Test Subject Turnabout
- 2 years ago
- 17
- 0
Test Of Strength free porn video
Test of Strength
By Jasmine Lee
It was a fluke that I was part of the "in crowd" in college. It just
happened that the star athlete was a friend of mine from high school,
and knowing him got me in with the jocks and the best looking girls and
into the coolest fraternity. We had a blast for four years, and I hated
to see this part of my life end, so I sort of stretched out my
schooling, going for my Ph. D., even after I married Sharon.
Sharon was the best thing that had ever happened to me. She was dark-
haired, with enormous dark eyes, and a great body, though she had a
slight tendency to put on weight, which I was always on her about. I
was no prize physically - slightly built and, at 5' 7", a couple of
inches shorter than Sharon was, though she diplomatically avoided
wearing heels and even slouched a bit to make up for that. But all my
friends were studs and I learned from them to be loud and assertive and
very much in charge around the house.
Truth is, I was a bit of a jerk sometimes. Most of my buddies were
still single and I often acted like I was, too, even though Sharon was
supporting me financially and did everything to deserve my devotion and
consideration. But I was always taking off for impromptu football
weekends and bossing her around. And, like I said, I was a bit cruel
about her weight problem. I'd pinch the flesh on the back of her arm or
her love handles and tell her how disgusting it was to have a fat ugly
wife and that she'd better shape up or I'd have to look elsewhere. I
know - what a creep I was! The truth is, I always felt that she was way
out of my league and putting her down made me feel a bit more secure
somehow, as if lowering her self-esteem would keep her from realizing
she could do much better.
The turning point came just before I finished classes. I'd gone on a
road trip with some buddies and we'd gotten pretty blasted and I'd
spent the night with some girl I met in a bar. I don't think I'd know
her now if I bumped into her, but one of my friends' girlfriends found
out about it and told Sharon and she confronted me in tears. She was
completely heartbroken and I felt awful, really terrible. I hated
myself for what I'd done, but I just didn't feel like I could show
weakness or remorse or take the blame. Insecurity again, I suppose.
Instead, I blustered and sputtered and turned it back on her. "Yeah,
well I wish I hadn't done that, but you've gotten so fat and boring -
I'm ashamed to even be seen with you these days. A guy's gotta do what
he can. It's up to you to keep my interest, babe, and you've been
slipping."
It was vicious - and it wasn't what I felt - I was parroting the kinds
of things my friends would say when there weren't any women around.
Utter nonsense, but I could almost make myself believe it, and it was
easier than taking responsibility for my deplorable behavior.
I really expected Sharon to leave me after that, and I wouldn't have
blamed her at all. Especially since she had just inherited a big house
in the country and a lot of money from her grandmother. She could start
a new life without me so easily. I would have missed her terribly and
known I had lost the best thing in my life, but in a way, it would have
been a relief not being married to someone who I knew was too good for
me. Instead, she decided to try to repair our marriage.
"Charlie, you were right. Not to have the fling - that was horrible -
but that I should take better care of myself for you. I've just been
working so hard lately, and I have become a little boring, talking
about work, and I have let myself go just a bit. But I want us to have
another chance. I think we should move into Grandma's house and start
over. It will take you some time to write your thesis, and that's a
great place to work. I can still commute to the office from there. And
to the gym, too. You watch me, I'm gong to get in great shape again,
just for you."
I felt so relieved, and also a little uneasy. I knew I didn't deserve
this second chance, but I also knew that I didn't want to lose her.
Besides, my life at college was over now; my buddies were moving on
and, after my thesis was done, I'd be looking for work. This move just
might be for the best.
Well, Sharon kept her word and really did get in shape. At first, it
was just running and jazzercise, but then she really got into lifting
weights. Before I knew what was happening, she was a full-fledged
bodybuilder, with a weight room and a fridge full of special drinks and
food. She was really into it. I couldn't complain because she firmed up
nicely and our sex life had never been better.
It was kind of ironic, though, because I felt less and less inclined to
work out myself. I just didn't seem to have the energy anymore. I
guessed it was all that reading I was doing for my thesis - enforced
inactivity. I was also embarrassed to realize that I was getting a
little pudgy. I was eating the same as always, but I was definitely
putting on flesh here and there. It was a little weird, actually,
because I didn't seem to be gaining much weight, and I was still using
the same belt notches as before, had even gone in one or two, but some
of my pants were getting so tight in the butt that I couldn't even get
them on, and, well, I figured it was just my imagination, but it was
like I had man boobs or something. I mean, my chest was getting kind of
fleshy here and there.
But Sharon didn't seem to notice or mind that I was getting flabby as
fast as she was getting firm, so I didn't let myself worry about it.
When the thesis was done, I'd start working out again - maybe even with
Sharon's weights. Little did I know that these changes were all part of
her revenge - ever since we moved into the new house, she'd been lacing
my orange juice with high doses of female hormones and tranquilizers.
She didn't drink orange juice herself, so all she had to do was spike
the bottle. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The months rolled by, and Sharon began to get a little too fit for my
taste. I mean, she didn't exactly look masculine, but she definitely
had more muscles than I liked to see on a woman. I made a few comments
at first, but then she started inviting her bodybuilding girlfriends
over to use her weight room and I guess I just got used to it. Besides,
whenever I'd tease her about being an Amazon or something, she'd pinch
my flab and say something like, "Awww, you want me to be nice and soft
like my hubby?" This kind of comment always made me blush, especially
when she said it in front of her muscular friends, and I didn't have a
comeback anyway. Whatever I said, I would be acknowledging that I was
soft, which I guess I was. Besides, a couple of her friends were
enormous - bigger even than my jock buddies at school, with muscles on
top of muscles - and I didn't want to get into a fight with Sharon
while they were around.
As time went by, I just couldn't seem to focus on my thesis. I wondered
if I was going to be one of those perpetual students. It was a bit
depressing really - Sharon seemed so happy with her new friends and her
job and her new interests. But I didn't have friends anymore and didn't
know what to do with myself. Sometimes, I just sit on the couch while
she was at work and have a good cry. I never used to cry, but I just
felt so bad about myself. I was getting so fat and lazy - all I wanted
to do was eat and watch television. Of course, there's nothing much on
during the day, so I'd watch talk shows, and the shopping networks (to
ogle the models, of course, though they did have some nice things for
sale sometimes that I though Sharon might like), and, of course, soap
operas. I couldn't believe how interesting some of the stories were - I
would get so engrossed that it made me feel better - took me away from
my problems, I guess.
One day, Sharon came home from work to find me draped across the couch,
watching the tube and she started muttering to herself. I eventually
realized that it was about me. "You got a problem?" I said. "Well yes,
Charlie, I do have a small problem. I work hard all day and come home
to a filthy mess! It seems like the least you could do is pick up after
yourself a little. Or maybe even do some of the cleaning and laundry
since you've got so much time on your hands." I couldn't believe what I
was hearing. "Surely you don't expect me to do woman's work?" Whoops.
"Woman's work!? It's just plain work and I've got more than my share of
that as it is. If you got off your fat ass once in a while and did
something around here...your ass might not be quite so big!"
Who did she think she was talking to? That was quite enough - time to
put her in her place, I thought. I struggled off the couch and walked
right up to her. She was still wearing her heels, which gave her about
5 inches on me, but I wasn't going to be intimidated by a mere woman.
"Listen, little girl, don't you ever talk to me that way again or
I'll..." I raised my open hand as if I was about to smack her. What she
did in response was completely unexpected - and, looking back on it,
changed my life forever. She reached over with both hands and grabbed
my tits! Her grip was so strong it forced a tear out if each eye. My
whole being was spellbound. It was as if she was holding vital organs,
like my heart - or my testicles - rather than just chest flesh. It was
a very strange sensation - I felt completely subdued. I couldn't move a
muscle.
She peered down at me and said, "You know, if you grab a rooster by the
bill, he will thrash and scratch until he's free. But if you grab a hen
by the bill, she'll just sit there until you decide to release her."
We stood nose to nose - or rather, my nose to her chin. For the first
time, I realized just how much bigger and stronger than me she was. It
was more than a little scary. I felt overshadowed, intimidated, utterly
submissive. Like two lizards who puff up and try to intimidate each
other, until one acknowledges its inferiority, deflates, and backs
down. I was the loser, the weaker, the one who backed down.
But still my pride rebelled against what was so clear on a deeper
level. I tried to puff myself up again and, in a desperate attempt to
regain my status, I challenged her to arm wrestle. She gave me a
derisive smirk and rolled her eyes. "You just don't get it, do you? OK,
I'll arm wrestle you. But if I win, you'll have to accept some changes
around here." I swallowed hard, but wouldn't let myself back down
again. I convinced myself that I would win from sheer willpower.
We sat at the kitchen table - she grinning at me as I tried to find a
position that would give me the advantage. Finally I felt ready and
nodded. Within half a second, my right hand was flat against the table.
I got misty eyed and my voice broke a little. "Left arm?" She sighed,
and pinned me even more quickly. I buried my face in my weak little
arms on the table and cried like a baby. She began to stroke my hair
and spoke to me, softly but firmly.
"OK, here's how it is. You have always looked down on women - you just
called me a 'little girl.' Well, from the standpoint of strength and
courage, you are the little girl now. All you seem to respect is size
and strength, and I've got you beat there, so until you can beat me at
arm wrestling, your name is Charleen, do you understand?" I couldn't
respond, I just sobbed more loudly. "You will keep house for me,
Charleen - that means cooking, cleaning, mending, laundry, everything a
woman is supposed to do, according to you. And there will be no more
pants, or haircuts, or going places without my permission. I am in
charge now - you will do as I say or else."
I gathered myself enough to speak. "What are you saying? I won't do any
of those things. You can't make me do anything." She grabbed both my
hands in one first and pulled me across the table like a wet dishrag.
"You will do as I say, or I'll spank the living daylights out of you,
Charleen." I was reduced to whining. "You can't do that - that's
spousal abuse! I'll report you!" "Well, you go right ahead and mince on
down to the police station, and you tell them that your mean wife is
spanking you on your tush and you can't make her stop because she's
bigger and stronger than you are. They'll probably just laugh at you,
but if they don't, I'm sure the case will make the papers and your old
buddies will read all about it."
I was trapped, and then she took away my car keys and dragged me
upstairs and forced me to stuff all my male clothing into plastic bags
to be thrown away. Then she took me to the guest room - MY room, from
now on, she said - and opened the closet door and pulled out the
dresser drawers to show me my new wardrobe. She had been planning this
for some time, I realized. This was not a whim that she would forget in
a day or two.
"You love watching television, Charleen. Well, you'd better pay close
attention because it's up to you to learn how to dress like a woman, to
do your own makeup, to fix your hair - just like the little housewife
that you are. And if I come home and find you looking anything but prim
and pretty, you'll be on my knee in no time. Oh yes, there will be no
sex until you can beat me at arm wrestling and show me you're a man
again."
"This is ridiculous - you're crazy!" I said. "No crazier than you were
when you had an affair and excused it because I was fat and boring!
Well, Charleen, now you're the fat, boring housewife and you'd better
make yourself gorgeous and agreeable to me or you'll be out on your fat
fanny!" She gave me a wicked snack on my bottom and I started crying
even more loudly. "Now get into your new clothes right away and get to
work on my dinner!"
I tried to collect myself, lowered by voice, and with all the authority
I could muster looked her in the eye and said, "Now listen, Sharon.
There's absolutely no way I'm going to put on a dress." Sharon was
unimpressed. "OK, Charleen. This time I'll put it on for you." She
picked me up like I was a doll and threw me on the bed, stripping my
clothes off of me and putting me into a bra, panties, pantyhose, slip,
and full-skirted dress. Then she buckled shoes with two inch heels on
my feet and walked me to the full-length mirror. She stood behind me,
holding my wrists so I couldn't pull away or pull off my dress,
supporting me when I teetered in my new shoes. Finally, I stopped
struggling and she loosened her grip. Then she ran her hands over me,
as if I had a woman's body underneath my pretty clothes. She cupped my
breasts and my bottom in her hands and smoothed my clothes over my
curves, as if I really was a woman.
I couldn't let her know this, but it felt really good - the clothes,
her caresses. I had to admit that the dress fit me much better than my
own clothes did - it seemed to be big enough in all the right places
and held onto me just right. For a second, I liked what she had done to
me, but I could never accept the new balance of power in our
relationship. I was determined to fight her tooth and nail.
Of course, I could run away, though I guess it would have to be in
women's clothes now. But I didn't want to leave Sharon. I still loved
her and, the truth was, I was afraid - of being alone. No home, no
money, no job. The house and car were hers, after all. And I liked our
life together - I just needed to become the man of the house again.
There were a lot of spankings over the first couple of weeks. Really
vicious spankings, that left my bottom beet red and me in tears. I
couldn't sit properly for days on end. I finally decided that, maybe if
I cooperated just a little, she would get tired of the game. So I
actually started dressing myself in my new clothes in the morning,
without her "help." And after my soaps were over, I'd do a little
straightening up and pop something in the microwave for her dinner.
When she got home, she would notice the improvements and compliment me,
but then she would notice that I hadn't vacuumed, or color coordinated
my shoes, or set my hair, and I would get a terrible beating once
again.
I knew that the only way out of this situation was to regain my
strength so I could best her at arm wrestling. Sharon let me use her
weight room when she was at work. Maybe she was just trying to shame me
into being more of a man. I tried to work out, but even her smallest
weights were too much for me. I just seemed to get weaker and weaker,
while she was getting stronger and stronger. For the first couple of
months, I challenged her to arm wrestle every so often, just in case.
But it was a joke - even with two hands, I couldn't budge her. She'd
win again and wink at me, and then she'd reach over and pinch my
nipples through my bra. They always got hard as buttons when she did
that. Of course, she knew that turned me on, which only increased my
humiliation. The she'd cluck softly like a hen at me and start to
giggle and I'd start to sob. Finally, I just lost the fighting spirit.
I finally decided to give in and try to meet her expectations. To go
all out and just get it over with. One Friday I not only got dressed, I
put on full makeup, set my hair, cleaned the whole house and even made
her dinner from scratch. When she got home, she noticed everything and
was full of praise for me. I really felt good about myself - I had
tried my best and couldn't help beaming from ear to ear when she said,
"Charleen, I'm so proud of you! You look lovely, dear, and the house is
spotless!" "No spanking today?" "No, sweetheart, you don't need one
today." "Then, can we call it quits and go back to normal?"
Big mistake. She turned me over her knee and whaled the daylights out
of me! I was even more upset than usual - I had really tried this time.
What did she want out of me? She must have read my mind. "Listen,
Charleen. I'm never going to let you be a man with me again until after
you have completely become a woman, in thought, feeling, mannerism,
appearance. Do you understand? I don't mean just a little playacting -
one whole day of being the perfect little wife. I mean complete
surrender to a feminine way of life, so that you forget that you
weren't born a female. When you are as much a woman as I am, then I'll
let you go back to being a man." "But how long do I have to...?" "No,
that's the point. You mustn't care if it's for a day or for the rest of
your life. It will just be who you are. That's the only way for it to
be real."
She saw how defeated I was by this - I was being asked to give up
manhood for good. "Can't you just trust me?" she asked. "If you want to
be with me, you'll just have to give yourself to this completely and
let me decide when enough is enough. You know that I love you - I never
would have stayed with you otherwise. I'm doing all of this for your
own good, for us. You know I'm in charge now. So do what I say and
trust me to know what's best."
There was a long pause. I wondered if I really could do what she asked
of me. Truth is, I had no idea what being a woman was like. I knew it
was more than dresses and lipstick and vacuum cleaners.
Again, she read my mind. "Listen, honey, if you cooperate, I'll help
you. OK?" I decided, yes, I want to be with Sharon, so I'll trust her.
I'll do it! "I'll try, if you'll help me?" "Will you do as I say?"
"Exactly as you say, I promise." "All right then. We'll start with
teaching you to pay attention. You've never been a good listener where
women are concerned, never paid attention to me or other women when we
say something. So, from now on, whenever I say "Practice Charleen!" you
will repeat whatever words and actions I or a woman on TV or any of my
friends has just said or done - and not just in a monotone, but with
full feeling and expression, and appropriate intonation and mannerisms.
And you'll do it over and over until you get it right. Do you
understand?" "Yes."
"Well, I'm glad that's settled." She smiled at me. "Well!" She pursed
her lips, stood up, patted her curls into place, and smoothed her
dress. Then she said, "It's been a trying day and I'm going to pamper
myself with a bubble bath, put on something pretty, and go to bed!" I
was stunned by the sudden change in her mood. So she caught me by
surprise: "Practice Charleen!"
Oh my god! It was a pop quiz. I had no idea what she had just said or
did. Something about getting a snack, I think? I just froze.
She rolled her eyes at me and gave me a mild slap on the rear. Then she
sat down again and repeated it. "Well!" She pursed her lips, stood up,
patted her curls into place, smoothed her dress, and said, "It's been a
trying day and I'm going to pamper myself with a bubble bath, put on
something pretty, and go to bed! Practice Charleen!"
I pursed my lips, stood up as femininely as I could, patted my hair,
smoothed my dress, and repeated her words. Another slap on the tush.
"Charleen, you must get the expression, the modulation, the gestures,
the spirit exactly right. You must feel it, like a Method actress
would, as if you are really doing and saying it, and not just copying
me."
It took two more tries before she was satisfied. I did feel like a
different person when I got it right, as if it really was me who had
the thought and spoke the words.
"Walk the walk and talk the talk" took on new meaning for me during the
next weeks and months. Sometimes, it was fun. Like when we were
watching "Harry Met Sally" on the tube and she commanded "Practice
Charleen!" right after the scene where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm. We
both laughed and laughed at that one. Other times, it was excruciating
- like when she had me perform in front of her friends. One of them,
Tonya, had come straight over from the beauty parlor to show off her
new hairdo. Sharon's friend Miranda gushed, "Oh Tonya, I just love it!
You look luscious! And the color is just lovely on you! Who did it for
you? Cherise? I simply must make an appointment!" And while she spoke,
she hovered around Tonya, daintily caressing her friend's curls and
touching her hand.
Sharon wheeled around at once: "Practice Charleen!" To my surprise, I
had heard every word and caught every gesture. I got it right - and
felt it wholeheartedly - the very first try! After all, Tonya's hair
was gorgeous, and I had been thinking something very much like what
Miranda had said.
By this time, I was completely dedicated to my feminization. My body
was blossoming (somehow I convinced myself that it was my bras that
were giving me the appearance of having real breasts and making them so
sensitive). And my hair was well past my shoulders now. I asked Sharon
if I could go to a salon. "Not yet, first I want you to learn
thoroughly how to set and style your own hair and do your own makeup.
When you get it right every time, then I'll reward you with a
professional makeover. But as long as I catch you with a curl out of
place or forgetting to refresh your lipstick after a meal, it'll be up
to you to stay pretty on your own. And you'd better make yourself
pretty for me, girl, or you'll be on my knee before you know it."
I wasn't afraid of her spankings anymore - it had been weeks. I really
did want to become a woman now, at least psychologically and
emotionally. I was enjoying myself - a whole new world had opened up to
me. I never knew just how interesting and intelligent women were. I was
really paying attention now, and trying very hard to live up to their
standards.
There was so much to learn, too. I took a great interest in homemaking
- sewing, crocheting, knitting, cooking, gardening, cleaning - all
those things that I used to take for granted or have contempt for. I
would get so excited in the afternoons, waiting for Sharon to come
home. Making sure I looked my absolute best (I'd been jazzercising for
some time now and lost that extra weight) and I was always so anxious
to show her what I'd been doing all day and to try out a new recipe on
her. We had never gotten along so well before - we had so much in
common now. I really did feel like a woman most of the time, and I
hated it when I didn't.
Sometimes Sharon would bring it home to me just how much I'd changed.
For example, after one of my girlier outbursts, she would surprise me
with "Practice Charleen!" Making the point that I had become a woman
worthy of imitation myself. I always smiled bashfully when she did
this, but also with a sense of pride.
Then, one night, she opened my eyes in a very different way. As we were
heading for bed, she lingered by my door. "Are you going straight to
sleep, honey?" "No," I said, "I have to put my hair up first, and then
I'll do a little crocheting, I think." "Oh Charleen, you've become such
a dear little woman, haven't you? And so industrious, too. I'm really
proud of you, darling." I blushed. "Thank you, Sharon. That means so
much to me!"
"In fact, I think it's time." For what? I was puzzled. "For a reward!
You've become so much a woman now that I'm going to reward you by
letting you be a man again, but just for tonight." I was nonplussed.
"What...what do you mean?" "I mean, I'm going to let you make love to
me, just like in the old days."
I could barely remember the old days anymore, but I looked forward to
that kind of intimacy with Sharon again, so I hurried into her room.
She laid herself on her bed and motioned for me to join her. She was so
beautiful - I climbed in next to her and rolled on top. We kissed and
caressed each other with a passion we'd never known before. I felt
different than before. I was in no hurry; I was more attuned to her
body, her feelings. I felt waves of happiness and excitement coursing
through me. I loved Sharon so completely, so tenderly. I wanted every
part of my body to find its own language of love; its own way to
worship her and give her pleasure. There was only one part of my body
that had nothing to say.
Nothing. No erection, no throbbing, no impulse to thrust and penetrate.
My nipples were like two penises - hard, sensitive, craving her touch,
her lips. But my penis was inert. I suddenly realized how long it had
been since I'd had any kind of sexual feelings down there. But I
thought how disappointed Sharon must be. Once again she read my mind.
"I don't miss it, baby doll. You have everything I want already." And
she began to suckle my breasts while tracing the contours of my body
with her nails. I felt my tresses swinging across by back as I arched
my head back in ecstasy. There are so many ways a woman can give
another woman pleasure, and she did them all. And I did, too.
The next day, Miranda and Tonya came by for a quick workout in the
weight room and for tea after. I served them in the sun room and sat
down to chat. "So, honey, Sharon tells me that you're officially one of
us?" "Oh, definitely!" I said. "I've never been happier!" "That's
wonderful, Charleen! You make such a pretty girl, too." "Thanks,
Miranda! That's so sweet! I try to look my best for Sharon." "Ever
think about joining us in the weight room, honey? It's a great way to
keep fit." "Oh no, that's not me. I mean, you girls look great and all,
but that's not really my style. I try to be as petite as I can. My lady
likes me that way. She's got enough strength for both of us!"
Cheryl
- 16.06.2021
- 11
- 0
