tonight I really didn't think I could tell him. I had performed a homosexual act, but I had no apparent qualms about what I had done. The anonymity of the situation, and the role I was playing had enabled me to do what as a man I believe would have repulsed me. What was upsetting me though, was the fact that I was wondering whether if I could get Anthony into the same situation, could I make him enjoy it as much? The next month flew by. I spent days with Miss Penelope as a schoolgirl, proud of my growing bust, or as a secretary, displaying my assets to best advantage. I spent my evenings with her as a maid to her guests or a nurse to her patients. On Wednesday evenings she was accompanied by another woman, Miss Claire, who worked beside her, and who took great pleasure in using me as her personal maid, and loved me as a schoolgirl. I think by the end of the month I was beginning to fall for Miss Claire. She wasn't a very pretty woman, but she loved the tarty look, and had a large pair of breasts that she was very proud of. My weight kept dropping at about a pound a week and my waist slowly shifted and shrank. My visit to the therapist was productive in that she agreed to place me on the waiting list for reassignment surgery as she considered me to be working too hard for her to even try to dissuade me. She was a little concerned over my rapid breast growth, but when I told her that my paternal grandmother had been a large woman, and that I followed after my father in looks, she shrugged and warned me to buy some big bras. Anthony and I were getting closer in our relationship. I enjoyed attending to his needs and making him comfortable. In return he was opening up to me about his life, his family and his future. I wasn't falling for him like I was for Miss Claire, though I was becoming more and more intrigued by certain parts of his anatomy. Two weeks later and I noticed my still perky looking breasts resting on the cups of my corset as I changed into my school uniform. I told Miss Claire immediately, and she told me to undo my blouse so that she could inspect them, which she did, very gently and slowly. Watching and feeling her hands roaming over my little tits gave me the first hard-on that I could remember for weeks. After a few moments she removed her blouse and placed my hands on her huge, buoyant mammaries. I felt awed by them, and envious, but mostly I felt so turned on that I could have been in heat. When she pulled my head down to one I kissed her nipple and almost came, having to drag my head away to take a breath. She pressed me down onto my knees, and I kissed her stomach while she rubbed her breasts in my hair. My hands moved to her arse, and I felt her tug down her trousers and panties so that my hands were stroking her smooth, bare skin. Again she pressed me down, and I looked to her crotch. What I saw there was odd. Miss Claire had a penis, as large as many of the men whom I had nursed. I placed my hand on it, but she asked me if I would put it in my mouth. I didn't want to disobey her, and neither did I want to stop what was happening between us, so with a great deal of trepidation I raised it into my mouth. It was soft, warm, and seemed huge inside my mouth. I sucked on it like on a finger, and I felt it begin to get harder and straighten. I alternately moved my mouth gently down over it, and then sucked as I pulled back, and soon it was too large to take much in whole. I placed my hand around the shaft to guide and control it and continued to suck on the head, moving my hand with my lips. Miss Claire began to moan huskily, but soon the combination of sucking and keeping my teeth apart began to give me jaw-ache. I moved to just sucking on the tip of her cock, sliding my lips over her foreskin as I gently slid it back and forth. Shortly she began to push her hips toward my face, and I speeded up my motions recognising that she would soon cum. She gasped, and pulled away from me, then looking down at me she asked me whether I really wanted to take her cum in my mouth. She wanted me to, but would understand if I didn't want to, as many girls didn't like it. I felt so strongly that I didn't want to disappoint her, and I was loving her reactions to my efforts, so I replied by bowing my head back down to kiss her tip and take it in my lips. Moments later she came with a sharp intake of breath and a buck of her hips. The tip of her cock slipped out of my mouth momentarily and I felt something warm stick to my cheek. I quickly pushed her back into my mouth and was rewarded with a spurt of warm and salty fluid covering my tongue and hitting the back of my throat. I controlled my reflexive cough and held the continuing gouts of liquid in my mouth. After a final push Miss Claire slowly withdrew from my mouth and sent me to the toilet to clean up. I spat the salty gunk into the basin and washed my mouth out under the tap. I quickly washed my face and hands, gave my mouth a final rinse, did up my blouse and walked back to Miss Claire. I finished my lessons with my head in a spin. Miss Claire gave no impression that she was anything other than my tutor, and voluptuously female. As Miss Penelope returned and sent me off to get changed, Miss Claire gave me a wink. I swear my heart missed a beat. Anthony was there to drive me home, and I was silent the whole way, thinking over my evening. I went to my room in the flat and began to cry. I didn't let Anthony in. I cried myself to sleep. The next morning came, and Anthony had allowed me to sleep in. I went through the routine. I couldn't understand what was wrong in my head but I was incredibly confused over the whole situation with Miss Claire. What I had done was fundamentally wrong for me to do, as a man. However, I was not doing anything that a man would do through all my waking and sleeping hours, so I appeared to have crossed a line, but a line that I hadn't crossed just by handling men's equipment. The choker was that I would do it again, if Miss Claire wanted me to. And that maybe was the problem, that I had feelings for someone who was a man. Well, mostly a woman, really, just with some manhood remaining. So not really a problem to have feelings for her. Also, it wasn't love, I didn't think. It was lust as far as I could figure. I really wanted her attention, and when she gave it to me I felt incredible. I wanted more of it. That was why I returned to Miss Penelope's, unconcerned about what she or Miss Claire would ask of me. By the weekend I was enjoying my sessions at Miss Penelope's again. My weight was down below ten and a half stone, now just under ten stone five pounds. My waist was just over twenty-seven inches. Anthony was cheering my progress loudly. We also noted, both of us, that my hair, when wet, was below my shoulders. When dry, it would curl and wave and generally turn into volume instead of length. He suggested extensions, but I wasn't keen on the exercise. I didn't yet want to sit in a salon publicly asking to be turned from a man into a woman. I asked him if he could get hold of an electric styler for me which I could use to straighten it. In his enthusiasm he returned from a brief trip with bucketloads of new hair products. We went out on the Saturday night, just to a local pub, for a meal. We discussed me going as a woman, but I could still look like a guy when dressed as one, but couldn't look quite enough like a woman. I was still scared. I told Anthony over the dinner that the major problem was probably that I could still recognise me. In just over a month, he reassured me, I wouldn't be able to without taking a second look. He also said that dressed I did look just like a woman. I nearly had the body of a woman, the walk, the gestures, the speech. Made-up, I did look like a woman. But he understood why I still had fears and doubts. Nothing about me yet shouted that I was a woman. In one month, that would all change. He invited me again to come and work in his office, but on the same reasoning that I had used for not coming out en femme that night I refused. I seemed to sense though that he was pleased that I would be spending my time with Miss Penelope. Miss Claire turned up at Miss Penelope's much more often now. I spent much more time as a schoolgirl with her, wishing that my body would mature and wanting to develop our relationship. I understood however that Miss Penelope did not know about us, and I couldn't tell Anthony, so our affair remained illicit and incredibly lusty. There was nothing I wouldn't do for Miss Claire, and I wanted her to know it. I had fewer sessions alone with Miss Penelope. She would keep track of my progress and help me along through hypnosis. Most often I would nurse one of her patients, but she kept my secretarial skills practised too. I began to find her a pleasant boss to work for, and understood that she had many of the qualities I would want to find in a boss, many that I found attractive, but she wasn't enticing in the way that Miss Claire was. Perhaps she was missing that certain something. At home all my waking hours were spent following Anthony's tightening schedule. He had encouraged me to redecorate my room pending my homecoming from the hospital and had provided plenty of pastel paints and materials. It took me days to figure out a scheme, and ended with purple flowers stencilled on pink walls, and dark purple drapes. It was garish, but I really didn't have a lot to work with. I begged Anthony to pick me up a set of pink and cream curtains that I'd seen in a catalogue, and repainted the top half of my walls in white. I got a few new bedding sets in terracotta and in red check, and covered my wardrobe doors with full- length mirrors. The light beige carpet on the floor was okay, but I covered it with a few cheap rugs mainly in the terracotta shade. Anthony bought me a number of porcelain dolls. I wasn't particularly keen on them, but they did liven up my cheap white dressing table. A new present arrived in the post. Anthony opened the box to reveal a strange contraption consisting of cups, tubes and a motor, accompanied by a few other leads, tubes of cream and instruction booklets. He took it all away into my room and called me in about ten minutes later. I lay down on the bed as instructed, after removing my blouse and bra. Anthony rubbed a small amount of the cream into my chest, attached the cups and switched on the contraption. The cups clamped themselves down onto my growing tits and began to suck and vibrate rapidly. I gasped in shock, and somewhat in pain at the attack on my chest, but when I grabbed for the cups I found that they were not going to be easy to remove without pulling the skin from my ribs. Before I could stick my fingers under the seals Anthony gently removed my hands from the cups and asked me just to leave the contraption on for ten minutes, and then switch it off at the wall. I acquiesced and settled back onto the mattress for a few minutes more. The contraption was added to my schedule to fit in with my relaxation sessions with my tapes. Whilst I was lying back the machine would be sucking and vibrating away at my tits. I wouldn't feel it whilst listening, but after removing the cups, my chest would often be very tender. Another post session effect was that my nipples would be as hard as rocks, and I would swear they were growing. My electrolysis sessions were over, Anthony and I having conquered the bodily hair a while ago and the beautician had now pronounced my face 'beard-free'. I was a little embarrassed when she asked if I would like my hair and nails done, but I guess I was beyond the stage of being able to hide what I was going through from someone who was part of the process. I declined, politely, but told her I would call her. Miss Claire took our relationship further. Miss Penelope seemed to be spending less and less time around with us, so we were able to get it together more often. We progressed into a bedroom, and onto a bed, but Miss Claire never undressed me, saying that it turned her on to see me in my uniform. I complied with her every wish, and though I was uncertain when her hands began to explore my body, I knew that was what she wanted to do, and let her have her way. I flinched when her hands stroked my genitals, but she soothed me with her voice. I couldn't overcome my nervousness when her fingers approached my rear entrance, which she put up with for a few days but finally she had enough. I guess I had it coming when she tied me by my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. With my knickers off and my legs spread she slid a lubricant coated finger under my skirt and began to rub it gently around my anus. She sat beside my hips and began to talk to me reassuringly about what she was doing. The pressure of her finger felt nice, and gradually it began to slip inside my ring, which also felt quite exciting. She began to kiss my tits and suck at my nipples, then suddenly her finger began to stroke something inside me that really felt good. My penis responded with a kick, and she moved down towards it, lifting up my skirt over my tummy and lowering her mouth onto it, her face curtained by her hair. The picture was erotic, and the feeling of her sucking my whole penis into her mouth was ecstasy. With her mouth moving slowly, her finger stroking my insides with increasing speed, and the erotic knowledge that her mouth was engulfing my whole cock, it didn't take very long at all for the feelings to mount towards orgasm. She slowed her ministrations to a tease, slid her tongue slowly back up my body, and headed purposely for my right nipple. Somehow I knew that her sucking my nipple would tip me over the edge, and as she flicked butterfly kisses up the underside of my tit, I writhed in pleasure. Then she locked her lips onto my nipple and sucked, and I bucked on her finger, cum dripping from my tiny cock. She smiled sexily at me, slid her finger out from my hole and proceeded to undo my bonds, then sent me off to clean myself up. That night I didn't just cry myself to sleep. I threw things, including my dolls, around the room. I kept running over in my mind the way that Miss Claire had violated me, and wondering what it was that I had done to invite it. This time Anthony did come in, and physically restrained me from smashing up my dressing table. The ease with which he threw me onto my bed shocked me out of my anger, and sent my mind into overload questioning what the hell I was doing. Not only was I not even resisting the indignities that Miss Claire forced upon me, but also I couldn't think of resisting Anthony's strength. Had I given up my manhood without a fight? When had it happened? Could I get it back? I was a ten stone weakling taking on the physical and mental appearance of a woman, usually presenting myself as a woman, and as I looked back over the months, I hadn't had much enjoyment out of it. It seemed that I was always looking forward to enjoying it, but suffering along the way. Perhaps it was time to stop, and try to pull my life back together. Anthony was not too understanding, but he didn't let his anger slip. He tried rationalisation rather than intimidation, which was admirable considering that I'd been intimidated even approaching him with my thoughts. Finally he simply requested that I not run away, and that we spend the next afternoon going through all the options. I could see that he was hurt, and I almost agreed to stay the two weeks until the operation before deciding. So the next day, Anthony took the afternoon off and we sat down and went over what had been achieved, and what I wanted out of the future, if I was to carry on living with Anthony. He, I must admit, was a perfect gentleman about the whole thing, complimenting me hugely on my progress and really making me feel good about where I was. We went over what I'd been through, and began to have a bit of a laugh. Anthony cracked open a bottle of wine and I began to go into what went on at Miss Penelope's. After my first glass, Anthony persuaded me to go and change into a dress and offered to cook up a late lunch. I returned, made up and with a brush through my hair to see pasta boiling on the stove. After a second glass over our small lunch, he asked me if I could dress up in my school uniform. I told him I'd left it at Miss Penelope's, but he was able to find an old school tie and a coloured blazer and I changed into blouse and skirt. The blazer fit strangely well. It could never have been his unless it had been from when he was twelve. I returned to the dining room and he broke into a smile. He offered me another glass of wine. It seemed a bit naughty, but I accepted politely. He urged me to drink it down, and I gulped at it, and offered my glass for another. He asked me all about Miss Claire, and I told him how we were getting along. I could feel the wine going straight to my head. I felt a little odd that Anthony was acting like a teacher now, but worse was the way it felt disrespectful to call him by his first name. He smiled when I addressed him as Mr. James. As I sipped my fourth glass he brought out a set of papers from his briefcase, explaining that he had been in to visit with his lawyer that morning. Following my indecision the papers had been drawn up to insure his investment in the coming cosmetic procedures, which he assured me would aid my growth into a beautiful woman, which was something I felt I really wanted. The papers essentially gave him power of attorney over all my affairs for two years following the procedures, dating from the first day of surgery. If I signed them now, but decided to leave within the next two weeks, the agreements would be null and void. I was persuaded to agree with him that it would be in my benefit to have a father figure running my affairs until I reached full maturity as a woman. So I signed the papers, even checking that they were indeed what they claimed to be, though I could only get the gist through all the legal jargon. Anthony took them from the room and returned empty handed. He sat down again and began to tell me that he already knew most of what went on at Miss Penelope's as she kept him constantly updated on her methods and progress. He therefore knew that in my schoolgirl role I was most respectful of authority, and most desired development as a woman. Beyond my signature on the documents he was not going to take any further advantage, and asked if I would go to change back out of the uniform. I did so, and returned with a complete knowledge of what had occurred, if hazed a little by my alcohol intake. I asked him where he had placed the documents, but he would not reveal their location. I asked him why he had both taken advantage of me, and then why he had wanted me to change back. He had just wanted to be certain of my signature, which was for exactly the purpose he had stated, in order to have control over my affairs, any that I had, for two years starting the date of my operations. He wondered why I should be concerned, considering that I had nothing. If I went through with the deal, he would be able to change my name, and deal with other legal documentation, but not much more. I was concerned that if that was all he wanted, then why the charade with the uniform. For myself, I was more concerned that I could be manipulated in the way that I had been, and vowed to remain out of the roles that Miss Penelope had impressed upon me for the next two weeks. I remained at home therefore, sometimes half-heartedly carrying on with the schedule I had in order to relieve boredom. All the time I was mentally calculating the requirements for a successful departure, and weighing them up against continuing with this process of feminisation. What I had achieved was a loss of about one and a half stone of weight, including a loss of muscle mass; a loss of about 6 inches from my waistline; a loss of over four months of my life. What had I to show as a gain? I had budding breasts, threatening to force me into an 'A' cup bra. I had a fascination with those breasts though, and wanted to see what they would look and feel like when they reached their true potential. Could I continue to find out? If I left, I calculated that it would be a couple of months before I could begin to present myself as a male again, and probably a year before I had regained the shape and muscle that I used to sport. Even then what did I have to look forward to? No job, and an empty life? Then I thought of my old, flat chest and began to feel a little excited about the developments that had occurred up to now. If I stayed, then I would present myself to the world as a female following my cosmetic operations, and though I would be bound to Anthony for two years, I knew that he would provide me accommodation, employment and entertainment (of the kind to keep my mind off life's emptiness). It would cost me my name, and my old life. My name went with my old life, and my old life was what I was originally looking to escape. I was still debating on the Thursday evening two days before I would be heading for the hospital. Anthony knocked on my door and came in when invited. He asked me to put on a suit that he was holding, which looked just like a skin coloured cat suit. I undressed and slipped the elasticated material up my smooth legs and over my arms and shoulders. I had to reposition my male equipment due to the tight crotch and had to bring Anthony back in to zip me up. Before he did so, he positioned a pair of breastforms over my chest and then closed the suit. In my mirrors I could see that the suit did give the impression of being part of my body, though the built-in bra wasn't greatly effective and the single shade didn't look like skin. At Anthony's prompting I put on a dark pair of tights over the legs, and a tight black dress with sandals. Suddenly it looked like I had a body, and a very tempting one at that! I put on a loose shirt to cover the suit's sleeves, and it became virtually invisible, with the zip well hidden under my collar. I looked great, and I was impressed. Anthony left me alone with my make-up and hair-styler for twenty minutes, and then I emerged to his great satisfaction. My hair was straightened and tied up in a neat ponytail, and my make up was soft but deep, giving the impression of looking good with nothing on. Anthony threw me a coat, grabbed me a purse, and bundled me out of the door locking it behind us almost before I could make a noise. I demanded to know what he was doing as he propelled me toward the lift but he kept telling me that it was going to be a surprise. We reached his car and he drove across town for fifteen minutes while I sulked in the passenger seat. He pulled up at on the side of the street near a small Indian restaurant and helped me out of the car. Guiding me inside he headed straight for a reserved table in the centre of the room. The place was not full, with about six couples dotted around. I sat when An