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Terri's Decline By Terri Vixen For a while, it seemed like I had it all. I was a transvestite, happily serving as a slave to a beautiful woman. I enjoyed preferential status among her stable of slaves. I wore elegant dresses and served my Mistress lovingly. I was right where I wanted to be. That's all changed now. I no longer serve just my Mistress or her female friends--I now serve all. I have had all of my orifices violated. I am no longer permitted to wear the clothes of a woman. Instead, I wear the trashy outfits of a TV slave, outfits that expose me and serve as an open invitation to anyone interested. I am now the lowest of all slaves. I may be fooling myself that anyone is interested in hearing about my fall. If you are not interested, I hope that I haven't offended by telling of my story. I hope that you will ignore it as the ramblings of a slutty TV slave. If I have offended, I apologize. If you are interested, though, I hope that you will continue to read. And if you are an arrogant TV like I used to be, perhaps this will serve as a warning to year. Beware of pride; it truly does go before a fall. I will start at the beginning. I was born male and spent a few years of my life living that way. Mom raised me and loved me--I never knew my Dad, and took the best care of me that she was able. Sadly, she was taken from me while I was only five. I learned later that it was appendicitis. It struck her suddenly, and I could do nothing. With Mom gone, the only relative around to take care of me was her younger sister. I had never seen my Aunt much growing up. I don't think she and Mom got along. She was twenty-two when she began caring for me. She was single, and had little use for a five year old boy. However, my Aunt took me in. For a while, I presumed that it was because she was my only kin, and that she didn't want me raised by strangers. I later found out that it was because of the life insurance my mother had carried. It provided a hefty sum, and my Aunt quit college that day and hasn't worked since. The money was contingent upon her raising me. One of the first things that I learned around the house was that my Aunt preferred to be addressed as "Mistress". I had never heard the term before, and I asked her what it meant. She explained to me that it was a term of respect to be applied to any female. I was to call my Aunt "Mistress" if I wanted to speak to her. It was unusual at first, but I rapidly learned to call her that. Part of the reason for my rapid learning was the fact that if I forgot, she would spank me. Mom never spanked me, but Mistress did so often. I thought that it was unfair for a while, but I learned that Mistress knew best. If I behaved properly, I would not be spanked. It was simply a matter of obeying her. This was easy enough. Another thing that I found confusing at my young age was her insistence on my clothing. I was to show up naked every morning and say, "What would it please you for me to wear, Mistress?" She would then go through my drawers and closet and lay out an entire outfit for me to wear. While I hadn't really been dressing myself at home with my mother, the detail that Mistress put in to dressing me seemed very unusual. Another thing that was odd were the clothes that Mistress chose for me. Before I was five, I had never worn a dress before. I thought that only girls wore dresses. Mistress told me that this was not the case, and that I was to wear whatever she told me. A few spankings convinced me that a dress was an acceptable outfit. Besides, I was young, and somewhat isolated. I didn't know that this was unusual. The outfits that Mistress chose greatly influenced my choice of style and fashion. For a while, I wore the flowery, lacy dresses that seem so typical of young girls. I wore white cotton panties, often with small hearts or flowers on them. I often wore little- girl tights, usually opaque. Mistress kept me in Mary Janes during those early days. Later, however, I was allowed to wear more contemporary clothing. I was given modern dresses or skirt and blouse combinations that were very fashionable. A favorite outfit of mine from those days had white cotton panties and nude pantyhose as the foundation. I wore a white long-sleeve peasant blouse of cotton and a blue denim skirt that came to just above my knees. Usually I wore white skimmers with this. I was always pleased when I was allowed to wear this outfit, and Mistress soon knew. She used it as a reward to me for good behavior. I was always extra good to Mistress when I wanted to wear my favorite outfit. My life continued with Mistress. Her newfound wealth allowed her many things, and one of them was an elegant wardrobe. She wore the most beautiful dresses, and always had such gorgeous shoes. I know that they were gorgeous because every night I would spend about an hour polishing and cleaning them. Mistress taught me that cleaning them with a tongue was the best way to get them shiny, so I delicately tongued her shoes until they shone. In the fall, I was due to attend school. Instead, Mistress hired me tutors. These were all women that I had seen as guests of my Mistress at one time or another. I was always properly respectful of them. Mistress Nancy taught me spelling and reading, while Mistress Carolyn taught me math and science. I learned at their feet, often cleaning their shoes or massaging their feet as they taught me my lessons. The state sent exams to the house once or twice a year, and I always passed them with ease. While my regular school lessons took up most of my time, I also had my special school lessons taught to me. One of them was deportment. Mistress Susan taught me how to behave myself properly. She taught me how I should walk and how I should conduct myself when others were present. I learned the correct way to bow to a lady entering a room, and the proper way to kiss a woman's feet after introductions had been made. I learned how to massage a woman's foot. A side lesson for this was how to ask for permission to remove her shoe before I began to massage her toes and feet. Likewise, Mistress Tasha taught me style. She gave me many lessons on picking out the best fabrics for a dress, or what accessories to wear with an outfit. When I was nine, she also taught me makeup. I learned how to expertly apply not only my own makeup, but how to apply makeup to a woman as well. Eventually, my Aunt allowed me to pick out my own clothes, and Mistress Tasha's lessons came in handy here. I was also taught how to cook and serve meals. These lessons were not taught by a Mistress, however, but by a feminized male such as myself. Charlotte was her name, just as mine was Terri. Neither of us had been born with these names, but that is how the Mistress' referred to us, so that is who we were. Charlotte taught me how to set a beautiful table, and how to prepare meals. I learned this well, and I was often serving my Mistress and a group of her friends. I obeyed their commands well, and was spanked less and less as I got older. My favorite class, however, was the Philosophy class that was taught my Mistress. She explained to me how men had made the world what it was today. The men of the world were to blame for societies problems. Only when women were in charge would the nation and the world be able to reverse the decline that it had been undergoing, and reestablish itself as a new and better society. Men were behind the World Wars. Men were the reason there was so much pollution. Men committed nearly all of the violent crime in the world. Wars were fought by men. The government was made up of mostly men. Men were the problem. The night after she had given me this lesson, I was lying in bed in my frilly nightgown thinking about what she said. I began to cry, for I was a man, and I was behind all of societies problems. My Mistress heard my sobbing and cam into my room. She asked me what was wrong, and I told her how I felt responsible, because I was a male. "No, little Terri, you are not a male. You are a transvestite, and that is where the difference is. You see, men caused these problems because they could not touch their feminine sides. The only way to change that is by making them like women. That is what we have done with you. "You are not a woman. Don't ever forget that for a minute. You are still a servant to us. But you are a preferred servant. You are better than the men out there because you know your female side. All will be servants to the New Order, but TVs like yourself will be our preferred servants." My crying stopped and was replaced with a feeling of gratitude! My Mistress, my Aunt truly cared for me, and was seeing to it that I would do as best I could with the handicap of my maleness. I jumped out of bed and kissed her feet profusely, thanking her for what she had done with me. That night, she began my lessons into another subject area. I was taught how to sexually please a woman. She began by pulling my head upwards. I was so happy about her allowing me to be a higher servant that I continued to shower her with kisses. I kissed her calf, then her knees, and then her thighs. She continued to guide my head farther up, until I was kissing her pussy. Never before had I been permitted so close to heaven. I drank in the scent of her musk and continued to kiss her. Mistress held firmly onto my head, locking my head between her thighs. I was intoxicated; I kissed and sucked and licked, barely able to breathe. She moaned in pleasure, and bucked against my face. I continued kissing, and eventually she let my head go, pushing my cum-stained face away from her. "Very good Terri, we will continue these lessons tomorrow." I feel happily asleep that night, with thoughts of my Mistress foremost in my mind. In the weeks and years that followed, I was taught many ways to please a woman. I learned rigid control of my own organ so that I could please a woman for hours without getting soft. I learned how to use my tongue, my fingers, my organ and my toes in ways to please a woman. I learned the arts of massage and tongue-bathing as well as sexual intercourse. I practiced these lessons on my Mistress as well as her friends. I was often circulated at the gatherings as a giver of pleasure. When I was sixteen, I learned how to drive and also how to shop. Charlotte taught me these lessons. We began shopping together for both food and clothes. I was living my life always dressed as a woman. I had not worn pants since my mother's funeral. I had no fear going out dressed as a woman. My makeup skills had been taught to me by experts, as had my fashion sense. I carried myself like a woman. My hair was long and my ears were pierced, further conveying my female image to any onlookers. I knew that I was not, but I don't think anyone else did. I began shopping for my own clothes. Mistress would punish me if she didn't like my selections, but that happened very rarely. Her tastes had been the biggest influence of mine, and so we usually liked similar outfits. The worst punishment I got was the time I brought home a jet black pantsuit. It was decorated with gold, giving it a quasi-military look that was big in the late eighties. I bought some 4-inch patent leather spike heels to go with it. However, when Mistress saw it, she was extremely upset. "How dare you bring pants into this house! You are never, EVER to wear pants. Strip now!!" I hadn't seen her this mad in a long time. I hastily removed the garden-print white dress that I had worn shopping. I also removed my 2-inch white sandals and my white 36-B bra. I was going to peel down the white lace-top stockings that I had worn when Mistress said, "That enough! Now go to the punishment room." I hastily sped to then room in the basement that Mistress had made into a punishment room. I was usually only in here once or twice a week now, but I still dreaded coming here. Mistress followed me and secured me to the table that she used when I needed restraining. She placed me facedown on the table and secured my arms and legs. The next thing a felt was something hard against my anal sphincter. "Men wear pants, not TVs like you. This is what being with a man feels like!" my Mistress yelled. She then forced something had up my ass. I cried out with pain as she savaged my anus. I had never seen or felt a dildo before, and I hoped that this would be the only time. I walked funny for a week, and never brought any sort of pants into the home again. When I turned eighteen, Mistress had me sign over my half of the remaining insurance money into her hands. I had no regrets about doing this, even though it had become a fortune during the thirteen years since my Mom's death. Mistress knew better, and I knew that I would have now assets of my own once the New Order arrived. Shortly afterwards, Mistress told me that she had traded me to one of her friends. She was getting a man who accepted the positions of the New Order, and I was to live with another woman for a while. Of course, I did as I was told. For several years I was passed around among circles of like- minded women. I usually stayed anywhere from a month to a year, with 5 or 6 months being the average. Each Mistress continued my education in her own way. Some were fair and kind, while others were stern and cruel. I served them all equally to the best of my ability. My ass was violated by a few women, but not very often, and never very hard. For most, I served as a housemaid and companion. I would do their shopping and their laundry. I would plan parties for them, and serve them at parties (in every way). I served the Mistresses privately as well. It was during these years that I first came across men. I had seen them while I was out shopping, but I usually paid no attention to them. They were my inferiors, and I treated them with disdain. However, some of the women I served also had male servants. Usually, the men did more menial tasks such as mowing the lawn or getting gas in the car. As my first Mistress had told me, their place was below mine. I was surprised the first time a Mistress had one of them serve me. I was seated at the couch of my current owner when a male servant walked in. "Mistress, I'm done for the day. Is there anything else I can do for you before I return to my kennel?" My Mistress first frowned at this interruption, then smiled. "Yes, slave, you make attend to Terri's needs for the rest of the night!" I don't know who was more surprised, me or him! He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, until Mistress spoke. "Greet Terri as you would any Mistress you worthless cur!" Startled, he dropped to his knees and crawled over to me. He then kissed my feet. I was flabbergasted. I had never felt this power over someone. Although I knew that TVs were superior to men, we both owed allegiance to women first. I had never had a male at my feet. "If it would please you, may I massage your feet?" he asked me. "It would please me," I replied. He slid of my black 2-1/2-inch heel and massaged my feet through the white pantyhose that I was wearing. He treated my feet well, massaging slowly and kneading carefully. I lifted my foot to his mouth, and felt a chill run through me as he carefully kissed my foot. I couldn't suppress a moan, which caused my Mistress to laugh. "Go to your room, you two," she said, continuing to chuckle. I stood up slowly and smoothed my skirt. I walked in stocking feet to my chambers while he followed on his knees, carrying my shoes carefully. Once back in my chambers, I had him resume his interest in my feet. The slave complimented me on how pretty my feet and toes were. The sense of power was intoxicating, and I had him on his knees for hours, telling me compliments about how good I looked. I loved every minute of it. My two favorite moments were when he came on my feet and licked the cum clean, and when I came in his mouth and he thanked me. It was the first time in my life that I came when I wanted to, and it felt terrific. The next day it was business as usual, and I never again had that slave to play with. However, the seeds of power (and my downfall) had been sown. A few months later I was traded again shortly afterwards, I was traded yet again. My next Mistress allowed her TVs (she had three of us) the use of a male slave once a week, if we were judged the best servant that week. I was shut out the first month that I was there until I learned the ropes. Thereafter, I had a male slave to myself for one night on about 2 out of 3 weeks. I learned a lot about men at this time, and how to make them please me. I still loved women more. The lowliest cashier at the supermarket was infinitely higher than myself. I still strove to please women as best I could. I still loved women more than anything. However, I was developing a taste for power over the male species. Before too long I was traded again. After a few more trades, I ended up belonging to Mistress Angela. She was not as wealthy as most of the other women of the New Order, and she decided that I should earn some money towards my upkeep. As hard as I worked for my owners, I had never worked a day outside of their homes. Mistress Angela decided that I should have some job training. She enrolled me in a secretarial program at a local community college. I did well in classes, and was pleased to be surrounded by almost all women most of the time. My hardest course was a shorthand course where the instructor was a male. I had trouble paying attention to him, and I kept imagining him sucking my toes under the desk. I took to sitting in the front row of the class and flirting with him constantly. I wore short skirts that showed off much of my healthy legs. One day I noticed him eyeballing a woman who wore patterned hosiery. From that day on, I always wore something patterned on my legs. I began wearing pumps that slid easily off my feet. I would then rub my feet along each other, making a lovely, hushed "shhpp" noise that seemed to draw his gaze my way. I continued to taunt and tease him, but he made no move my way all semester. After the exam was returned to us, I headed to his office, ostensibly to discuss my grade. While there, I sat on the corner of his desk, crossing my legs prettily, and raising the hem on my short black skirt. He could easily see the lace-top of the stockings, which were a black rose design. For the next few moments, I didn't see his eyes as he watched my feet caress each other. "These heels are just killing my toes," I said, bending down (which flashed my pseudo-cleavage) and rubbing them. I straightened up, looked as his head (his gaze was on my wiggling toes) and said, "Rub them for me." He seemed in a trance and moved his hands all over my toes. I moaned with pleasure. This had been my first male in over a year. He continued massaging them, telling me how beautiful my feet were and how nice they smelled. "Taste them," I ordered, and he quickly placed on in his mouth. My other foot massaged his crotch, which felt very large in his trousers. It made a lovely kneading roll, and my feet felt great. He continued to massage them for an hour until he came, shooting his load into his trousers. I came mentally at the same time, a trick that my Mistress had taught me. It allowed me pleasure but kept me hard until I had her permission to come. While he recovered, I slipped on my shoes and left him, still moaning and breathing hard. I had noticed his ring before--I wondered how he would explain the cum stain to his wife. She should beat him, I thought. Unfortunately for me, my college career and the freedom that I was given by my Mistress were to be my downfall. The rush that I had playing with my professor had rekindled the flames of my desire to dominate men. The intensity grew until I felt that I had to do something about it. I admit that I was bad for my Mistress. I still pleased her and served her as necessary, but I saw her less as school continued. She enjoyed toying with me, but worked sixty hours a week herself, so she was not always around. In a sense, she had made me self-sufficient, and then cut me off. I had no obligation to stay with her. I made less phone calls myself, and eventually I was on my own. I used my school Internet account to post a message to the personals newsgroup. It was very specific. I stated that I was looking for a Mistress to take me, but also that I was looking for men who wanted to be dominated by a TV. I even used the phrase New Order in my post so that the women in my group would know that it was one of their own. I was hoping to find several male slaves who would serve me. I looked forward to having those men, the third class of citizens, kneeling at my feet and pampering me. I received about a dozen responses. One was from a Mistress, but she was too far away from me, and had many of her own slaves. Another few were from fellow TVs. Many were from men, but all lacked what it takes to serve me. Many of the responses were barely literate. Some were a line or two long, and when I requested a lengthier follow-up, I received no response. Some wanted more for themselves than for me, and I let these go. There was one, however, that intrigued me. It stated that the author, a male, agreed that women were above men and TVs, but that a macho male was above a sissy TV. I chuckled at the thought of that. The first twenty years of my life had passed with no sign that any male was above any TV. I had seen some of what I called sissy TVs, the kind who wore short, trashy outfits, tons of makeup, and 5+inch heels. I was not like that. All of my outfits were elegant, and I looked more like a woman than a foolish parody like these sissies did. I thought that it might be amusing to turn the tables on this one. I felt that perhaps having an unwilling slave would be more fun than having a completely subservient one. I wanted this one at my feet. I wrote back, explaining my case in more detail. I included that women are the true owners of all types of XY chromosome pairs, but that generally, a woman will place a TV in a higher position than a lowly male. I stated that yes, some Mistresses preferred "Sissy TVs" to embarrass and humiliate, but most preferred the TV like myself, an obedient servant who dressed well and served well. His next response was frightening. He claimed that *ALL* TVs were sissies. He said that the TVs do not wear panties to be closer to women, as I believed, but to be made fun of and ridiculed. This was never evidenced in any of my Mistress' homes, but it made me wonder. He also said that TVs would serve both members of a modern couple, the Mistress as head but also the male! This was close to heresy for me, and yet I could feel myself getting moist in my panties. My duty for these 20 years had been to serve. Was it only women that I was to serve, or was I to serve all? I was fearful, but I attempted to put on a strong face as I wrote my next letter. I argued that women would prefer TVs because panties are a controlling device, and that we TVs would be better controlled than males. This phrase came back to haunt me. Panties are indeed controlling devices as my e-mail correspondent reminded me. But who will they control? I realized then that the TVs of the world are in fact slaves. We will obey women before men, but we will also obey men. I was trained for 20 years to obey, and I would continue to do so. At the bottom of the letter was an order. I was to show up at a motel in Chicago by the weekend. I was to be dressed in sissy TV clothes--the clothes that I had ridiculed for so long. My mind felt numb, but I had to obey. I made arrangements for the long-term storage of most of my possessions. I placed my elegant wardrobe in a storage shed and walked way. I was now dressed to thrill. I wore a red floral print dress that barely covered my ass. My heels were high, and the tops of my pink stockings were very visible to all, including the leering attendant at the storage lot. I paid him, and then drove off to Chicago, still in a daze. I got to the motel and found the room in my name. As I exited the lobby, I could here the two female receptionists giggling, saying, "Whatta Whore!" I couldn't argue. I arrived at the room and it was empty. I knelt on the floor by the door. A few hours later, a man walked in. I greeted him by kissing his shoes, and he responded by cuffing me to the ground. "Show me your panties, Sissy!" I lifted my skirt, and showed him the pink panties that I had on. "Why are you wearing panties, Sissy?" I answered with the mantra that he had told me to say while I drove. "I love my pretty panties because I'm a pathetic sissy." I felt so low. I was pathetic, I was a sissy. I was to be a servant and nothing else. Before I realized it, he had slapped me again. "Say it with a lisp, you Sissy!" "I love my pretty, frilly pantiesh becaushe I'm a pathetic Thithy." "Better, slave," he replied. "Now, on your knees, and suck my cock." I crawled over to him, still in the daze that I had been in for three days now. I undid his belt and let his pants drop. I wondered if it was possible to hypnotize someone over the Internet as I pulled his underpants down. "Wait," he said, "First freshen your lipstick." Numbly, I went into my bag and put on my bright red lipstick, a shade that I had never seen worn in the home of my Mistress. I then wrapped my mouth around his cock. I sucked while caressing it with my tongue. I doubt that he would have believed that this was the first time I'd had a cock in my mouth. "Say your mantra, Sissy." With my mouth around his cock, I began to say my mantra. "I love my pretty, frilly panties because I'm a pathetic Sissy." He changed it while I sucked, so I chanted, "I love sucking cocks because I'm a pathetic Sissy." I was chanting it faster and faster, matching his thrusts. Finally, he came in my mouth and on my face. I was forced to lick my face clean. He continued to use me in new ways that weekend. He took be out and made me by new, slutty clothes. I had been able to pass as a woman when I dressed myself. Now I looked like I felt, a pathetic parody of a woman, obviously male yet undeniably a sissy. I was forced to walk in higher heels than I ever had in my life. Most of my Mistresses preferred me in heels of two to three inches-- high, but not too unusual. My Master made me wear 4 and a half and five inch heels. It took longer to get used to, but I was soon wearing these with ease. My Master violated my ass again and again. When he wasn't fucking my ass, he usually made me keep a dildo up it. I was taught to walk again, not in the cool, graceful manner that my Mistresses had taught me, but in the trampy manner of a slut. He also took me too a tattoo parlor. There, I had the word "SISSY" tattooed on my ass in large letters. Master made me continue chanting my mantra. I was often forced to kneel on the floor in front of a large mirror for hours, lifting my skirt and saying, "I love my pretty pink frilly panties because I'm a pathetic sissy." I was no longer allowed to wear pantyhose or tights. As a transvestite owned by females, I was allowed my choice of undergarments and hosiery. The only stipulation was that I could not wear pants. Master forced me to wear only stockings on my legs. For panties, I was made to wear sissy girl panties with lots of lace and ruffles. He kept me around for a month or so. I served many of his male friends. I can't count the number of times I went down on a man, or the number of times I had my asshole violated. Occasionally, for their pleasure, I was made to come while chanting my mantra in front of them. They all laughed at me, and usually made me swallow my own seed. Then he turned me loose. I was alone in a strange town with little money and no wardrobe. I took to whoring. I now walk the streets of Chicago. If you happen to see a pathetic sissy, a hooker who is dressed sort of like a woman, but is obviously a male, you might be looking at me. And if you get closer, and hear the whore chanting, "I love my pretty panties because I'm a pathetic Sissy" then you'll know for sure that it's me you've found.