Gradual Decline
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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.
Elissa
- 16.06.2022
- 18
- 0
