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Samantha's New Life By Pauline Samantha shivered, and curled up under the blankets. But it was no good, her mind went straight back to the beginning, as she thought of it now... He was nearly 40, with his wife and children, on a tour of Scotland. They had had a pleasant day in and around Stirling, and they had nearly got back to the hotel when there was a blinding flash in the evening sky. They were startled, and John struggled to keep control of the car. His wife screamed something incoherent, and John looked up from the road just in time to see something hit the car, and then he blanked out. Slowly he regained consciousness. Or a sort of consciousness. He felt awake, but couldn't move, or see or hear. But there was a voice in his brain. "John, we apologize. Our scout ship crashed, and we hit your car, severely injuring you and killing your family. We have been able to blunt your emotions so that this news does not hurt you. And we were able to save your life. But we have had to rebuild your body." John, in a state of shock, nevertheless managed to take in the news, even as he wondered what was going on and where the voice was coming from. But the voice continued, and he put his surprise on hold and listened - somehow the voice demanded full attention. It was right in his brain, after all, however that happened. "Our work here is finished. When you awake, you will be in a hotel with a few clothes, money, and a new identity. We have tried to compensate you by giving you the body of your dreams." John frowned, or would have, had he had control of his eyebrows. What body of his dreams? The only dreams he had were of what he had wished his wife had been like... OH NO! Surely not! The voice in his mind continued, "We have made some improvements, along the lines that you had dreamed of. But otherwise, we have left your mind alone. We hope you will be happy. We cannot do more for you, and we have to leave you now." Samantha knew she had to get up. She tried to set her mind to accept the reality - even after a week it wasn't coming easily. She tried again to set her mind to accept being female - the adjustment had to be done. She opened her eyes and looked at the inside of her room even as her mental revision of what had happened continued. John woke up in a comfortable bed. He stretched as his dream came to him - what an odd one it had been. But, something was not right. He froze in mid stretch; things just didn't feel right. Maybe it was alright. He continued, but with all senses on full alert. Then, it all came to him, and he screamed. His hand flew to his chest, and found what he had feared - breasts. And he hurt himself; his hand had flown into them, and they were sensitive. Fully awake, he shot upright, and felt the movement as his breasts followed him, and bounced back into position. He looked down at them in shock. They were big. He knew they would be. He knew what his dream was. He knew he would look like a blonde version of Kari Wuhrer. Ever since he had seen her in 'Luscious' he had thought her body was perfect - except that she needed even larger breasts, and natural ones at that. And now, he had them, and they were bigger. His eyes took in his thighs, half hidden below his breasts. They were perfect. Just simply perfect, tapering languidly to his knees. And his arms and hands were distinctly feminine. He realised he was shaking, and tried to pull himself together even as he took in more details, like his hair; thick and blonde, and falling over his shoulder down to below his breasts. He sat for a moment in shock. A long moment. He had to do it, he had to look in the mirror. There was one just across the room. He stood up, and again felt his breasts move after him and then settle back into position. He walked across the room, and felt everything different. His breasts jiggled and moved independently of the rest of him. He could feel his bottom jiggle slightly, and the fat of his thighs rippled. His walk had a strange sway, yet it was natural. He looked in the mirror, his stomach lurched, and he almost fainted. Really, stunning. But his breasts were too big. They were as he had dreamed, but they were too big. He knew, straight away, that he would never look elegant. As if, right now, he cared. John had spent several minutes just studying his new body. He was beautiful. Seriously beautiful. His hair was thick and long, with a central parting on the top of his head and a deep fringe framing his face. His eyes were big and wide set, with prominent eyelashes under graceful eyebrow arches. They had been shaped, but were still full and attractive, and they softened features that didn't need softening. His nose seemed so small compared to what he was used to, and it had just the slightest upturn. His mouth was softly sensuous, with generous lips. He had the faintest of dimples. Having studied his face, he worked his way down. Yes, he had very big breasts. Each nearly as big as his head. They dominated his body, but were not so big that they were gross. They were perfectly shaped, with a natural sag, but were not at all droopy; in fact they were perky. The nipples were large and dark. He had a natural cleavage, and he knew that with a bra, they would be spectacular. Heck, they were spectacular without a bra, too. He put his hands to them, and hefted them, feeling their weight. Substantial. Experimentally, he bounced himself gently and watched them move - they followed his movement about a second later, and then swung back again, and back again, before settling to rest. They were indeed the breasts of his dreams, but he had not dreamed of needing a mirror to see them properly. He worked on down, to a narrow waist and flared hips. He thighs, wide but tapering to his knees, looked athletic without being skinny, and his stomach was taut and firm. He turned to look at his bottom, and it was full but firm. He couldn't get over how big it was, but it looked right on his body; it wasn't too big. Suddenly, he realized he was hairless apart from on his head, his eyebrows, and his pussy. "His pussy." That would take some getting used to. Maybe the lack of hair was what the voice had meant about "improvements", but somehow he wasn't convinced. A natural function called, and he went through to the bathroom and had a pee. Sitting down for it wasn't really that strange, but the rest of the experience was. And then, he wiped himself, and felt a kick of strong feelings in his pussy. That would have to be checked out, but all in good time. His eyes took in a toothbrush, and he did his teeth, all the time his breasts jiggling and swaying. He washed himself, and went back into the room. There was a handbag on the dresser, and he soon learned that his name was Samantha Darling, and that he was 22, and that he was rich. Maybe he'd change his name - how could he go through life being called Darling? That was enough for now. He was also in a body of the wrong sex. At least it was a gorgeous body. Wait - was he gay? Or was she? Or what? He walked over to the bed, aware again of all the movements on his body, and lay down. He put one hand to his breast, and the other to his pussy, and started checking himself out. Wow! His nipples hardened in a moment, and he easily found his clitoris - so sensitive. He squirmed with the pleasure even as he thought it strange - his wife had never been aroused so quickly. But he surrendered himself to the feelings, and slipped into one of his favourite fantasies.... He was on a remote island. A holiday resort for rich men. It was morning, and his maid was opening the curtains. She was in uniform - a classic French maid uniform, except that her breasts were free, and she had very high heels. But he knew there were some sharp points where her heel rested in the shoe; she could not put any weight on the heels. It made her walk so very sexy, and he liked to see her suffer a little for his pleasure. She heard him move, and dropped a curtsey before assuming the position, kneeling, holding her breasts on her hands as though offering them to him suppliantly, her head bowed. He signalled, and she went off to run his bathwater. He walked over to the window and looked out at the view. It was stunning, palm trees, beach, the outdoor bar, a few taxi carts with beautiful ponygirls harnessed up. He could see the stables off down the coast, and remembered his visit the day before.... John came. Or Samantha. Whichever. The point was the orgasm. It was strong, and his whole body shook with the pleasure of it. And it went on a long time. He lay there, soaking in the thrill, and then enjoying the aftermath, his whole body alive and vibrant with the sensation. It was unquestionably his strongest and best orgasm ever. Strange; it hadn't taken long to get there - he'd always thought that women took a long time to build up to it. Oh well; he wasn't complaining.... Finally, he came back to Earth, and sat up again, feeling his breasts sway, and aware that he was hungry. Suddenly he was scared; he was going to have to meet people! He went over to the dresser, and opened the drawer. He had to get dressed. And there was only one pair of knickers - a thong. And there was a garter belt, and a pair of stockings, and a bra. He looked at the tag on the bra; 38D. He had known it would be. He opened the other drawers of the dresser; nothing. The closet had a short skirt and a low cut blouse, and there was a pair of shoes. High heels; he had known they would be, although not too high. But he could get some more normal clothes - at least he didn't have to live as his fantasy woman in all respects. He stood looking, thinking of what his life was now. He didn't want to be female. He liked the company of women, but primarily because of the sexual aspect, the possibility or the thought of sex with them. And now, that was no more. His emotions boiled up in him and he kicked at the wall, collapsed on the bed, and cried his heart out. Slowly, the emotion left him. He realized that it wouldn't help, and he'd just have to overcome it. He took out the stockings, and rolled them like he'd seen his wife do, and put them on, feeling like he was having to reach past his breasts to do so. They felt so different to anything he'd worn before. Once on, he couldn't feel them except for the stocking tops, which gently clasped at his thighs. He reached for the garter belt; it was black, trimmed with a little lace. He clipped it on, not surprised that it was a perfect fit, and slowly clipped the four clips to his stockings, adjusting the length slightly. It took him several minutes, feeling his breasts swaying with every movement, and then he had to straighten the stockings; there was a seam at the back. He looked at himself in the mirror, and was thrilled at the sight. Suddenly, he was aware that he was still attracted to women; his fantasy had confirmed that. So, he was a lesbian! He turned to the thong and pulled it on. It seemed so invasive, settling deep into the crack of his bottom, but felt comfortable even so. Finally, the bra; like the garter belt and thong, it was black. He clipped it on backwards, and turned it round, then put his arms through the straps, and pulled it up. It took him several attempts to settle his breasts comfortably, and then he stopped to take it in. There was a gentle swell at the upper part of his chest that grew larger and larger as it got lower and lower. The straps to his bra were set wide, leaving his chest clear until actually getting to the cups. The straps were half an inch or so clear from his skin, pulled out by the bulk of his breasts. His cleavage was deep and mysterious. He walked over to the closet, feeling his breasts trying to move, but being restrained. It felt much more comfortable, and he knew that from then on he would be wearing a bra by choice. For the rest of his life. The blouse was black silk, with a low neckline and puffed sleeves; very feminine. He put it on, noting that it was tailored close to his body, and reached for the skirt. This was white, and had a built in slip. He stepped into it and pulled it up; a slightly tight fit getting it past the swell of his buttocks, and then it was snug around his waist as he did the zip up. It was quite tight down to the swell of his buttocks, but then flared out further, falling in graceful folds down to a few inches above his knees. Far enough to cover his stocking tops comfortably, but even so, he knew he would have to be careful. He reached for the shoes, catching a sight of himself in the mirror as he did so, and was shocked to see right down his cleavage. He was going to have to be careful; at least until he bought some more modest clothes. He buckled the shoes on, and carefully stood up, feeling very unstable in the stilettos. They weren't very high, but he wasn't used to anything, and he practiced walking in them up and down the room for a while, until he felt as though he could manage. He looked in the mirror again, and realized he had to brush his hair. It took a long time, and his arm movements meant he had to tuck his blouse in again afterwards, which meant loosening his skirt... Just getting dressed was not simple any more. Finally, he put on a necklace, some earrings, and a bracelet. He just knew he had to; his neck needed it, there was so much skin with the low cut blouse that something was missing. And the bracelet and earrings just seemed necessary. He picked up his bag, walked to the door, but no, something else wasn't right. He looked back, trying to understand his unease, when his eyes fell on the makeup kit, and he knew he wouldn't be comfortable without lipstick. He walked back again, and put it on carefully, and made for the door again. This time it was alright, and taking a deep breath, he opened the door. He stood there for a long minute, trying to pluck up the courage to walk, acutely aware of what he looked like as he stood there, balancing on his heels. Finally, he managed to walk through the door, and headed on down the corridor to the lift. There was a mirror at the far end, and he watched himself walking. He wasn't trying to sway his hips, his walk felt relatively natural despite the heels, but he could see in the mirror that there was a lot of movement. A lot. And he could both see and feel his breasts moving. He really did have large boobs; the picture in the mirror told him that everyone's first impression was going to be of seriously large breasts. He made it to the lift and pressed the button. He hoped the restaurant would be on the ground floor and easy to find; the last thing he wanted was to have to go looking for it. The lift came, and the doors opened. There was a middle- aged couple in it, and a young child. John almost fainted as the doors opened and they looked at him, but he pulled himself together and got in, turning to face the doors. He heard footsteps running, and somebody just made it into the lift before the doors shut. He was a young man, mid twenties, quite good looking, and quite tall. For the first time, John became aware of how much shorter he was. The man smiled at John and murmured his apologies, quite ignoring the other occupants. John smiled wanly, and tried to hold himself together. The lift opened on the ground floor. It was clearly a posh hotel, with fountains, a huge reception desk, bellboys, a gift shop, some sort of reception desk for a convention or something, and yes, a restaurant. John headed over there, hearing his heels clicking on the floor as he walked. He concentrated just on walking, but he knew there were many eyes on him. Breakfast was an ordeal. The waiter looked down his cleavage, and when he went to the buffet, he could feel many eyes on him. He just wasn't used to it. Finally he finished, but was in no hurry to move, because while he was sat inconspicuously, he could hold himself together and not scream. He was not enjoying this. He was more stressed and tense than he could ever remember, and he knew it was going to get worse. Samantha threw the blankets off, and took her foot trainers off. These were a plastic moulding for each foot that fitted over the top of her foot and the front of her leg up to her knees, tied on behind the ankle. It meant that her foot was fully extended even in her sleep. She knew full well what it was doing to her tendons, but she also knew what would happen if she didn't wear them. She got off the hard bed, put her high-heeled slippers on, and walked across her room to the en-suite. The chastity belt wasn't really uncomfortable, and allowed her to pee freely. She had a shower, standing on tiptoe while she did it, and did all the rest, and turned to put her clothes on, checking the clock. She was alright for time, which was good; she didn't know what was ahead of her, but she knew that if she wasn't dressed, she'd be caned again. As if she had any choice anyway... There wasn't much to the clothes. Just a pair of thong knickers, which seemed futile over the chastity belt, a pair of very small shorts, and a short tank top. She sighed, fingering the hard rubber over her clitoris. Only half an inch away from her fingers, but she couldn't reach it. She'd only had a few orgasms, and they had been wonderful. Now, who knew when she'd be allowed to have another. Pulling herself together again, she put the knickers on, and then the shorts. They were tight. Very tight. And they showed the bottom of her buttocks. She had no bra, and just pulled the tank top on, trying to settle her breasts in it as best she could. It too was tight, and gave her some support, but the friction excited her nipples and they poked hard into the fabric, plainly visible. Finally, the shoes - high-heeled sandals. Really high heeled. Easy enough to put on, but hard to stand in. Another look at the clock - just enough time for make up and jewellery. No need for bracelets - she had those already, and was not likely to lose them, locked on as they were. And no need for a necklace; the collar served that purpose. But, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara, a touch of blusher, and lipstick, and ear rings. The earrings were actually little bells that tinkled when she moved. Another look at the clock as she finished her makeup, her mind went back to the restaurant... John stood up and left, signing for the meal as he went. He had no idea what his signature should look like, but nor did the waiter. He headed for the doors, intending to buy some less dramatic clothes. He wanted something he could hide in. He had planned to ask the doorman or somebody where the shops were, but they were right outside the hotel, so he didn't need to ask. He headed on down the street, and headed into a department store. He'd start off with a pair of loose jeans, he thought, and located that department. At this point, Samantha's memory went blank, and she couldn't remember anything until something like 20 minutes later, by which time John had a bag with some jeans in. John had been puzzled; he'd meant to wear them. Bothered by the experience, he headed on down the store to get some T- shirts and sweatshirts. Again, the memory didn't cover what had happened, but he ended up with another bag. He'd looked in, and at that point, realized that all was not well. No sweatshirts. There were a couple of blouses, and a tank top. He turned back and tried again; again, no memory, but he ended up with a T-shirt this time, but it looked awfully small. Very concerned now, he headed off to get some slacks... Again, the loss of memory, and again, he didn't seem to have what he'd wanted. This time he had a couple of skirts. Beginning to struggle with the number of bags, he didn't look closely, but headed off to get some underwear. Again, the loss of memory. He hadn't even looked in the bag this time, but had headed off back to the hotel. Something was seriously wrong. The clack of his heels bothered him, and the shoe shop had caught his eye. He decided to get some more comfortable shoes, although the stilettos were not really uncomfortable, and he made for the shop. Again, no memory until walking out of the shop, and he just knew that he wouldn't have what he wanted. Back in the hotel, he tipped he purchases out on the bed. There was nothing like what he had wanted, except maybe the jeans. Hopefully, he tried them on, but it was quickly evident that these were not what he'd wanted either; they were so tight he could only just get them on, and they settled high up in the crack in his bottom, revealing every little curve as though he was wearing nothing. No good. He sat down on the bed, aware, as always, of the movements of his breasts, and also aware of how the tight jeans restricted his movements, and he tried to figure out what had happened. He'd gone out to get some decent clothes, but had only managed to get sexy stuff. Maybe if he went looking for sexy stuff, he'd get some decent stuff, but somehow he doubted it. Anyway, he'd had a hard morning, and was hungry, so he decided to go down to the restaurant to get a salad. He didn't want to wear the jeans; they were worse than the skirt he'd worn that morning, and decided to try one of the skirts and a different blouse. The skirt was a little longer than the one he'd been wearing, but it had a prominent slit in it. At least, when he stood still, it was not too obvious. The blouse was no better than the one that morning; it was every bit as low cut, so he left it on a hanger and kept the original one. Already he was used to being in public in his new persona, but seeing himself in the mirror again reminded him of what he had become, and reinforced his awareness of his appearance, watching his body move like that of a sex goddess. The thing was, he wasn't trying, and in fact couldn't stop himself. The lift opened, and he walked in. The young man from the morning was in the lift, and he smiled widely as John walked in. This time he started a conversation. "Good morning - we meet again!" "We do, don't we?" John answered. "My name is Kevin, what's yours?" "Samantha." John realized that he'd not given a moment's thought to saying John. "I'm going to have lunch. Join me." "I'd love to". John's heart and stomach lurched. He'd tried to say, "No thanks". The lift opened, and they went through to the restaurant. The meal was simple, and nothing odd seemed to happen. John tried to be pleasant, and managed to deflect most of Kevin's questions. But he felt, nevertheless, that Kevin was taking control of the conversation too much. And then, at the end, Kevin said, "I'd like to take you out tonight. Be in the foyer at seven. Dress sexy for me!" It hadn't been said as an instruction. More a joking invitation. But John felt compelled to accept - or was it obey? He agreed. Kevin signed for the meal, and left John to his own devices. Why had he accepted? He'd tried to say no. But now he had to go, and he had to dress sexy. That meant he had to go shopping for a sexy dress. He knew he had to do it, even as he was thinking he shouldn't have to. He headed back to the shops, highly aware of the movement of his breasts and his thigh showing with every step. The clacking of his heels bothered him, and seemed to be a signal - no, not seemed, it was - for all the men in the area to look at him. In no time he'd bought an expensive gown that was without doubt, sexy. Or, at least, revealing. It had a slit on one side almost to his waist, and was low cut at the front, and backless. He couldn't wear a bra with it, nor stockings. What worried him this time was that he'd bought all this fully aware of what he was doing, and every time he'd had a choice, he'd gone for the sexier option, even though he'd tried to choose the other. It was as though Kevin's instruction was an order he couldn't disobey. Sighing, he headed back to the hotel, with heels clacking on the pavement, and with a sexy sway to his hips he couldn't stop. Samantha left her room and headed to the pool. She was to be decoration today. Easy, she knew. Her master was having a meeting at the house. Nothing formal, it was almost just having friends around. She was to be good company, and be one of the hostesses. She checked out the servery. The maids were getting things set up. The housekeeper looked at her with disapproval, noting her abbreviated shorts and deep cleavage. Samantha sighed; it was going to be hard. But she had no choice Kevin appeared round a corner and smiled at her. She positively beamed at him, and almost jumped up and down with pleasure to see him. Inside, she hated it; she wasn't attracted to him at all, and to be completely controlled by him was degrading, humiliating, and deeply worrying. He came up and patted her bottom, telling her that she was to welcome all the guests with a big smile, but not to the extent that she had just welcomed him. He also told her to obey the women just as though they were men. Samantha didn't really know what that would be like. She was lesbian, and hated doing as the men wanted. But somehow, the idea of women being in control of her as well was even scarier. The day went slowly. She played the bimbo, laughing at silly jokes, showing her body, fetching drinks, and generally being a frivolous decoration. Nobody had asked anything difficult of her. She was just eye candy to them, and they were completely unaware of how she felt. Finally, the evening came, and she had some time to prepare herself. She went and showered, and got her clothes for the evening. She was scared just looking at them. They weren't really clothes, so much as a harness. John was in the foyer at the appointed time, and Kevin was waiting for her. A gentleman. He was smart casual, and John was a little overdressed by comparison, but that was the way it should be, he knew - the lady should not be outshone. John walked over, keenly aware of his breasts wobbling. He wore nothing but a thong and the dress, and it offered no support at all. He tried to walk as smoothly as possible so as not to provoke breast movement, but that was hard in the heels; there was no foot movement possible to absorb impact. All he could do was to try to take it out in his hips, and that just made them sway more sexily. He took small steps to minimize the movement too, and also to minimize the amount of thigh showing with each step. Kevin drank in the sight as he walked over, and offered his arm when John reached him. John took it gladly; he needed the support in those heels. "Beautiful, Samantha, beautiful. You certainly did dress sexy for me!" "I'm glad you are pleased." "Tell me, will you do anything else I tell you, or have I used up my ration already?" "I will do anything and everything you tell me." John was shocked as he heard himself saying that, and Kevin stopped walking and looked at him keenly. "You'll what?" "I will do anything and everything you tell me." "Hmm... You'd better explain." "I really don't think I can." "Explain" "Yes sir. Well...." John told the story as best he could as they walked out to the car and drove to the restaurant. Kevin didn't know what to make of it; he wasn't sure he believed any of it, it was just too kooky. But he was definitely intrigued. Having listened in silence to the story, he sat and thought for a couple of minutes. Either Samantha was a nut, in which case he could have a bit of fun so long as he was careful, or she was actually telling the truth, in which case the possibilities were extraordinary. And a few possibilities did spring to mind, things he'd never been able to explore. Kevin moved the subject on to other things, but he did try one thing; early in the meal he told her to sit up straight throughout the meal, to hold her breasts proudly forward. John coloured, but did as he was told, and stuck with it through the rest of the meal, without needing to be told again. At the end of the meal, Kevin said, "Try and think of yourself as Samantha from now on. Try and leave John behind." It was an interesting instruction. He could have just told her to do it, but he hadn't; he'd said to try to do it. Not quite the same thing. But, John was quite willing to try; he needed to do that anyway. And anyway, he was ordered to try. So, he tried to set his mind into female mode, and told himself that he really was Samantha. Kevin wasn't the type to go dancing; they went for short walk instead through the old part of the city, full of European charm. The city was lively, and there was an area where the street entertainers gathered. They watched a couple of shows, but it began to get cold, and they headed back. Samantha was actually quite happy; Kevin had been a gentleman and hadn't so much as laid a hand on her, and had been good company. If it were going to be like this, it wouldn't be so bad. She just wished she wasn't dressed so provocatively; she was getting way too many looks. And, it was so hard to walk decently. Back in the car, Kevin looked at her into the eyes, and said he was charmed, but there were a couple of things that had to happen. Samantha grew nervous at the pause that followed. "I want you to stop worrying about not being able to buy the clothes you want. Spend tomorrow shopping for clothes anyway. Get a couple of corsets - a waist cinch and an underbust model. Some shoes, too. And a choker. Some big earrings. And meet me in the foyer at 4 o'clock. I want you to be wearing the waist cinch, and a pretty dress. Finally, if any other men order you to do anything, you don't have to. I am the only one you have to obey." Samantha listened, and it slowly dawned on her quite what a situation she was in. She was effectively this man's slave. She only hoped that he would prove to be a kind master. Samantha put on the harness. It was obvious how it worked, it was primarily a bra without cups. And there was a ball gag, and a very short skirt. She put them on too, and reported to Kevin's study. He took here along the corridor, to behind the dining room. There were two holes in the wall, with some shackle next to the holes. The mystery was rapidly cleared up, as she was fixed to the wall, with her breasts showing through the holes. Kevin put some headphones on her, playing some wallpaper music, and left. Nothing happened for some time. A long time. Then suddenly, she felt a hand caress her breast. Her nipple was tweaked, and then nothing. Just when she thought that was all, another hand played, none too gently, with her breast, and pinched her nipples, quite hard, pulling them and then letting go. Samantha had realised that her breasts were on display in the restaurant. She had no idea how many people were in there, enjoying a meal and appreciated in the decorations. But as the evening wore on, her breasts were mauled, caressed, tickled, stroked, and just about everything else. And there was nothing she could do, not even see who was doing it. After a while, she was left alone, and he mind drifted back... She had got the clothes. She had spent a couple of days at the hotel, discovering her limits. Kevin had told her not to leave, and she couldn't. She found she was turned on easily, and when Kevin had found out, he had forbidden her to have any sexual relations with anyone but him, and not to masturbate either. Apart from that, everything seemed normal, and when not with Kevin, she'd sunbathed, seen a couple of films, and generally enjoyed herself. Kevin had, after all, told her not to stay in the room, and not to mind being looked at. Then Kevin had told her to check out, and go with him. Of course, she had. And that was that. He'd taken her to a shop in town, and fitted her with a chastity belt, a collar, and bracelets. And they'd had a long drive to his home. It turned out he was rich, but he made her turn over her checkbook and all to him, and then he'd given her the instructions. She was not to feel compelled to obey anyone but him. She need not obey him unless he prefaced his remarks with "Obey me on this" - at least, not from the psychological print on her brain that the aliens had given her when they'd made her submissive, but she had to obey or be punished. She had to keep herself looking good. Lipstick and other make up, hair brushed and so on. She had to always appear pleased to see him, and appear to be in love with him. She was not to try and leave. She was never to wear anything but high-heeled shoes, which she would always wear. She would always wear foot trainers to bed. And that was it. She hadn't had much work to do since then. She'd tried not to obey, sometimes, and found that Kevin had a firm hand with a cane. She tried to obey now, always. Samantha went to bed, with slightly sore breasts. Being a piece of abstract art for the evening had turned her on, and she felt again for her clit, only able to feel the rubber. She sighed, and played with her nipples, knowing she couldn't get off like that; she'd just get more turned on. She curled up under the blankets, thinking of what lay ahead. Kevin had made her tell him her fantasies, and he'd been very interested in the ponygirls idea. He'd said he'd make that happen. And he'd told her what was going to happen tomorrow - she was going to get a small implant in each nipple, which would make them permanently erect. Kevin liked them like that. And Kevin was her master.