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The Box By RH Music Chapter 1 "Thunk, thunk," a noise, from inside the box. The cable from the machine twitched, causing a twinge of pain in my crotch where the cable entered my body. "Whirrrrr..." The machine buzzed for a second. "Thunk, thunk," it continued. I could feel something shifting in my abdomen. "Thunk, thunk," This continued for about five minutes, and then: "Ping!" The cable detached itself and zipped back into the box by the side of the toilet. "Ohhh!" I gasped, as urine gushed from my body, splashing noisily into the toilet bowl. Some valve inside my body had been released, and now I could urinate. A powerful sense of relief and warmth suffused my entire body. A note on the box stated that I would be unable to urinate unless I connected myself to the box. I had been trying to urinate for almost two days, ever since I woke up yesterday morning, when I discovered that my body had been horribly mutilated. My penis was gone: replaced with folds of skin. There were stitches just under each nipple. But I was still flat-chested, so what was going on? And my face had been changed, my nose was smaller, my cheekbones higher, my throat was raw and I croaked whenever I talked. I could barely recognize myself. How had this happened? Who would have done this to me? I tried to remember, but only got fragments. Some kind of medical/psychology experiment I had signed up for? But I would never have signed up for this. *** "Oh, but you did," said the sternly efficient lady sitting across from me. She had introduced herself as my 'case worker', Julia. "In fact, here are copies of your consent forms. I brought them for your files." She handed over a folder and then checked her watch, tapping it. I looked through the pages, confused and bewildered. After I woke up I was feeling pretty good, but seeing the pages and suddenly I couldn't seem to think straight. "But I couldn't have signed these..." I mumbled, looking at my signature, clear as day. "Why?" "I was there when you signed them. The interview process was quite extensive." She tapped her watch a couple more times, seemingly impatient to continue. She jotted something down in her notebook. Fragments from the interview started to come back to me, all those questions. Scenes of the surgery drifted into my head, the hospital bed, IV tubes, medicines, papers, signatures. Maybe I had agreed? Is that possible? "But, I don't understand..." I tried to put the papers down but instead they slipped from my fingers and onto the floor. I felt my eyes get wet. Was I crying? "There, there..." she moved to sit next to me and patted my hand. My tears dripped down my cheeks on to my T-shirt. "You were accepted into our top Gender Reassignment Program, it's very exclusive." "But I don't want to be a woman," I sobbed, my breath coming out in gasps. "I always thought I'd find someone, and someday have children..." "Ohhhh, you can still do that. That's why I'm here. There, there. It is perfectly natural to feel confused, sad, even depressed after surgery. Go ahead and cry, it will make you feel better." "And you are going to have such an exciting time ahead of you," she said, trying to brighten the mood. "There's electrolysis, makeup, cooking, posture, child care..." But I wasn't really listening. Eventually Julia left. *** "Thunk, thunk." 'Trapped,' I thought to myself. "Thunk, thunk," went the box. The next morning I felt better and my head was clearer. Although still nagged by doubts, I decided that there was no way that I could have willing agreed to surgery. My signatures must have been forged, or coerced. But now what? Lawyer, detective... I needed help. I picked up the phone, the line was dead. So, I threw on some clothes, grabbed my car keys... No car keys. No wallet. No identification of any kind. I looked through every drawer and closet. Nothing. I ran out of the apartment to the parking lot. No car. Suddenly dizzy, I sank to my knees and threw up, stomach convulsing, eyes watering. I must have overdone it. I staggered back into the apartment, cleaned myself up, and sat down to urinate. The cable coming from the box was complex. Three tubes and some weird electrical connector. The female end was hidden in folds of my new vagina. Julia had left some instructions on how to keep it clean by wiping it with rubbing alcohol. I clicked the two ends together. Once joined, they would separate automatically when the box was done. "Whirrr... Thunk, thunk." Each thunk from the box caused something to move inside my abdomen. 'Nutrients, post- surgery medicine, MFHRT-23A, CM-1B' said the hand-scrawled sticker on the box. I bent down to investigate my new crotch. It was still sore from the surgery, but feeling better. Whoever it was who had butchered me had taken the time to do a proper job. There were folds of skin and real vaginal lips. I parted them and gasped, I had found a small bump nestled inside. A clitoris. It was extremely sensitive. I probed a little deeper and gently eased a finger inside. It was wet and slippery. I brought my finger to my nose and took a sniff. It had been a while since I had a girlfriend, but it sure smelled like what I remembered. But wait... what was going on? How was this possible? Can men with sex change operations like this secrete lubrication? Where is it coming from? "Thunk, thunk," went the box. *** "You sold the car to pay for the surgery, I think, along with your TV, computer, and stereo," Julia said. "And you surrendered your wallet before surgery. We're still processing the paperwork to get you a new driver's license." Two days later and I still hadn't left the apartment. Julia looked at the dirty dishes in the sink. "Why haven't you cleaned this place up like I recommended?" "What?" I looked up. "Cleaned up. Wash the dishes, vacuum the floors, run the laundry, etcetera." "Whatever," I sulked. Julia looked at her watch. "I don't have time for this," she said. "I am disappointed by your attitude." Something about this exchange was starting to make me feel queasy. What was wrong here? Wasn't I the customer? "I won't have one of my girls being such a disgrace," Julia continued. "You know that you should be keeping a clean apartment. The clinic is keeping your pantry stocked, the least you could do is show this small bit of appreciation." "Yes..." I gulped, "I mean, no... I..." Suddenly, my queasiness had blossomed into full-blown nausea. "You what?" Julia asked, arching her eyes. "I'm sorry!" I apologized as I ran into the bathroom and threw up my breakfast. Julia entered the bathroom after me, kneeled next to me and gently stroking my back. It was so bad that I actually burst into tears as my stomach convulsed for a full ten minutes. Finally my stomach settled for a bit and Julia took that opportunity to clean me up with a wet washcloth. "Thanks," I mumbled, grateful for her attentions. "It's okay," she said. "This used to happen to me all the time." My mind was thick and confused. "What? Throwing up?" "Yes, it happens to all women at some point or another. I knew I was purposefully disobeying my mother, which I knew was wrong, and my body reacted against it." "That happens? To women? But I've never heard of it before..." "Well, it's something that women don't talk about much. Now that you are being pumped full of female hormones, your emotions and feelings are taking control of your body." "Hormones?" I muttered, thickly. "Right! Thanks to the box. They will make your breasts grow, along with other things." She smiled. "Now, is it so much to ask that you keep this apartment clean?" She asked, gently. "No..." "Good. I'll inspect it the next time I visit." Chapter 2 Spent four hours being pierced by burning needles this morning, and now my face is red and blotchy. I had no idea that my lips could be so sensitive. And the electrologist ('call me Carla') cheerfully said that she would be back tomorrow. Wonderful. Decided I might as well play along with Julia, at least until my treatments are done. It took over two hours to clean the kitchen, but I was pretty proud of the results. It felt so good to turn on the dishwasher with a full load of dishes, a warm, fuzzy, and satisfied feeling washed over me when it started. In fact, it felt so good that I just had to sit down by the dishwasher for a few minutes. But then, it was time for laundry. Fortunately, I had my own washer-dryer, for I still didn't have enough strength to leave the apartment without overdoing it and becoming nauseous. About all I could manage was to throw out the trash and get back before throwing up. So, I gathered all the clothes, separated the whites, and started my first load. Oh. I sat down again, by the clothes washer this time, leaning against the gentle whooshing and rocking of the warm machine. It was so comforting, I felt like I could just sit there all day. But, Julia had mentioned vacuuming specifically, and had actually brought a new vacuum machine for me to use. So I better get to that too. It took a couple more hours to pick up the place and put everything back where it was supposed to be, file papers and whatnot. All things considered, it was a good thing that I was unemployed. I had been laid off in a workforce reduction from my last job over a year ago. Fortunately, my parents had left me a modest inheritance, I was an only child, and as long as I was able to live frugally I could pretty much wait until the economy got better. Sometimes I would volunteer for medical studies to supplement my income. So, all of the papers from my last job got filed away and I was finally ready to vacuum up the place. I plugged the vacuum cleaner into an outlet and turned it on. Oh My God. Somehow the vibrations of the machine entered directly into my body. My skin seemed to crackle with electricity, my nipples tingled, and my crotch seemed to throb. I put a hand down between my legs, pressed, and squeezed my legs together. Oh man, that sure felt good. My second hand reached up and pinched my nipples through my shirt. I noticed that my breasts, still flat, were warm and sensitive. I sank down to my knees next to the vacuum cleaner, which was still whirring away, pinching and stroking. I pulled my pants down and reached inside. My briefs (I was wearing men's briefs) were soaked in the crotch, I stroked my new clitoris gently, gasping at how sensitive it was. I rolled onto the floor, stroking and pinching and then... I orgasmed. In the process, I bumped the vacuum cleaner, which teetered over and gently fell on top of me. The orgasm flowed through me, causing every tendon to humm. It was wonderful and left me moaning in pleasure. Gradually, the throbbing and tickling abated and I was able to stand up and actually get around to vacuuming the house. But just as soon as it was finished I dove into bed and masturbated again. *** "Thunk, thunk." From once a day, I was now using the box three times a day: my normal schedule. And each time it was doing stuff to me, pumping things inside of me. What? Julia wouldn't say. My breasts had become more and more sensitive and puffy. They would hurt horribly if I accidentally bumped them while cleaning, or even if I just jiggled them a little. And three times a day, just so I could go to the bathroom, I had to plug myself into the machine and get pumped full of hormones, and whatever else the machine was doing to my body. *** "I'm bored," I said. "Could you get me a newspaper? I don't even know what day it is." "It's Wednesday," Julia responded. "I could. Get you something to read, I mean. But it's not really in my job description." "Please? Anything would do." It had been two weeks now and I still hadn't left my apartment. After a week of electrolysis (every day) my face was nearly done, at least until the hairs started growing back. My back and chest were due up next. Since Carla (the electrologist) was my only daily contact with the outside world, we had become fast friends. "Your place is very clean, I must commend you!" Julia looked at me with something like a smirk. Did she know? I wondered. Although not as powerful as the first time, each time I did the dishes, laundry, or vacuum, it felt good. I would feel warm, relaxed, and... well... horny, too. I was cleaning every day now, and masturbating three to four times a day. What else could I do all day? "And now, I think it's time for this." She held up a large shopping bag and placed it on the coffee table. "What's that?" I began to develop a queasy feeling in my stomach. "I've brought women's underwear for you to wear. Panties and bras." "No... I don't... I'm comfortable with what I have," the queasy feeling was building. I knew that Julia wasn't going to like this attitude. "You're breasts are starting to grow," Julia tapped her watch, impatiently. Apparently it was a habit that she had when something wasn't going right. "You might as well get used to wearing bras for support." I barely fought down the nausea, which welled up from within. "No! I'm the customer and I'm the one who, apparently, paid good money for this program, and so I'm going to wear what I want to wear." "Listen to your body," Julia said, "what is it telling you? Shouldn't you just give up this silly little rebellion and obey me? You hired me to complete your transformation... body, mind, and soul, and that is what I intend to do." "But..." I held a hand to my mouth, my stomach convulsing I ran to the bathroom, but didn't make it to the toilet in time. I threw up all over the bathroom floor. I spent a nearly a half hour, crying, throwing up, sweating, and cursing my rotten, mangled body. Julia softened a bit, seeing my obvious distress. "Listen, why not wear panties and bras? No one will see." "I guess that's true..." I mumbled, through my sobs. Eventually my stomach settled. Julia helped me to clean up the bathroom. "I tell you what. If you do, then I suppose I could get you some magazines or something to read. Would you like that?" I looked up at her gratefully, wiping the tears from my face. "Yes, that would be nice, thank you." "That's a good girl," Julia pulled me into a warm hug. I coughed and sniffled a bit. It felt nice to be held by her. "Excellent. And when I come visit, you won't mind if I check?" "Check what?" "Well, that you're wearing the proper underwear, of course." I submitted. "Oh, I see. Yes, that would be okay." *** Julia actually waited until I changed my underwear, and then made me lift my shirt to see my bra, and then pull down my pants to see my new panties. The bra was almost too much. My nipples were so sensitive, and my breasts (just barely larger than normal) were so tender, that the clingy fabric drove me to distraction. Whenever I moved, my breasts would be gently squeezed and stroked. I hoped the new feelings would pass, since I could hardly concentrate on anything else. The panties were all right. They rode up on my hips and the lace tickled my stomach at first. After just 5 minutes they had worked their way into my crotch and between my ass cheeks, and the way I seemed to be feeling horny all the time, shut into my apartment like this with nothing else to do or think about, I just knew that they would be sopping wet before long. I guess that just meant changing them frequently and doing the laundry more often. At Julia's suggestion, I gathered up all of my male underwear, put it into bags, and then handed them over to her. Now it was either wear women's panties or go without. It wasn't until later that night, after a light dinner (I was not really hungry) and I did the dishes (the dish washer... ummmm) when I discovered Julia's other gift. I was putting away my new panties, all of them were simple white or cream colored hi-cut cotton panties with simple lace trim, and then the bras, and at the bottom of the shopping bag there it was. A rubber penis. It wasn't huge, about 6" long, modestly thick, but it looked so real. The rubber was a slightly darker tan with pink/red highlights, and there were veins carefully carved out. The penis was obviously erect. It looked like it was straining towards me. When I picked it up, this weird tingle jolted through my body. It was so intense that I quickly threw it away. It bounced across the floor and lay there. The electric shock had caused my nipples and crotch to tingle like crazy. But... it was rubber, how could it give me an electric shock if there were no electrodes on it? But far worse was what I felt deep up inside. Inside, my... vagina, I guess. A persistent throbbing itch. I curled up in a ball on the bed, away from the penis, scared for how it made me feel. I hugged myself, trying to sooth the nipples on my flat chest, and crossed my legs tightly trying to satisfy that deep itch. Eventually the tingles subsided and I got up, used the box one last time, and took a quick, cold, shower. The last thing I saw before turning out the lights was the penis, straining towards me, lying on the floor at the other side of the room. I turned on my side away from it and eventually fell asleep. *** "Unh!" I woke with a start, sweating, convulsing. I had been having a weird, nasty dream: penises bumping up against me, trying to work their way into my crotch, trying to get past my panties, running up against my breasts, lips, while I frantically tried to push them away... I turned on the light to clear the visions from my head, and there it was. The rubber penis on the floor. In the direction it lay, it looked as if it were pointed at me. Just the sight of it caused my crotch and nipples to twitch a bit. I looked at the clock: 2:30 AM. What was I going to do? I went to the bathroom, plugged myself into the box, waited ("thunk, thunk"), and eventually urinated. My panties were soaked and disgusting, so I threw them into the hamper, cleaned myself up with a cold wash cloth and put on a fresh pair. I went back to bed, turned off the light, and tried to get back to sleep. But I couldn't. In my confused, half-awake, half-sleep state, I could somehow *feel* it behind me. This insistent presence, just waiting for me. All on their own, my nipples tingled and so did my crotch. I held them tight, trying by sheer pressure to make the feelings go away. And then, in a daze, I succumbed to the inevitable. I rolled out of bed, dragging the bedspread behind me, and walked, as if pulled, over to the rubber penis. I sat down next to it, pulled the bed spread around me, and picked it up. "Ohhh," I moaned. The same jolt ran through me: my nipples hot and twitchy, my crotch itching, and deep up inside me, that insistent throbbing. There was no going back now. Involuntarily, a hand moved to my breasts to massage them and pinch the nipples. I leaned into the bed spread tightly clenching my legs and pinching my nipples. It was surprisingly heavy, and actually seemed a bit warm, as much like a real penis as was possible with rubber. My new vagina desperately demanded attention, and I only had one hand available. I spread my legs, pulled aside my panties (soaked again), and ran the length of the veined penis between the lips down their, across my new artificially-constructed clitoris, pressing down hard. I pulled the crotch of the panties back over the penis, trapping it against my crotch, and just worked it back and forth... oh, the delicious friction. I shuddered in a small orgasm. But the deep throbbing was still there. I was no longer thinking at all clearly, no longer cared about the boundaries that I was crossing, just horny and needy. Something had to be put up there to massage that itch. And so I just did the obvious, I pulled off my new wet panties and eased it into my dripping wet pussy. I was tight. It felt big. I worked it in deep, pressed it hard up deep into my needy vagina, bumped it against that deep itch, and sighed in pleasure. Chapter 3 "Bong!" The doorbell woke me up in the morning. It was 7AM. "Just a minute!" I called out. Over night, the rubber penis had slipped from my vagina and was lying on the floor. I hurriedly thrust it into the nightstand, stumbling as I was again overtaken by the electric jolts through my body. "Bong!" The doorbell again. "Hold on!" I rushed to the closet, threw on a shirt and pair of jeans, and rushed back to open the door. "Hello there!" A large, burly man stood in the doorway, holding a new box. "My name's Jim. I'm here to replace your box! "Ummm..." I stammered. "May I come in?" he inquired, gently. "Oh, sure." I opened the door. "Yup, you'll be seeing me about every other week or so, sometimes more frequently, sometimes less... depending." He walked across the bedroom and into the bathroom, as I trailed helplessly behind. I blushed, realizing that the bedroom reeked of female sexual discharge. It had been a long night. When I entered the bathroom he was in the process of removing the old box. "Depending on what?" I asked. "Oh, I dunno, whatever your particular needs are, I suppose. Sometimes I replace the boxes for clients two, three times a week. Usually when they're pregnant." "Pregnant!?" I nearly shouted. "Oh yeah, sure. You should see 'em. Big!" "But I can't get pregnant!" I vehemently stated. "Well, whatever." Using a set of complicated-looking keys, he had unlocked the top of the old box, fiddled inside for a bit, pulled the entire box off the floor, and set it aside. "What is that it's connected to?" I looked down into the cables coming out of the floor. "Well, that's power, battery backup, and internet connection." "Internet?" "Oh, sure. It's all encrypted and stuff, so only the institute can connect to it. Anyway, they analyze how you're doing and adjust the dosages and stuff as needed." He connected the cables to the new box and gently worked it down over the hole in the floor. "So, they can see inside my body..." "Yeah, pretty much." He fastened it down, closed the cover, locked it up and stood to leave. "There you go! They'll run a self test from the institute and send me back out if there are any problems, but that almost never happens. So, you're set to go, all locked up, nice and tight." "Thanks... uh. Jim." I saw him to the door. *** "You're done!" Carla said brightly, unplugging her machine and putting it away. It had been a short session this time. After three weeks of daily electrolysis, my body was now completely done. She had done my entire face, back, chest, belly, and (most embarrassingly) around my crotch and between my ass cheeks. It had been amazingly painful, like torture, but there I sat, meekly taking it, the pierce of the needle, the little crackle as electricity was applied, the burning. And afterwards, the blotchy red area. Four hours a day, and the rest of the day to recuperate, before starting again the next morning, with a break on weekend. "Thank God I'll never have to do that again!" I sighed. "Well, not until next week, of course." "What... uh... what do you mean?" I stammered. "Haven't you noticed? The hairs on your face are growing back in. You get this week off, and then I'll be back next week to start all over again." "But no... how long?" "Well, it varies from client to client. But I would say that you'll probably be seeing me for another eight to ten months, at least." "Eight to ten months!" I gasped. "Well, not every day. Each time there will be less and less to do. So, it should go easier and easier from here on out." "Well, at least that's a comfort." "Now it's time to learn how to shave your legs and underarms, which you need to do every day without fail!" "Okay..." "And when we're done with that, we should have plenty of time to cover the basics of makeup..." And so my electrologist became my cosmetologist. *** "Uh... I don't want to appear ungrateful..." "Yes?" "But these magazines..." I took a look at the magazines that Julia had laid out before me: 'Cosmopolitan', 'Good Housekeeping', and 'Marie Claire'. "What's wrong with them?" "They're all, um... women's magazines?" "Right! Well, time for you to start thinking more like a woman." "But... women I knew never read these things." "Ahh, but the woman I want you to be does read these magazines. Reads them, studies them, and loves them." "But... what if that's not the woman I want to be?" "Too bad! At this point, I think I know you better than you know yourself. Now, may I ask why you are not wearing makeup?" Julia tapped her fingers impatiently, fiddling with her watch. "Umm..." that queasy feeling was starting to build in my stomach again. "I... uh... didn't know that I was supposed to wear it all the time. After Carla left, I washed it off, and..." "And I notice that your nails are not done, either." "Nails? She said nothing about nails!" "Did she give you some nail polish?" My stomach was twisting into knots now. Somehow I had inadvertently displeased Julia and my body was punishing me for my rebellion. "Yes... ah... both for my fingernails and my toenails. Please..." I cried, holding my stomach, which was cramping terribly from my effort. "Please, what?" Julia said, looking at me intently. "Please... I'll be better. I promise. I'll go do it right now." "Well, okay." She smiled at me, and gradually my cramps faded away. I had been given a temporary reprieve. "And here's where these magazines can help, see? They have tips on how to apply makeup, skin care, hair care, nails, everything! Next time I stop by, I'll expect that you've studied the article on 'The Perfect Pedicure', 'Skin Care Basics', and 'Choosing your Perfect Eye shadow'. Okay?" My heart sank. "Okay," I agreed. It looked like my days would be spent studying fashion magazines and applying makeup. "Very good. Now, please take your shirt off." "Excuse me?" "I've brought you some blouses to wear instead of your disgusting T-shirts." "I like my T-shirts! Women wear T-shirts all the time." "They do? When was the last time you saw a woman wearing a T-shirt?" "Ummm... Fort Lauderdale?" Julia rolled her eyes. "Please, that's ridiculous. Look, these are quite nice, and I can't imagine you would worry at all about wearing them. Now, take off your shirt and let's try one on." *** And so I did. Fortunately, I was wearing my bra and panties, like a good little boy should be, earning a compliment from Julia. And, knowing it was inevitable, I obediently gathered up all of my male shirts, put them in garbage bags, and handed them over to Julia. After she left, I went over to my desk (now empty without the computer), arranged my makeup supplies and carefully applied my makeup, using the mirror that Carla had left me. I went slowly, trying hard to do a good job, and this time, without having to concentrate on Carla's discussion, my sensations were heightened. I felt each stroke of eyeliner, eye shadow, and blush. I could smell the makeup as it was applied. I tasted the lipstick as it was applied. Always I was continuously amazed at how many steps were required. My lips required five steps: lip pencil, lipstick, blot, another coat of lipstick, and lip gloss. My toenails required eleven steps: soak feet, trim nails, file edges, push back cuticles, moisturize, separate, base coat, color coat, second color coat, top coat, clean up stay polish. And so it went. After I was done I walked into the dining area to sit down and read my new magazines. But as I passed through the living room, I passed the tacky "Jack Daniels" mirror over my couch and stared, shocked, at my new face, fully made up and now framed by a light, cream colored blouse. I could no longer recognize myself. Tears dripped down my face as I sat down at the dining table, where I cried for a good long time, my face in my hands, confused, lonely, and helpless. After I had settled down a bit, a familiar ache in the pit of my stomach told me what I knew I had to do. I went to the bathroom, washed the stains off my face, and then went to re-apply my makeup. Chapter 4 Another week gone, and my routine had stabilized. Wake up at 6 AM. Connect to the box. Urinate. Shower. Masturbate in the shower. Shave legs and underarms. Wash, cleanse, buff face. Do makeup. Brush out hair. Put on panties, bra, a pair of jeans, and a blouse. Have a quick breakfast. Touch up make up. Carla arrives and critiques makeup. Wash off makeup. Electrolysis. Lunch. Clean apartment (mmmm). At Julia's suggestion I take on one 'detailed' cleaning project per day. Yesterday it was wiping down the insides of the cabinets. Today it's the windows. By now, the redness from electrolysis will have faded, so I can wash my face and reapply makeup. Read magazines. Use box and toilet. Dinner. A second shower. Read magazines. Masturbate with rubber penis (ummm... nice), orgasm at least once, sometimes twice or even three times. Wash up. Use box one last time. Fall asleep. *** "Uh, Julia?" "Yes, dear?" "Umm... I'm worried. I've started bleeding, you know... down there." Julia had come to replace more of my wardrobe. All of my jeans, suits, and pants are gone now, replaced with skirts and dresses, mostly thigh length, some shorter (yikes) and some longer but mostly narrow and confining, some sweater sets, and some tighter, more clingy tops. My breasts had now grown to an 'A' cup, officially, and had a bit of heft to them. So I had got new bras too. Nice ones, satin, soft, and generously trimmed with lace. "Bleeding?" she asked. "Probably it's normal. Let's take a look." And so she walked me into the bathroom and I had to pull down my underwear to show her. I pointed out the small blood spots on the crotch of my panties. "Oh," she said, matter-of-factly, "that's just normal. You're having your period. My little girl is all growed up now!" she faked wiping a tear from her eye. "But!" I gasped, "I'm a man! I can't!" "Oh dear," Julia responded, wearily. "Yes you can, and you will. You will be having your period every month from now on. Did you notice that I left you tampons and feminine napkins the last time I came to visit?" Of course I had, they were stored under the sink. "I thought they were some kind of cruel joke..." I muttered. "No joke, not at all. And now you'll need to use them. Just a tampon at first, but on heavy days you may need multiple forms of protection." "But... I don't understand, I cried. How is this possible?" "Let's just say that this is a special feature of our service for you. Now, tell me honestly, don't you feel more like a real woman knowing that you'll have to live with your 'monthly visitor' from now on?" "I suppose so," I grudgingly admitted. And so, after quizzing me on makeup, Julia dropped of a new batch of magazines and left. This week she said that I should focus on fashion articles. I don't know what she was worried about. Since I had nothing at all to do during the day, with no TV, computer, stereo, or anything, all I did all day was clean the apartment and read magazines. I must have read every word of every page, including the ads, at least three times. *** "What do you wear to bed at night?" Julia asked. Yet another week had passed. "Ummm... I just wear a pair of panties. I hope that's all right." My stomach did a little flip of worry. "Absolutely not! It's time we had you dressing properly for bed. I've brought you some nightgowns, robes, and slippers. You should be nice and comfortable." "Thank you, Julia." "You're welcome. Now, let me take a good look at you." I stood up and walked over to Julia, as she appraised my body. "Very nice. You are beginning to look the part. It won't be long now." "Won't be long before what?" "Nothing. Don't worry about it. By the way, this week, Carla is going to spend an hour a day instructing you on posture, how to walk, how to hold your head, where to put your hands. I'm sure you'll give her your full and undivided attention?" "Yes, Julia," I responded, quietly, "I will. Thank you." I clutch the magazines to my chest, grateful for fresh reading material, no matter what it was. "And thank you for these." "Oh, you're most welcome. And this week let's concentrate on sex, Okay? I'll want you to pay special attention to '40 Secrets of Women Who are Great in the Sack', 'Fellatio Fundamentals', '10 Spots to Lick that will Drive Him Wild', and '20 Favorite Sex Tips for You and Him'. Okay?" What? Why? No! I thought to myself, furiously. What is this leading to? But what I said out loud was, "Yes, Julia. Thank you, Julia." *** That night, after my second shower, I put on a long, clingy nightgown. The fabric was so sensuous as it stroked across my bare legs. My hair was getting long, so I pulled it away from my face and tied it up with a neon-pink hair scrunchie that Carla had given me. As I put away the other nightgowns (flannel, sheer, and satin), I notice a box. I carried it to the bed and opened it carefully. Inside was a second rubber penis. This one was strange. It was attached to a wide rubber base, about a foot square. As I took it out of the box, a slip of paper fluttered to the floor. I placed the new penis on the bed, and with the base flat the penis jutted straight out into the air, bobbing. It was so real, more detailed than the previous one, with a fully formed scrotal sack and actual pubic hair. When I reached down to touch the scrotum I heard a gentle "bmmm", a note, very soft, accompanied, instantly, by a small tingling jolt to my nipples. I reached down and picked up the paper. It had just a single command on it, hand written, probably from Julia. "Use your mouth," it said. I went to the closet, got the spare blanket, and spent the night on the couch. *** The next morning I carefully picked up the new penis with a pair of kitchen tongs and dropped it in the back of the closet. But it didn't really matter. No matter what I did that day, everything seemed to refer back to that thrusting penis hidden in the closet. "Don't be tentative when you apply lipstick," said Carla during my makeup session. "It's like a little penis, make love to it with your lips!" As she started on my electrolysis, I looked over my new magazines. "10 Steps to Oral Perfection," said one. "Sex-U: Modern Mouth Maneuvers," said another. "Do you want a penis thrust into that mouth of yours?" asked Carla, bluntly. "What?" I was flustered. "Close your trap! Unless you want something thrust inside of it, then it shouldn't be gaping open like that all the time." For lunch that day: a hotdog and a banana. For dinner: cucumber salad. By that evening, I had read through all of my new magazines, and as I tried to sleep, my mind couldn't stop thinking: "Your enthusiasm for the oral act is 80% of the game, be sure to tell him how good he tastes!" "Lots of eye contact, even with his penis filling your mouth!" "Start by lightly swirling your tongue around the nerve- packed tip of his penis, as if it were a delectable dripping ice-cream cone!" "Don't forget his scrotal sack. Men will rocket to new heights of ecstasy if you don't forget to play with it, or best of all suck and lick it!" "You can control your gag reflex, it just takes practice, and your man will vault you to the level of sexual goddess when you master it!" *** "bmmm" A shiver ran through my body. There was that soft tone again. Desperately horny and unable to sleep, I had pulled the thrusting rubber penis out of the closet and placed it on the bed in front of me. I hesitated for the longest time, just looking at it staring back at me. "bmmm" Again, the tingle in my nipples. Was my mind doing this? Is this how I react to the possibility of turning my will over to a rubber phallus? Finally, horniness won out. I leaned over, tucked my growing hair behind my ears, and wrapped my lips around the very tip of the penis. "bemmm" The tone again, this time a bit higher. My nipples twitched again, with more intensity this time. I sucked more of the penis into my mouth, swirling my tongue against the ridges of the glans. "bem bem" This time two tones. My clitoris twitched and I nearly lost my mind with anticipation. I reached down and started stroking my crotch. I sucked for a while longer, using my tongue and lips as described in the magazines before I realized that the tones had stopped. What was wrong? What did it want me to do? I tried sucking harder and deeper, nothing. Finally I reached up and stroked the balls. "bemm bemm" The tone returned. This time the jolt in my pussy was intense, causing me to gasp and tense up. Oh... it was good. Stroking and licking, I waited for another tone. Nothing! Desperately, I tried sucking harder, kneading the testicles. Finally, I reached down and sucked the scrotal sack fully into my mouth. "Bing!" This time it was not subtle. An electric shock passed through my body, concentrated on my nipples and crotch. My mind was on overload. Where were these shocks coming from?? My need had become frantic. I desperately went back to sucking on the penis, taking it deeper than before, this time gagging as it bumped against the back of my throat. "Bing bing!" Back to the testicles. "Bing!" Back to the phallus, ignoring my gag reflex, I sucked as much of it down my throat as I possibly could, and this time I simultaneously rolled the balls roughly through my fingers. "Biiiiing!" A sustained electric charge this time. I climaxed, and blacked out. Chapter 5 "His name is Michael James." "Whose name?" "Why, your date, of course." "But... No!" "Why not?" Julia looked at me intensely. That familiar knot began to form in my stomach. "I'm not ready... I'll embarrass myself." "Not ready? Look at you! You look very nice. Demure, well mannered, attentive to your looks. Why, I know men that would pay half their fortune to have you!" It is true, I had progressed significantly since that first day. My hair was now shoulder length and growing like mad. My makeup and nails were picture perfect. I was now graceful at walking in heels (provided last week by Julia, I had to wear them all day long, every day), sitting, eating, and conversing. "I just can't..." "Can't what?" "I can't leave my apartment," I winced at the admission. "I don't know... I'm agoraphobic or something, but I get nauseas every time I try to leave." "That's just jitters about being seen alone in public, as a woman, fir the first time. It is a frightening place out there. But I'm sure that as long as you're on the arm of a nice strong man, then you'll have absolutely no problem, whatsoever." "But..." I looked up at Julia, quivering. "Yes?" "What's my name?" I blurted out, tears started to form in my eyes. "I don't even have a name! Who am I? What am I doing here?" Julia got up and held me in girl's embrace, careful not to smudge my makeup. "There, there. I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier. Your name is Kathy. That's a nice name, isn't it? I have all your new identification right here." "Kathy? I'm Katherine?" "Yes, but you prefer to be called Kathy. Now, since he'll be coming here to pick you up, we'll need to spruce up your apartment. Here are some house wares catalogs. Circle the items you'd like and I'll be back tomorrow. We better hurry, there's a deadline to meet." *** My date was just a week away, and suddenly everything kicked into high gear. Movers came to remove all my old furniture, followed that same day by painters who repainted the entire apartment. Bright yellow for the bedroom, deep red for the living room and dining room, dark green for the kitchen, bright aqua for the bathroom. Thanks to my obsessive cleaning, the place was already spotless and organized to the nth degree. New furniture, sheets, and towels arrived and suddenly the place looked amazing. Very feminine, yes, but also quite tasteful. Practically overnight, my environment had changed to match my new outward appearance. And then there was the reading. Julia finally brought me more reading: "The New York Times", "The Washington Post", and "The Los Angeles Times", which I had to read, every day, cover-to-cover. "So you'll have something to talk about," Julia explained. Increasingly sophisticated by day, I had become increasingly frustrated by night. Each time I sucked on the oral trainer (my nick-name for it), it took longer and longer. It was planned, I could tell, that the delay between the beeps was increasing, bit by bit every day, until I was spending over an hour a day with my mouth on the penis before it would let me orgasm. And what was worse, it seemed to be the only way I could orgasm anymore. All of my previous methods, in the shower, with the first dildo, got me excited but always left me just short of climax, leaving me frustrated and excruciatingly horny. *** Finally, everything was ready. Julia and Carla came over the day of my date for a 'final inspection'. They quizzed me on everything. Current events. Makeup emergencies. Walking. Talking. Eating. Discussing one's background. The art of conversation. Flirting. Eye contact. How to show him you're interested. How to make him feel important. How to let him take the lead. How and when to be submissive. How and when to be aggressive. How to seduce a man. His erogenous zones. Then they did a physical critique. Every strand of hair, every fleck of makeup, the cut and drape of every fold of cloth. I had to dress and undress for them twice. Once as if for a man, and once for the best presentation of my new body. And after it all, they applauded and with actual tears in their eyes gave me a big hug. "You are perfect," exclaimed Julia, "exactly to specifications." "I'm so happy to see my girl all grown up and on her own!" exclaimed Carla. "Now, he'll be here soon, so we'll be heading out. Remember everything we've taught you!" Chapter 6 The door closed, the date was over, and I was alone at last. The sense of bliss that surged through my body was overpowering! I danced about the apartment, hugging myself, and giggling like a schoolgirl. "Oh! He's wonderful!" I exclaimed to the couch. "He's incredible!" I told the refrigerator. And a good kisser, too. The goodnight kiss ("This week's poll: 68% of women think you should absolutely kiss on the first date!"), ahhhhh... it lasted nearly 10 minutes. I just melted into his arms. Michael was wonderful. Average in most respects, about 5'10" tall, hazel eyes, unshaven, brown hair, almost geeky in fact. But wealthy, having co-founded a software company which was doing very well. And boy, could he kiss. And good with his hands, too. I was so anxious about leaving the apartment that I was almost hyperventilating. But somehow, as soon as he put his arms around my waist I just felt all my tensions just ebb away. My nausea was gone! I almost swooned as he guided me to his red sports car and helped me get in. Darn those low sports cars! I'm sure I flashed him as I struggled in my narrow skirt and heels. The panic returned as we stepped into the restaurant. People! My mind swirled. I'm out on a date with another man, and he's holding me close, and everyone's staring at us. But Michael was just so wonderful. "There, there, my beautiful Kathy, everything's fine," he whispered into my ear. "We're right on time for our reservation," he tapped his watch a couple of times and I felt my tensions ease away as I clung to him, "and you're beautiful, so just relax and enjoy it." And that's exactly what I did. By the time the main course had arrived, we were chatting like old classmates. What had happened to me? I wondered. It was like I was on a high, I never used to be this forward or outgoing. But somehow, it was easy. I found I could listen to him forever. I had been shut in for so long that I craved companionship. I actually teared up at one point. "What's the matter?" Michael enquired. "I just forgot how much I enjoy being with others," I stammered, blushing. He smiled at me. "Well, no wonder! After all, you've been shut in that apartment for over two months. That would drive anyone crazy!" "You mean," I stared at him, shocked, "you know?" "Of course I know," he replied, "Julia has kept me fully informed." "But... I thought... excuse me, I just need to powder my nose," I ran to the bathroom, sobbing, shaking, feeling violated. Julia had told him all my most intimate secrets. I was an open book to him. I thought I could hide behind the carefully constructed facade that Julia and Carla had built, but he *already knew*. Eventually I settled down, fixed up my face, and went back to finish dinner. Michael was totally sweet. He just changed the topic and we went on as before. That was the one and only time he ever referred to my past as a man. *** We had a couple more dates that week, and by then I was ready to have him over for the night. No actually, I was desperate. I was horny and I wanted sex. My two rubber penises had ceased to turn me on at all, no matter how long I played with them nothing happened. Every single night I tried to masturbate, and every single night I fell into a frustrated sleep, unable to orgasm. The only time I felt relaxed anymore was when I was with Michael. So I invited him over for a home-cooked meal. Julia purchased all of the ingredients for me and even gave me pointers and advice. After a couple of days of practice, I was ready. Dinner was perfect, the most spine-tingling meal that I've ever had. We sat right next to each other, and after a few bites I put my fork down and just used my fingers. His eyes! You would have thought they were about to pop right out of his head. But then I reached for the food on his plate, and had him eating from my hand and licking my fingers. God, it was so sexy. After desert (Creme Brule - I just love cooking with a blowtorch), we settled on the couch for some heavy necking. And it was bliss. I lost myself in his arms, kissing, being kissed, using tongue. Somehow his scratchy stubble was exciting too, as I rubbed against it I surrendered to the feeling of me as a woman with this wonderful man. But as I reached for his zipper he stopped me. "Ahhh, Kathy?" he asked. "Ummm?" I hummed, my fingers lightly stroking his bulge. A real penis, just beneath my fingertips! I could feel it's hard length, the veins, the circumcised glans. Michael gasped, "Oh God, that feels good. But I... we... I mean..." I blinked my eyes at him, coyly. "Oh please. Listen, I want you to be special, okay? Sure, I've had sex before, but this is different. You are perfect, you are exactly what I asked for." Asked for? "...and I knew, as soon as I saw you, that you were made to be my perfect companion." Made? Companion? "...but I was completely unprepared for my feelings for you. As unbelievable as it is, I think I'm falling in love you!" Love? "...but that's beside the point. Before we even met, I knew I wanted for this to be special, and I decided that there should be no sex until we're married." Married? "...so please, I think you should stop." Stop? My mind was turned completely inside-out. Sex? Marriage? Love? What was he talking about? My God, what was going on here? "But please..." I whimpered as I looked down at his hard penis bulging in his pants, "I... I need this..." it had been a week and a half with no orgasm, I was desperate. "No, I'm sorry, I'm firm about this. But if you'd like, you could give me a blowjob." And there it was. A blowjob. I was reduced to this, a whimpering sex kitten begging to give her man a blowjob, my only release. But you know what? At that point I didn't care. So I carefully knelt in front of him, pulled down his zipper and reached in to pull his very, very hard penis out. As I sucked him to orgasm, I could almost hear the tones in my head as his excitement built. And when he came, I held his sperm in my mouth as small shocks surged through my body and I came too. Finally, I swallowed, gently licked him clean (he was still hard!) and looked up to see him, eyes closed, blissfully relaxed. For some reason, he had taken off his watch and was holding it in his hand. That was the last time I orgasmed before we got married. *** I spent a lot of time with Michael over the next couple of weeks, a lot of it with my head in his lap, and his penis in my mouth. And, just like the rubber penis, sometimes I would have to give him a very long blowjob before he would finally ejaculate in my mouth. But gradually my technique improved, I began to sense his excitement better, and I could make him come within 5-10 minutes if I tried. But that's just when he asked me to slow down. He enjoyed feeling his penis in my warm wet mouth, he said, and he enjoyed having his hands in my hair (it was now down below my shoulders), so please, could I make it last longer? Yes, of course I could, and I did. From 5 minutes to 10 minutes, then 15 to 20, and longer. And then he began to do other things with me on my knees in front of him. He would read technical proposals from work, marking them up as needed. He would read the paper or even watch television. All this with my red lips wrapped around his hard penis, sucking away, bobbing up and down, until finally he would reach behind my head, pulling me in tighter -- our signal for me to work towards the final push and the inevitable ejaculation of sperm, which I held in my mouth for a while before swallowing. And after every time, I thanked him for the privilege. Because I was supposed to, it said so in the magazines. I was supposed to enjoy it, I was supposed to enjoy his taste, and at every opportunity I was to make sure that he knew I loved it. And... And, in fact, I did enjoy it. I loved it, in fact. I felt more at peace with him, alone together, than I have ever felt before. I had a mouth full of sperm when he proposed. I was the one on my knees when he pulled a velvet box from his jacket pocket and presented it to me. I swallowed, several times, trying to get the taste of semen out of my mouth before I looked into his eyes. He opened the box and showed me a gorgeous two carat ring. After a second, he lifted my hand and slipped it on my finger... ... and as it settled home I knew I was trapped. I knew I could do nothing but accept. I knew that he was my man. And why not? He was rich, generous, and certainly nice enough. I must have loved him, for I always felt wonderful when I was with him, and horrible when we were apart. Whenever I would return to my apartment I would crash -- become depressed and anxious. He was my tonic, my opium, my reason for living. He was what I looked forward to every day. *** After that night, things started to move pretty fast. I met his family, I was fitted for a gown, and his mother planned the entire wedding in just 2 months flat. Since he was an only child, she had been looking forward to this all her life. "Only grandchildren could make me any happier," she whispered to me once. And during this time, certain strange things kept occurring. For example, his apartment had a box. When I asked him about it, he just said that Julia had had it installed, and that it was for me. *He* certainly didn't need it. And so I could spend the night at his place (in the guest bedroom -- still no sex) and still use the box every day, as required. And so, the institute knew exactly where I was every night, which felt strange, to have this organization monitoring me all the time. And his apartment was a mess. I immediately offered to clean it up, and his reaction was just weird. Instead of being grateful, it was like, "Well, of course!" What was I? What did he think I was? Not that I minded, really. My place was so spotlessly clean that there was nothing to do, and I had pretty much become addicted to cleaning every day. So now I could clean his place, which I did, until it was spotless and perfectly organized. His mother sure loved that, I can tell you. And something else strange happened: my breasts began to grow. They had already been growing, slowly, over the last couple of months. But now they *really* began to grow. I went from an A cup to a respectable C cup in the two months it took to plan the wedding. Now my breasts were getting really heavy, and for the first time I felt like a total woman, "up front". And, boy were they sensitive. It was bizarre. One day, I would be fine. I would dress, put on a bra and go about the apartment, cleaning, or whatever, then I Carla would stop by (still finishing up the electrolysis) and everything would be okay. Then, the next day they would feel a bit snug. My day would be spent unconsciously adjusting the straps of my bra, trying to straighten it so it wouldn't bind so much, or so the under wire wouldn't poke me. The next day it would be downright painful. The bosoms would feel crushed as I attempted to do the straps up in back. And so, every week or so, it was back to the store to purchase new bras (Michael had three cars and let me borrow one). Most often the change would be minimal, so I wouldn't actually go up a size, but rather I would have to shop around for a new cut of bra which fit better. What did the sales ladies think of me? I was constantly in the store to purchase new clothing. Of course, Michael's reaction to my new growth was perfect delight. He felt them every day, as if measuring their size, and demanded that I massage them with special creams (from Julia, apparently) three times a day, sometimes while he watched. This became our ritual at night: I would come to him, dressed in a silk nightgown, the only kind he would allow me to wear. I would kneel before him and pull the nightgown over my head. Then, in just panties, I would use the cream to massage my bosoms, a minimum of 30 minutes, and then, after wiping my hands on a towel, I would reach over to his lap, pull out his penis, and suck him to orgasm. And then, every time, I would go to bed... frustrated. Of course the wedding was totally perfect. Say what you will about the Michael's family, but they certainly organize a great party. There must have been over two hundred people there, family, relatives, friends, all on Michael's side of the family (my story about being an orphan was often repeated). Only Julia and Carla came for me, and Julia was my bridesmaid. I would have preferred to have Carla as my bridesmaid, but I really had no choice: they had already decided amongst themselves. And so there I was, in front of the priest, saying "I do", with Julia at my back. She was also the guardian who stepped forward to give me away. And after a huge reception where I danced with just about everybody in the room, I was whisked away to the Big Island of Hawaii, where, as soon as we stepped in the door of our bungalow, I raped him. Chapter 7 "Thunk, thunk," went the box. I sat on the toilet thinking, with the cable plugged into my body, occasionally twitching and pumping me full of god- knows-what chemicals. "Thunk, thunk," I never even thought about it, anymore, and wherever I went, one was always waiting for me. Christ, it was even in our room in Hawaii when we arrived. When will this end? I wondered. At some point, my contract with the institute must expire and I'll be able to go to the bathroom anywhere in the world. Right? A box had been installed in Michael's apartment. Then I found one at his parent's house when we went to go visit. I blushed furiously when I saw that one, thinking what Michael and Julia must have said about me when it was installed. And now, since Michael and I have moved to our new home, there's the box again, in the master bathroom, next to the toilet. Someone had come to install it over night, since it was there the morning after closing and before any of the furniture had arrived. So, I sat on the toilet, waiting for the box to finish with its business so I could then finish with mine. I sat there... thinking about what Michael had asked me earlier this evening. "Why don't you wear something that shows a little more cleavage?" At first I wasn't sure that I had heard him correctly. "I'm sorry, honey. What was that?" I asked. "You are always wearing loose blouses which are buttoned up high. I guess I was wondering if you would wear something tighter, which shows more of your cleavage?" "I don't know what to say to that," I was incensed, "I'm dressing properly, that's all." "It's not like you don't have excellent breasts to show off." "Excuse me?" My breasts were just over a C cup now. "They're almost perfect. Just another half-inch larger or so and they would be perfect." "Well, I doubt that will happen. They've stopped growing." Michael smirked, "I have a feeling that they still have another inch to go..." he took a look at his watch, and fiddled with the dials a bit, "... over the next month or so." The way he looked at me sent a chill through my heart. What did he know that I didn't? "It doesn't matter, I like the way I dress. It's nice. I don't want to look like some slut or bimbo." "But there are lots of very elegant women who show off their, um... assets more." "I don't care about what other women wear." "Do you care about making your husband happy?" "Of course I do..." Suddenly, I began to feel a bit queasy about where this conversation was headed. "... then I would like you to go out tomorrow and purchase a new wardrobe. Throw out all that old dumpy stuff and buy some new things. Sexier things. I can afford to have you buy 40 or 50 new wardrobes, so money shouldn't be a problem." My queasiness was growing rapidly, "Please," I begged him, "no..." Michael looked at me hard and suddenly I was overwhelmed with full-blown nausea. I ran into the bathroom and threw up my dinner... several times. I was in there for a full hour, heaving and sobbing. What was going on here? I had married Michael to escape Julia and what she was capable of doing to me, but I had somehow landed in the same situation with Michael! Why won't my body let me stand up to him? Am I so afraid of confrontation? Finally, my stomach settled down enough for me to wash up and return to the bedroom. "Well?" Michael arched his eyes at me. I stared at the ground, knowing what I had to say, but desperately not wanting to give in to him on this. "Yes, Michael. Okay, I'll do it... for you." "Good girl," he said, with a smile. "I bet that once you get used to your new look, you'll really begin to like dressing up more!" *** And so, I meekly did as instructed. It took a couple of tries to get it right, but eventually I ended up with a new set of blouses and shirts, which were sufficiently revealing. I learned to search on the Internet for 'deep V', 'deep scoop', or 'plunging' necklines. My closet now contained a whole range of tight, clingy, stretchy ribbed T-shirts (with deep scoop necklines), silk charmeuse tops with deep V-necklines, halter tops with 'plunging necklines', and even low-cut suede camisoles with spaghetti straps. And true to his prediction, my breasts began to grow again, and then stopped about two months later. I was now a rather top-heavy D-cup. After our honeymoon, where I was so crazed with lust that it seems I lost my mind completely, and then the craziness of moving both households and tying up all those loose ends, I really had no time to think about me or what the hell was I doing here? Why did I accept him so easily? Was I really that overcome by simple lust? In truth, sex had settled down a bit. The first week I literally couldn't think straight, it was as if I was addicted to having my cunt filled with his cock. Then, there was a lot of time where we were both simply too exhausted to do much more than lay together, sometimes with his hard cock buried in my pussy, and other times just hugging. That's another thing Michael has told me to do. Now that I'm dressing up more, he now wants me to start using words like "cunt," "pussy," "cock," and "blowjob" more often. "They turn me on," he said, simply. "You turn me on, dressed like that and talking like that." And so, like an obedient little wife, I read up in my magazines about 'talking dirty to him' ("it is important to be honest and uncensored" they say), and I modified my language when were alone together. Anyway, the first few months in our new home, I would attack him almost as soon as he stepped inside the door. Half of the time we never made it to the bedroom before I was on top of him, his hard cock thrust up my wet, willing cunt. He used to love having me attack him, and I used to love doing it... it's as if I were addicted. But then, one day, it just didn't happen. Just like that. Some switch had been turned off in my hormones, and instead of attacking him I just greeted him at the door with a kiss, and then we had a normal evening. It was a relief, really. But then... Well, I felt like our relationship had started to change, somehow. And later, after the 'fight' about my wardrobe, he started making other demands. *** "You know, sometimes I just wish you were more seductive, sometimes." "Seductive? What do you mean?" "Well... I don't know. It's sometimes, I think things have become so routine. I mean, it's like..." "Yes..." "Well, I don't know! It's like we never do anything wild or fun, anymore." I rolled my eyes, "Well, most of the time you're too busy with work. I've tried to engage you, but you've just brushed me off." "But now I'm bored. What about now?" "I told you, I'm trying to study my manual so I can become a tour guide." I held up my manual for the 'Benjamin Johnson' house, a historic house that was actually within walking distance of our new home. After nearly a year and a half of hard work, our new house was now pretty much done and organized. And so I started looking around for things I could do to fill the days. "About that," Michael walked over, took the manual from my hands, closed it up and put it aside. "I don't want you to become a tour guide." Shocked, I reared back and slapped him in the face, *hard*. "Fuck you!" he shouted at me, grabbing me roughly by the arm, pulling me off the couch. "You are *mine*, you understand! You are meant to take care of *me*! You are supposed to do what *I* want you to do!" He marched me roughly to the bathroom, threw me in and slammed the door shut. Immediately I felt my stomach cramp up, but this time my body reaction was 10 times worse than it had ever been before. Not only intense nausea, but also horrible headaches and intestinal cramps. That night I slept in the bathroom, too exhausted to move. *** The next morning, after I'd used the box (which seemed to take an especially long time) and after a long, long shower, I dressed in my white halter dress (with the plunging V neckline), did up my hair and makeup nice, and went to find Michae