The Mesh free porn video

It was a a day like any other. I had the week off, but that didn't amount to much apart from the fact that I didn't really knew what to do with my time. So I spent most of the time silently ruminating. My life wasn't exactly going very well, so I had plenty to ruminate about. I was 32, I had a well-paid job that I liked and was good at, but there was little else in my life. I had always been a loner, but since graduating, I had lost contact with the few people I got to know at university. There were only three people left I saw on a regular basis, and that meant once every two or three months. I had never been any good around other people. Not by choice but by an awkward mixture of shyness, social ineptitude, a lack of basic social skills and high intelligence. I hardly ever felt at ease around people I didn't know, and that was particularly true with women. Unsurprisingly, I was single and had been for a few years. Nevertheless, that day I decided to go out. I had no idea where to go, what to do, no expectations, all I knew was that if I spent another evening at home staring at the walls they would come closing in on me. So I went outside. Being completely clueless where to go, I just kept on walking. Many other people were out and about, having a night out with friends, partners or just having a good time. I wasn't. I just kept on walking. I wondered if there might b a way to connect to any of them, to tag along or even join in, but to me, that seemed about as likely as an octopus joining a flock of birds. I didn't know where to start. The most basic aspects of socialising seemed as cryptic as a book written in foreign letters. I didn't talk to anyone, but still, it was better than just sitting at home. Eventually, I decided to sit down on a bench, rest for a few minutes and then to return home. The night was still very young, but I had run out of ideas where else to go. I sat down, took out my phone and checked my emails. Not that I expected any, it just seemed to be a good way to appear a little less lost and out of place. I actually found some unread mail, but only the usual. A newsletter, and some spam which I quickly deleted. After that, I put my phone on standby and back into my coat. I had just been about to get up when suddenly, I heard someone say "Hi!" That came very unexpected. I hadn't noticed anyone nearby, and was pretty startled to find a women sitting next to me, looking and smiling at me. Even though it was only a second or so, it seemed like half an eternity until my perplexity gave way to a stammered "Er ... hi." It came out much too quiet, and my voice almost cracked over that one syllable, which made me immediately feel very conscious of myself. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that name." she said. "Pardon?" I was confused, "What name?" The words hadn't even left my mouth completely when I realised I was making a complete fool of myself. "Well," she replied, "your name, obviously." A second of staring at her blankly later I finally managed to say: "My name?" "Yes, your name. Why, is it a secret?" Again, I was lost for words. My brain felt like a bluescreen. "No, of course not. The name's Simon." "Nice to meet you Simon. I'm Meredith. I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking." I thought I had been confused before, but right now, I experienced a completely new dimension to it. What was going on here? Why was this woman talking to me? Where's the hidden camera? "I'm sorry, did I miss something?" She just smiled and said: "Why, it seems there are one or two things, most importantly me trying to chat you up." At that stage, the idea that she might not be setting me up didn't even cross my mind. "Is this some sort of joke?" She looked deep into my eyes, and for the first time I actually noticed her as more than a talking nondescript blob. She was actually very attractive, probably in her late 20s. Very deep blue eyes. "Now look here, you've got two options, Simon. You can either dismiss this all as a prank, and go home alone. Or, you can be game and find out that I'm for real." While saying that, she put her right hand on my neck and quickly tipped it a few times with her fingernails. I felt a little sting, but before I could react in any way, she grabbed my chin with her left hand and made me face her. I had to some extent avoided directly looking at her, but now she made me meet her gaze. "So, what's it going to be?" Somehow, in a way I couldn't explain, she seemed sincere. I had not the faintest idea how or why, but if she was putting on an act, it was a very good one. "Sorry, I ... it's just that ... er ... this is all, well, a little bit unexpected." She sighed. "Yes, I can see that. Don't apologise. Just come with me." With that, she let go of my head, grabbed my head and led me away. I just followed with a completely blank mind. In fact, it took me several moments to regain any coherent thought at all, until it finally occurred to me that I might to anything apart from simply following her lead acceptingly. "Where are we going?" I finally asked. "My place, silly." "Why?" "Guess." Slowly, the reality of the situation was sinking in. A beautiful woman was bringing me to her home, and as it seemed, was up for sex. I still couldn't even begin to understand why, but I was beginning to like the idea. Finally, after a few more minutes of walking, we stopped in front of a completely inconspicuous building. She fumbled in her handbag, got out the keys, unlocked the door and beckoned me in. Obligingly, I followed. She led me up two floors, and opened the door to her flat. We were hardly inside when she grabbed my head and started to kiss me. It was passionate, even aggressive, and she was obviously very much used to be in control. I didn't mind. "Did you like that?" she asked when our lips finally parted. All I could say was "Yes." "Want some more?" "Yes." "What a surprise." she smiled, almost deviously, then her hands went to unbuckle my trousers. Once the fly was open, she put her hand into my pants, grabbed my erect cock and gently began to pump. "Listen carefully now, because I am only going to say this once. Tonight, I'll make all your dreams come true. But if you want that to happen, you'll have to do exactly as I say. Is that understood?" There I was. After years of loneliness, I was inside a woman's home. She had my cock in her hand, and I had a thing for dominant women. What else could I have said but "Yes." She kissed me again, bunt only for a moment. Then she let go of my cock, turned around and said "Follow me." And so I did. She brought me into her bedroom, closed the curtains and simply said "Strip." while she began to undress herself. As soon as I had rid myself of my clothes, I started to admire the view. She was marvellous. Lithe, pert, perfect. If I only had any belief in a deity, I would have sacrificed as many furry little animals as he, she or it would have liked me to. It still felt somewhat unreal, but for some reason or the other, this time I got lucky, and I wasn't going to spoil this with silly questions. As they say, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. She teased me a bit by posing, then she lay on the bed, spreading her arms towards the bedposts. "See that closet over there?" I nodded. "Open the lowest drawer. Everything we'll need you'll find in there." In it I found the stuff I expected. Condoms, handcuffs, a blindfold, some other toys, some things I couldn't make any sense of at all. She told me to cuff her hands to the bedposts, and to blindfold her. "No close your eyes, count to ten, and then the games may begin." I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and started to count. At seven, I suddenly felt a little disoriented and nauseous. It was just for a moment, but when it had passed, something was different. I wasn't upright anymore. I was lying on my back. How did that happen? I didn't bother to count on and opened my eyes, but I still couldn't see anything. I didn't even have the time to become nervous when something else happened, something far more disturbing. I felt a hand touch my breast and starting to play with my nipple. It felt amazing, but there was a lot more breast than there should have been. Then a second hand was placed between my legs, and where I should have felt something touch my cock and balls, there was only smoothness. And suddenly, a finger slid into an opening that absolutely shouldn't have been there. I hasped, and when the finger found a spot inside there and started to rub it, I moaned. Only, I heard her voice moan. Waves of pleasure unlike anything I had ever experienced before filled my mind completely. I should have panicked. I should have screamed for help. I should have asked how this was possible. How could I suddenly find myself in her place, or rather, find myself her, in her body? It was outright impossible. Completely, utterly impossible. Yet there I was, and instead of getting answers, I succumbed to pleasure and lust, yielding all resistance. "You like that, don't you?" I heard myself say. That is, my voice, just not exactly as I remembered it. Slightly different, subtly but noticeably so, like ... hearing a recording of my voice. Yes, that was it. It sounded different because I heard it with her ears, not mine own. My voice went on: "It's all right. Believe me, you are going to enjoy this. You don't want me to stop, do you?" And just as he said it, he did something that felt even better and I moaned a haughty "No, don't stop." "See? Relax, don't fight it, just let it happen. Be game, and I promise you, when we're done, you'll be on your knees begging for more." While he said that, the removed his hand from my pussy. It still felt warm and moist, and strangely, with the finger removed, I felt an emptiness that I longed to be filled. I would soon be granted my wish. Something else was touching my labia. At first, I didn't quite get what it was. It teasingly touched the rim of my pussy, slowly moving along the crack. It felt a bit like an itch I couldn't scratch. I wanted to touch myself, but my arms were firmly restricted. It took only seconds until I started to thrust my pelvis against it, to get it inside of me. "That's the spirit!" he said, and then he penetrated me. He pushed my cock, no, make that his cock deep inside me and very slowly started to fuck me. I was completely unprepared for that. There was no part of me that could have dealt with these sensations, this experience in any way whatsoever, and so I was completely swept away by it. My mind just melted, and I lost myself in sheer lust. I have no idea at all how long this went on. I had lost any sense of time, space, even of myself and seemed to exist merely as a mindless bubble in a sea of sexual pleasure. All I know is that at some point, he stopped. I wanted more, but I too was exhausted, and gave in to his tender embrace and caressing. His cock was still inside me, and I wanted it to stay there. I clung to him - at some point, he must have removed the handcuffs, and in his arms and with him in mine, and his cock still buried where it belonged, I fell asleep. The next morning, I awoke myself again. Strangely enough, though I was relieved, I felt also some subdued regret at that. "Good morning, sleepy-head." I heard her voice say. I looked aroung, and next to the bed, she sat on a chair dressed in a satin bathrobe. I got up and sat on the the bed. Despite everything, it felt a little awkward being naked in front of her her. "What ... how did ...?" I wanted to ask a thousand questions all at the same time, but all I managed was a semi-incoherent stammer. She put her finger to my lips, signing me to shut my mouth. Still confused from what had happened - who wouldn't be? - I did as she told me to. She smiled, and sat next to me on the bed. She gently stroke my ear and then she put off her bathrobe. She lay down on the bed, and teasingly invited me with a sly wink of her digit. As soon as I did the same, she hugged me and caressed my back. I still didn't understand what was going on, but there was a beautiful naked woman next to me and she touched me, so I did the same. I felt her breasts on my body, and my erect penis touching her thigh. When she moved in to kiss me, I returned it. Again, for a brief moment I felt disorientation and nausea, and when it lifted, I was again her. I was taller than her, and though I wasn't exactly athletic and worked out more sporadically than regularly, being embraced by my body gave me the distinct impression that he was stronger than this body I now inhabited again. Yet, I felt not threatened. If anything, I felt secure. "I know you must have a lot of questions, and I'll explain everything to you. But first, yes, this is real, and no, there is no magic that actually works." "But how ...?" I couldn't finish. He put his finger on my lips. "Sh." He continued fondling me. "You see, there is no body-switch, no magic exchange. You are still you, and I am still me. But technology allows for a cutting of corners, if you will, a trick. By now, your brain is enmeshed with a very sophisticated nano device, and so is mine. They work as data transfer servers. All signals that my body sends is rerouted to your brain. So if I do this ...," he tweaked my nipple, "... the signal doesn't end there," pointing to my forehead, "but here." Now he was pointing at his forehead. "And of course, vice versa. Equally, the mesh sends all your brain's signals no longer to your body, but to mine. So, even though it's only a rerouting of nerve signals, our brains have changed place. Wicked, isn't it? Of course, as far as our servers are concerned, I am the master, you are the slave." He chuckled. "Sorry for this show of bad taste, but that's actually official IT terminology. Well, I guess it's a certain type of people that are drawn to the field. Maybe we better say, I have administrator rights, and you don't. There is a reason for that. You see ..." and he started to fondle my pussy, "... I want to be a man, and I've chosen you to take over. I let you wake up as yourself one last time, because I thought it would ease the transition for you." I still had no defences against the sexual stimulation and couldn't offer any resistance. I could only give in. "You're perfect. Maybe not exactly handsome, but not too bad-looking. Socially isolated, hardly any people I would have to worry about trying to make believe I am you. Also, I rather think you'll enjoy this body, being a woman. Certainly looks like it from where I'm standing." With this, his cock entered my pussy again, and with very slow, deliberate thrusts stimulated me. "And one more thing. Admit it, this is what you've always wanted. It took only some very superficial intelligence to find out all about your little secret. I know about your cross-dressing. I couldn't believe my luck. I don't even have to teach you how to dress up and put on make-up and all that stuff that women have to put up with. You even like doing it. All it'll take is a little practice to hone your skills, and you'll be the perfect little housewife and fucktoy in no time." Somehow, as I lay there and moaned from pleasure as I was being fucked, I wasn't sure I disagreed. "Naturally, it'll help that your brain isn't wired for this. It'll receive input it can't cope with, and that will ultimately result in overload. You should consider yourself lucky. The sexual stimulation you experience is much more intense than it would be if you'd been born a woman." By now, the only thing I wanted was for him to shut up and fuck me. I was grabbing him on his arse and tried to shove him into me. I needed to get off, to come, but what he was doing only excited me. I wanted more of it, faster, and most all, harder. "Oh, you're an eager one, aren't you, honey? Good, very good. I like a woman with some appetite." He took my wrists and pushed them on the bed, putting his weight on them. Effectively, I was helpless again. But then, I didn't care. I moaned in extasy as he pushed his cock in and out of my pussy, again and again bringing me to the verge of orgasm, but denying me the final push over the threshold. I was maddening. I tried to flex my muscles to tighten my pussy, to keep him in and intensify the stimulus. He kissed me, and when his tongue met mine, he too flexed his muscles in synchrony with me, which made his cock tighten and swell up a bit. The girlfriend I once had had, she had always liked that trick. Now I knew why. I instantly climaxed. And not just once. Every time he did that, until I lost myself again in waves of pleasures. I had never ever felt so good, and that was the plan all along. I felt so good because of him, because of what he did to me, and because he could do that, I sold my soul to him in this very moment, and he knew it. It was a devious piece of mindgame. I had been made a captive, had been stripped of everything that I had been, had even been expelled from my body in an act of hostile takeover and was being raped, but because he made me feel so good, gave me so much pleasure, I only wanted one thing: more of it. That was the carrot. The stick was that he was in control of the mesh. As I learned later, if he chose to do so, I would lose cognitive control over my body and in effect become a living doll, not even able to move an eyelid voluntarily. He only once made use of that power, to show me what if would feel like. It lasted for only sixty seconds, but afterwards I was very, very determined to do anything so it would not happen again. Also, the mesh had limitations. Under normal circumstances, the link could be kept intact over a distance of 80 kilometres, but depending on the environment, it could vary up to 50% in both directions. If we were ever to lose the link, say, because I fled, he would lose control over my body and simply reawaken as Meredith. My mesh however, the slave, would shut down and destroy the surrounding tissue. I'd end up in a vegetative state, or even dead. He pulled all the strings, and even if I ever managed to overcome what was effectively a pleasure addiction to him, I had no chance of escape whatsoever. The only option was to do, become and be what he wanted me to. But these thoughts were not to enter my mind until some time later. The first few days went by in a haze. He kept me aroused all the time, and tried out whatever his imagination could come up with. He seemed eager to explore my former body's potential to its limits, and I went along with it. I didn't really have much choice, but I am somewhat doubtful I would have made use of it even if I had had it. It was just too much fun to follow his lead. It was a funride to get fucked in every position. Moreover, as eager as he was to explore he respected my limits and didn't make me do anything repugnant, and not repeat what I found I didn't care for after trying. Inevitably, it didn't take long before he wanted his cock sucked. I was somewhat reluctant at first, but eventually conceded and gave it a try. It was awkward. It became immediately clear to me that this wasn't so much sexual practice but power play, plain and simple. Not just that I had to do all the work to please him without getting any pleasure out of it myself. Not just that I was literally on my knees, both literally looking up to him and being looked down upon. In effect, I was bowing to his erection as if it were some idol to be worshipped by humble me. I also disliked how it reduced me to a mere source of stimulation. That thing in my mouth not only had an unpleasant taste, it robbed me of my voice, my power to speak and articulate myself. I didn't feel like a person anymore, more like a tool, a device with a function and little else. I couldn't help wondering if this wasn't a very twisted, perverted manifestation of male envy of female breastfeeding. Only that the latter was a nourishing act that strengthens the bond between mother and child, and the first isn't, and only ever fortifies an asymmetrical power relationship. To my utter surprise, he respected my feelings and never again asked me to do that. So we went on to all the great many other things we could do. Maybe there were even too many, it felt at times. At least for him. I came to appreciate that women have a greater capacity for sexual activity. It even felt frustrating from time to time to find that his limited endurance had been spent and that he needed to recharge his batteries before he could go on. In hindsight, it feels almost disconcerting to admit to that. Rationally, I should have been doing something to resist instead of being frustrated that I couldn't be fucked some more. I should have been concerned about other things than awaiting fervently the time when he'd finally be able to penetrate me again. After all, I had been robbed of my life, my gender, my body, my identity. I should have been worrying about what was to become of me, my future, my job and all the little things that constituted my former life from which I had been excluded, expelled even by this bodysnatcher. What's more, I had been born and grown up a man. I can't claim to have ever lived up to any traditional ideas of masculinity - that is, unless you'd include the nerd in that list - but still, it should have been disturbing, unsettling at the very least, to find myself all soft, curvy and with a dick shoved up a place should not have been there. And yet, it wasn't like that at all. On the contrary, I didn't even stop for s second to to consider the strangeness of my situation. Right there, it simply felt too good to do anything but to enjoy myself. But it also seems he chose wisely when picking me for his victim. I had been a cross-dresser all my adult life, and it hadn't been just a role play for me, it had also been a sexual fetish. The thought of myself as a woman engaged in sex had always been a thrill for me, even though only as a fantasy. I had never harboured any homosexual inclinations, I had always been attracted exclusively to women. I hadn't been transsexual either, and had never seriously considered any form of transitioning. I had always been very happy to be a man, just one who on occasion relished in dressing up and playing out a little fantasy in order to take a little time off and then return back to normal. I suppose it must have been that then, I immersed myself in a sexual fantasy come true and didn't even start to consider that there were implications to this. Also, that I was getting fucked by myself contributed substantially to establish that dream-like quality. After all, it was a very surreal experience to be touched, kissed and fucked by a body that had been my own only a short time ago. That face, those hands, that cock were still those of my mental self-image. This other body mismatched that image, and even though any tiny little bit of it felt as real as could be, I yet felt detached from it to a degree, as if it were mask, a costume, maybe a bodysuit that I would eventually discard. The reality of it hadn't yet quite settled in. However, that was soon to change. It didn't take long for my body to confront me with my new reality. Curiously, the first sign of that that I am fully aware of was not this new body of mine as such. I'm not sure if it was on the first or second day of my new life, but it was when I first got out of bed. I stood up and it felt immediately different. It wasn't the sagging of my breasts, that feeling I could relate to from having experimented with breast forms and adhesives, thought it is absolutely not the same experience. It wasn't the absence of my penis either. I noticed I had no perception of something dangling between my legs, but I didn't perceive a loss either. And why should I have? Nothing was missing from this body, it was fully intact as it was. In simply felt like in those moments when you're absorbed in something also and simply have no conscious awareness of it. What got my attention was that I had to adapt my posture in order to keep my balance. And then it really hit me. Something was trickling down my thigh. I put my fingers to it. It was gooey and sticky, and when I lifted my fingers again, I instantly recognised the smell. There was a blob of sperm running down my thigh. On closer inspection, I quickly found that it came out of my vagina. That was unexpected, to say the least. There was no way around it, I had to do something to clean myself there. All of a sudden, my perception of it changed profoundly. It wasn't any longer just a fun part for pleasure. It was a part of me, a part of my body, and one that required care, maintenance if you will, and that brutally confronted me with the fact that some things had dramatically changed for me. I started to feel dizzy, and for a moment, I hyperventilated. I felt very, very lost and confused, I couldn't understand what was going on and I didn't know what to do. For several minutes, I just sat on the bed and watched incredulously as the sperm slowly seeped out of me and soaked into the sheets. I couldn't move, even if I had dared to do so. "What's the matter?" I heard him say. There was real concern in his voice, I suppose I must have looked very shocked. "What's wrong?" he tried again. This time, I managed a reaction. I pointed towards the wet spot and whispered: "I ... I am sorry. I didn't know what to do." It took him a moment to comprehend, and then he chuckled. I looked at him. "What's so funny?" He sat down next to me and put my head on his shoulder. I was still too stunned not to let it just happen. He kissed me on the forehead, and gently stroke my hair. "Sorry. It's alright, dear. I guess that'll take some time getting used to. Believe me, I know it's annoying, but I am afraid it's part of the package." I didn't know what to feel anymore. Whether to feel anymore. I was just completely overwhelmed. Instinctively, I grabbed him and held him tight. I clung to him. I didn't want to, but I need the warmth and comfort of proximity. I started to sob. "Why did you do this to me?" I was fully aware that he was the reason for all of this, that he had put me into this situation, this body, but at the same time, I felt too lonely and scared to let go of him. He sighed. Then he hugged me back. "This must be very difficult for you. I know I am having problems adapting to this change. But it's something I really needed to do. You had something I needed, and I am sorry I had to take it away from you. I never meant you any harm, and that is why I gave you something in return and I want to help you to adapt to being a woman. It's not a punishment, you know, it's just a different way of being. Unlike most women, you're a late-comer to this, and I am perfectly aware that because of that, it will be challenging to you. But I still think you can come to accept, hopefully even cherish being a woman. I'd rather see you happy, but you should know that I will not undo this, not matter how you feel about it." I didn't say anything. So, in silence, we sat there and didn't let go of each other, I don't know for how long. In the end, his assertions turned out to be correct to some extent. The fact that I had been a closet cross-dresser made transitioning into what was to be my new life much more easy than it would have been for most other men. I already knew some basics. How to walk in five inch heels. How to wear lingerie. How to apply make-up, though I had to practice a lot before I was able to live up to his standards, and honestly, mine as well. I had always been a bit sloppy there. After all, I never ever had had to be presentable, to pass the scrutiny of others. If it had been sort of alright-ish, that had been good enough for home use. Some superficial skills that go with what is expected of a woman were maybe not second nature but at least familiar. I didn't have to start from scratch. And I actually did enjoy it. Prancing around in naughty underwear and having to body, to curves to show off in it was exhilarating. Also dresses, skirts, high heels - not having to worry about being accepted wearing them, on the contrary, being even expected to do so was a completely new and wonderful experience that I truly enjoyed. At least, once I had overcome some initial nervousness about being in seen in public this way. Over years, the only opportunity to do all of that had been within the confines of my own home, and so unsurprisingly, that carried over somewhat. But these residual feelings of self-consciousness and nervousness quickly subsided. There was no way of denying it, I no longer was a bloke in a dress, I was a woman, and so it quickly became normal to dress like one. Sadly, as I came to realise that, the thrill also soon faded away. It is no longer a matter of choice. I not just can, I have to wear these clothes. A carelessly scruffy look like jeans, shirt and not having had a shave in a week is no longer an option. Wearing naught underwear as part of my cross-dressing had been fabulous precisely because it was not normality, it was different, a dirty secret to be enjoyed and lived out in private. Now, this has become my normality. I wear those clothes no longer by choice, but by default. Choice, or rather, the lack of it, manifested itself in another issue. As both a man and a cross-dresser, I had always held breasts in the highest admiration and esteem. Their aesthetics, texture and haptics would provide me with endless pleasure. I could have touched and looked at them all day long without ever getting tired of it. As a cross- dresser, I had also envied women for having them. Creating the most perfect imitation of them had been my highest aspiration and just putting breast forms on and touching them never failed to imbue me with amazement and satisfaction, even though they were never more than a feeble, deficient surrogate for the real thing. So, naturally, now the experience of having a pair of my own was a deeply gratifying. I simply loved them on me. They way they jiggled, how the felt when he touched them, how they made me fill out my bras, tops and all the rest, their softness, everything about them. I still do. Yet, as a cross-dresser, I had always had the option to simply lay them aside once I was finished with them. Now that they were for real, they were also there for good. They were always present, and all the wonderful things about them also turned out to be a coin with two sides. Even with a good bra, the jiggle can become really irritating, especially when running. Or try driving in a car over a bumpy road. Sometimes, they get subtly in the way. And yes, they make me fill out my clothes. But not only when I want them to, they do it all the time. Thus, it is actually very hard to find any clothes in which you do not have to remind people constantly that your face is actually a little further up. And strangely enough, the more visible they are, the more people assume that they use up your body's blood supply that would be needed more urgently elsewhere, e.g. your brain. Being pretty and sexy all the time, having to keep that up permanently without remorse or remit is very, very tiresome for other reasons as well. It simply takes a lot of effort. I had always wondered why women put up with that. Now I understand the immense force of social pressure and societal expectations. That was excruciating, because I had had no idea. I might have known my way around the superficialities and some paraphernalia. But there are just that. Superficial. There is so much more that goes with this gender than dressing up for fun. A whole set of required, expected and desired behaviours, mannerisms, even moods. How to talk, how to walk, how to stand, sit, interact, all that I had to learn anew. He was helpful to some extent, but as well-meaning and constructive as he tried to be, it felt like a bombardment of criticism. I had to change this, I had to change that, and I never seemed to get it quite right. I was constantly rehearsing. And that is exactly the right word. As a man, I also had to keep up appearance. There had been things I'd never have done, simply because men just don't. But there is a fundamental difference. It is prohibitive in nature. Some things you just don't do, and you're fine. Now, as a woman, I'd rather describe it as prescriptive. There is a certain standard, in fact several. One you absolutely have to keep up, one you should, one you'd better and one you'd ideally, maybe even more. Very, very demanding. When not in bed with him, I always feel under pressure to fulfil that role. I feel only at ease when he fucks me, and when I does, he fucks me senseless. From one extreme into the other. The relaxed middle-ground that I inhabited as a man for most of the time is gone. I suppose it isn't completely inaccessible for womankind in general. But even given that they can enter it, e.g. when home alone, there is much less room for it in their lives. In mine, there was none at all. But that was intentional. Part of my conditioning, so in addition to my addiction to his sexual favours I also needed him as a retreat from all these pressures and expectations. And I direly needed to unwind from time to time. Take for instance the issue of the male gaze. Being a sex object, I attracted it and was no longer the one gazing, I was its passive receiver. That also meant I had no power, it would happen to me whether or not I wanted it. There was no way to stop it if I wasn't in the mood or had enough. It never ceased. It was constant company. It doesn't come without benefits, I'll happily admit. It can be empowering at times to draw someone's attention and make him focus on you. To know that a smile from you would make his day, that if asked, he'd happily throw his deepest-held convictions overboard just to get into your pants. An now image what he'd do if he knew you didn't even wear some. But it is also very demanding. You have to accept that it happens at any time. Not everyone does it openly, there are even a few rare specimen of the sex who don't do it in any obtrusive way at all, but that is the exception to a large majority. And it is always much more intrusive and obvious that they think it is. If it is not even meant to be subtle, it can become so so invasive that at at times I almost wish they'd just have a go at my tits and get it over with, just to make it stop. Being the centre of unwanted attention like that can be almost physically painful. It is inescapable. A pretty woman is pretty even in a hay sack. The only thing that is even worse than the male gaze is the female gaze. I shouldn't generalise, not all women are like that. But there are too many of them, and when they hit you, they hit you hard, without mercy, and they even sadistically delight in it. Men might lust and desire me, but women scrutinise me. With them, it isn't simply a matter of passing or not for an attractive piece of meat, with them it is an in-depth scrutiny into every minutiae I could imagine, and some that still elude me. Also, with them, it isn't just a matter of sexual objectification, it verges on outright hostility at times, fuelled by competition and envy. A man at least wants you to be as pretty as you can be, so he can get the most of the view. However, whereas men look for what is attractive, beautiful about you, these women looks for your flaws and imperfections. They want to see you fail, to embarrass yourself, to be denigrated so that they can look good in comparison. In the end, I adapted. After all, what choice did I have? No more than any other woman. Just as them, I am stuck as I am, in this body, in this gender. How much so, I only learnt some months later. After another enormously pleasurable fuck, I lay in his arms, and in the warm afterglow of orgasm, I enjoyed him exploring my body with his fingers. Suddenly, he stopped playing with my nipples, put his forehead to mine and looked me in the eye. I immediately sensed that something was up, but I had no idea what was to come. Should I be alarmed? Or excited? "Honey, I have something to confess." That got my attention. What could he have possibly done? "Today, I switched of the mesh." I looked at him, confused. If that was truly the case, then why I am I still her? He put his finger to my mouth before I could say something, and I gently sucked at it. "You see, the mesh wasn't designed to run permanently. That's not its purpose. Over time, the mesh rewires its host brain to match the source. Bit by bit, neuron by neuron, more and more functions are yielded to the rewired parts of the host brain and are no longer transmitted from its source. Gradually, less and less your mind was operated from within my head, and now it is all inside your head. Now, you are Meredith for good. Now, you truly inhabit this body." I was dumbstruck. He couldn't be telling the truth. I was still I, wasn't I? I still had the same sense of ontological integrity I had had before, there had never been any change, shift or transition. And moreover, if that actually was the truth, and our nerve signals were no longer rerouted, shouldn't I not be me, but Meredith, only with my memories and personality traits? Or should I? It was all very puzzling. I simply couldn't believe it. And if what he said was true, I'd be stuck. I'd be truly and permanently stuck in this body and even the remote hope that to switch back was at least possible was no more. "I see you're not yet quite convinced. I'll prove it to you." "How'd you do that?" "Simple. You knew, there's something the mesh has never transmitted. Chemistry." I didn't get what he was implying, and my face must have shown it. "Come on, it must have crossed your mind. What do you think would happen if you drank some wine?" Of course! It was so obvious. With the mesh in operation, I could have drunk gallons of booze without any effect at all. He would be the one getting drunk from my drinking, it was the brain he used that the alcohol would be delivered to. I hadn't really noticed before, but now that I came to think about it, we had indeed never drunk any alcohol at all, and that was the reason why. And the same would of course be true for any other drug as well. Even if I had a headache, it would be on him to swallow the painkiller. With that realisation came belief. I had no proof, but I didn't need any. I believed him. Every single word to the last letter. It came over me like flicking a switch. This was my life, this was me now. For better or worse, I was no my own wife. All I could do was go along with it. I put my left hand on his cheek, and let my right hand wander towards his cock. I teased it a bit until it became hard, and then all of a sudden, I grabbed his balls. I squeezed them gently, just enough to make him aware of the potential for pain. I made sure he met my gaze, then said: "Alright, I believe you. I'm stuck, and I didn't ask for any of this. You enforced it upon me, for your own selfish little reasons." He was no longer smiling, but he made no move to escape. "It wasn't my choice to become a woman. It was yours. And because this is so, you are going to listen to me very carefully. Now it is your turn to do something for me, and don't you dare even thinking about any other reply but 'Yes, Ma'am'. Is that understood?" Now he seemed a little anxious. Finally, after a f few seconds of thinking, he obviously had come to the conclusion that I hadn't become a threat to him. He relaxed a bit and answered: "Yes, Ma'am." I smiled, and then gave him his instructions. "You, Mister, are going to make me a baby." The look on his face alone was worth all the trials and tribulations I had to endure these past few months. But in the end, he submitted and did as he was told: "Yes, Ma'am."