Bullied by My Stepbrothers
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First Step free porn video
THE FIRST STEP
Laika Pupkino
2016
|||||||||| 6:41 ||||||||||
She couldn't believe she'd let him talk her into this, but she knew it
was time for her to take his directions for a change, instead of issuing
them. That way---HER way---hadn't worked at all. It had turned her into
something she despised.
It was twilight, this church had had its last service for the day at two
in the afternoon, but the parking lot was half full. This was the place
all right. They found a parking space, and as they walked across the
church's parking lot he held her hand.
"I'm here for you, Babe!"
She fought back tears, "And I can't understand why. I don't deserve you!"
"Sure you do."
"But after everything I did to you..."
"You have a problem, that's all."
"Which I took out on you!"
"I know. But everybody has some sort of problem. None of us is perfect.
And you did ask for help. Don't they say that's the first step?"
"I don't know what they say. I've never been to one of these. I always
thought these kinds of groups were pathetic. For the weak..."
A series of hand-drawn cardboard sign directed them around the church
down a flight of steps. The meeting was being held in the basement.
"Facing something like this isn't weak. Weak would be giving up.
Running."
"Running sounds like a great idea right now. I don't think I would have
made it all the way here without you."
"But I am here. I care about you. And in a way I'm partly to blame."
"Don't say that! You're not to blame! It was ME! I did all those things!"
Her tears were pouring freely now. What a great way to make an entrance
to a room full of strangers, crying like some whimpering basket case. It
was humiliating. But then maybe she deserved to be humiliated...
She tried to pull her hand away from his; this man's love and forgiveness
made her feel even more horrible about herself, but he held on.
"I let your games get too far," he said as they reached to bottom step,
"And I was sort of caught up in them too. I thought submitting to them
would make you happy."
"Happy? No, they made me..." She trailed off. She wasn't sure what it had
made her.
|||||||||| 6:45 ||||||||||
As they entered the church basement she was surprised by two things: How
crowded the church basement was, and how NORMAL all these women looked.
These weren't monsters. And a lot of them seemed happy. Laughing,
talking, seemingly at peace with themselves.The thought popped into her
head that maybe they had wandered into the wrong meeting. Some meeting
for normal people, alcoholics or junkies or compulsive furries. Not
twisted freaks like her...
The clock on the wall said a quarter til seven. The meeting itself
wouldn't begin for a while. She wished it wasn't so well lit, every damn
florescent light in this basement buzzing, the sound of them seeming to
come from inside her head. She felt way too visible here.
Most of the other women stood around talking. Some were here with their
boyfriends or husbands. Others had huddled into little groups of friends,
yacking away. But there were a few who had sat down already, in the last
two rows of the grid of seventy or so folding chairs. Alone, afraid,
deliberately spaced as far from each other as they could, and looking as
miserable a she felt.
She pointed and they sat down among these newcomers. He took her hand
again, but where she had been gripping his tight on their walk from the
she just let hers lie in his, like some dying thing with no fight left in
it...
|||||||||| 6:48 ||||||||||
There was a tall muscular man who didn't seem to be a significant other
of any of the women here but an actual member of the group. He was
sharing "war stories" with a circle of woman about some insane thing or
other that his obsession had convinced him was a good thing to do. They
were laughing, and didn't seem fazed by his black leather S&M apparel,
the vest and studded wrist straps and a fascistic looking uniform-fetish
hat with a glossy brim. But with his easy smile and friendly eyes, and
the way the others were treating him, even he seemed more normal than she
felt. He had come here with his boyfriend or maybe husband, a mousy
looking guy with wire rimmed glasses, dressed in topsiders, chinos and a
Polo shirt.
In her mind she named Lance. She did that with people, she didn't know
why, but she sometimes accidentally called them by her made up name long
after she'd learned their real one. They were Lance and Bruno. She
wouldn't have known they were together if she hadn't spotted them sharing
a brief, decorous kiss a minute earlier, before they each went off to
mingle.
Lance seemed well at ease in this gathering too; and she guessed his
preppy outfit was his way of asserting himself, presenting as the person
he felt he was inside. But his plucked and shaped eyebrows---which like
her own boyfriend's would stay in this clearly feminine style for many
months to come---hinted at why this couple was here.
A woman stepping through the basement's door called out to him, "Hey
Sissy Bill!", and they hugged and air-kissed.
So it was Bill, not Lance. And the "sissy" was an ironic nickname. Not
who he was now but what he had been. And while she guessed it hadn't been
of his choice, and had been a living hell for him, he could joke about
it. And amazingly it seemed like he had forgiven his feminizer "Bruno",
and had
found their relationship was one worth having another go at, this time
without his being merely an object of Bruno's manipulations.
If only her own relationship could be saved and put onto a new course and
the way theirs had. For the first time since childhood she actually
prayed. That it would be. That it wasn't too late.
But then maybe "Sissy Bill" was basically just weak. A little kiss-ass
people pleaser. The weak and needy will forgive any abuse, the way a dog
will. The man she'd tried to turn into her submissive girly plaything was
neither. And while he'd promised to help her get the help she needed he
hadn't promised to stay with her. And she'd been afraid to bring that up.
The only thing she hated more than feeling weak was being afraid. But she
was. Afraid of all these feelings that has come bursting up from where
she'd buried them, tossing her around like a rag doll caught in a
tornado. The absolute loss of control of these past few days since all of
her drive and certainty collapsed; toppled by that one question: Why the
hell am I doing this?!
She was sick, that was why. And she was afraid that maybe she was too far
gone for the healing these people were experiencing. That she was beyond
any sort of redemption.
|||||||||| 6:51 ||||||||||
Her boyfriend got up and went to the restroom. A young woman came up to
her. She'd looked like a college kid at first, perky and cute, but the
crow's feet around her eyes said at least 35.
"Hi, I'm Candice! Is this your first meeting?"
She nodded, her face burning. She couldn't speak.
Candice laid a hand on her shoulder. "You've taken the first step. You're
here. And we're glad you are. We all felt like you're feeling, at first.
The guilt, wondering if we're crazy, or maybe just plain evil. But it
really can get better! It works... if you work it!!"
She nodded, faking a smile and Candice went over to another newcomer.
"So where you from? Oh REALLY?! I spent a couple of summers in-"
So at least it wasn't a canned pitch the Candice had given her. The same
few lines to everyone, like some vacuous cocktail party hostess making
the rounds...
|||||||||| 6:53 ||||||||||
On his way back from the bathroom her boyfriend was chatting with
everyone. Saying Hi to some of the women but mostly with the half dozen
boyfriends and husbands that were here. He had always been better at this
sort of thing than she was.
He talked the longest with Sissy Bill. They were looking over at her,
then at the S+M guy, then back at her. She cringed, wondering what he was
telling the guy about her. Well whatever it was, she no doubt deserved
it...
|||||||||| 7:00 ||||||||||
At seven on the dot everyone took their seats. The meeting was officiated
by an older woman who called herself Miss Vicki. She'd noticed the woman
earlier, you couldn't help but notice her. Tall, and far more elegantly
dressed and than most of the ladies here.
It was only when she started speaking in a raspy and somewhat masculine
voice that she realized Vicki was most likely a transsexual. Which was
neither here nor there, but she wondered what the woman's story was and
if she'd been forcibly feminized herself.
Vicki read the minutes of the last meeting, announced tryouts for an FFA
softball team, and had somebody read a section from the Big Book (which
was the same book they used in AA and a score of other 12 step programs)
called 'The Promises':
"...a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor
wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and
will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone we will
see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness
and self-pity will disappear... Self-seeking will slip away... Our whole
attitude and outlook will change. We will intuitively know how to handle
situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is
doing for us what we could not do for ourselves..."
She wasn't sure about this "God" stuff, but these people sure had
something she didn't. Serenity? Peace? But then maybe they had never been
as messed up as she was now...
But when Vicki brought on the meetings guest speaker ("All the way from
San Diego, California, Miss Candice H!") and the not-so-young young woman
who had greeted her earlier started telling her story, she realized that
if anything, some of these people had gotten themselves far more messed
up than her.
|||||||||| 7:05 ||||||||||
"Hi, I'm Candice, I'm a forced feminizer," Candice said.
"HI, CANDICE!" bleated the whole room in response.
Then Candice introduced didn't say anything for awhile. She smiled, the
crowd smiled back. Finally she turned and pointed at a placard on the
wall, which listing the 'Twelve steps'. When everyone was looking at it
she said, "Admitting you're powerless... Now that's a tough one for
people like us."
Everyone who wasn't sitting in these last two rows laughed.
"We NEVER want to feel powerless!" exclaimed Candice, "Our whole disease
is all about power. Having it, hoarding it, lording it over someone, it's
the last thing we want to give up. But when the quest for power takes
over your whole life, and turns you into a whole different person, well
that's the thing we're powerless against. Kind of ironic, huh? When we're
in the game, we're so busy controlling others we can't even see that
something is controlling us. Except when every once in a while, right in
the middle of thinking we have what we always wanted---this godlike sense
of power over the life of another, or in my case many others---the
thought will pop up 'This isn't right. This isn't who I am...' And it's
so far from the image we have of ourselves, it almost sounds like another
person. Some uninvited party crasher in our head. So what do we do when
doubt starts to gnaw at us?"
"MORE POWER, SCOTTY!"shouted a half dozen people. Apparently it was a
catch phrase of theirs.
"Exactly! We crank the game up another notch. The cruelty, the demands,
shifting the rules around. Squashing that little voice in our head, like
slapping a mosquito. It lets us feel in control again. For a while. But
it's a self-perpetuating cycle, and it leads to bad, bad places. For the
people we hurt, but for us too. In the end---if it progresses that far---
it destroys them, us, everything in our lives and for miles around. I
know. Let me tell you about the lowest point in my life..."
She had to admit Candice was good at this. She was charming, and really
believed in what she was selling.
She listened raptly a Candice told how she'd feminized and brainwashed
her boyfriend when she was a psychology student at San Diego State
University. Candice had done everything she had done, but far more
systematically. She was disturbed by how enthralled and envious and even
sort of turned-on she was by Candice's tale. It made her wish that they
hadn't come here tonight but were back in their apartment, the game still
in play; maybe with her putting a corset on her boyfriend, tightening it
up, grinning as he winced and gasped. Listening to something that fueled
her fantasies like this could hardly be useful in helping her change her
ways, could it?
Then one day Candice was shopping at the mall with her "girl" when a
classy, well-spoken woman who she took to be the owner of one of the
mall's shops approached her. Despite the nearly flawless transformation
she'd given the former male, the woman had recognized what her slave was.
And more disturbingly, what she was. The woman said she admired what
Candice had been able to do all by herself, with limited resources and no
formal training.
"How would you like to be able to do what you've done here on a much
larger scale? And make money doing it. LOTS of money! We can train you in
this art form, show you how to do this much, much more efficiently And
the clay that artists such as ourselves require---and we're talking the
very prettiest young men---will be requisitioned for you by others,
delivered to you right in our little 'factory'. You'd have of state of
the art equipment at your disposal, not to mention several rather
accomplished if somewhat dissolute surgeons..."
The woman's talk of "Will to Power" and how it was nature's way for the
strong to dominate and control the weak was intoxicating. The flattery,
the promise of riches, and the chance to work alongside like-minded
individuals---people not fettered by conventional notions morality---was
a combination Candice couldn't resist. She quit college, disappeared from
her old life and dove into this new one. The last twinge of conscience
she had felt was over dropping her former boyfriend into the pool of
abductees for further feminization, and seeing her and the rest of these
broken, confused new girls being marched onto a ship, to be sold to
buyers overseas. And after that she felt very little that wasn't centered
around power and cruelty and exploitation.
|||||||||| 7:22 ||||||||||
The speaker's story was no longer so enthralling. It had spiraled into
something sickening. And now she was thinking she didn't belong in this
meeting for reasons opposite to those reasons she'd had earlier.
Whatever she had done, it was nothing compared to those things Candice
was talking about. She was up there talking about SLAVERY for God's sake-
stripping someone of every last thing that made them human and selling
them like so much merchandise, to men who would do God only knows what to
them. Weird surgeries, snuff films; they were property now, to be used
any way their owners desired. How could Candice stand up there smiling,
talking about "gratitude" and "getting her life back together" after all
the lives she'd helped obliterate?
She was nothing like this Candice. Compared to Candice's crimes all she
had done to her man was played dress up with him. It was dawning on her
that she had NOTHING in common with this bunch, and that the last thing
she needed was to start hanging around with them. Or ask them for advice
about how to live.
She was ready to leave right then, but her boyfriend shook his head. And
she had promised him she would stay through this one meeting, so she
stayed in her seat.
|||||||||| 7:30 ||||||||||
It wasn't a prepared speech, so the chronology of Candice's story kind of
rambled. She talked about growing up, a bright accomplished student; and
reminisced about her love of sports and the rush she got from trouncing
her opponents, the pride she took at her growing collection of cheap
little trophies; but also about the frustration of constantly butting
heads with parents and coaches and teachers, who in their thickheaded
hidebound mentality just refused to comprehend it when she pointed out
that their was a better answer to the test question than the supposedly
correct one; or how things could go so much more smoothly if they did
things in a far more sensible way. Her way.
God, how she related to this part of Candice's story. They weren't so
different after all. And Candice's dream of a world where she would be
the one in charge; where everything wouldn't be gummed up and complicated
by the obstinacy of others was a dream she remembered well.
She also identified with Candice's problems with romance. How boys would
talk down to her, lecturing and explaining things that she understood
better than they did; and her frustration with their assumption that they
would make the important decisions. Until Candice had tried her hand at
lesbianism, hoping that would be less aggravating. And while girly girls
were beautiful, appealing in so many ways, in attempting to connect with
them there had been something that just didn't feel right, that failed to
fulfill her. The perfect match for Candice had seemed to be someone who
didn't exist, a female with an underlying core of male traits that would
be there but wouldn't assert themselves.
Sitting there in the back row of that church basement it was bizarre how
much she related to Candice's teen years. She hadn't actually tried
sleeping with girls, she had sensed that wouldn't work, but she had the
same dream of finding someone androgynous. in just about every last
detail Candice was telling her story. So much so that she knew what
Candice was going to say next. How she discovered forced fem fiction,
where the world of her dreams was described perfectly.
And as Candice's tale jumped ahead again, to her year of running with the
kidnapping/feminizing /slavery ring; and how it all blew up, and Candice
had wound up arrested. She thought, Yes, may that could be me... It was a
thought that chilled her to her very core.
She remembered Candice's story from the news several years back; the
pretty girl with stunned expression, trying to hide her face as she was
lead away in handcuffs. A monster, reviled by every right thinking
person. Even Candice's own mother told reporters she had thought her
daughter was dead and now she wished she'd STAYED dead...
"And you know what's really sick? After everything we did-" Candice
started to say and then corrected herself, "Everything I did. Me. I was
able to cry plenty of tears for my poor, poor pitiful self; but the only
thing I felt guilty about was testifying against the woman who ran the
operation; that deal they gave me so I could get my sentence reduced.
Never mind all those young guys we programmed and sold into slavery. I
mean seriously- How fucked up is that??!!!
"It was only later, well into my five years at Silver Strand Federal
Prison that I started to really see what I was. And that was mostly
thanks to talks I had with my visitor---my only visitor in all that time-
--who weirdly enough was the FBI agent who busted us. This woman had
devoted herself to stopping people like me, but she saw something in me
that made her think I could be saved..."
Candice was crying by the end of her pitch, and so was she. But Candice
was smiling through her tears, which were now tears of gratitude: "That
woman---my enemy---threw me a lifeline, and took me to my first few FFA
meeting there in the Strand. Wherever you are, Agent Burns, thank you!"
Even some of the girls in the back row were applauding as Candice left
the podium. Maybe she should have too, but she still wasn't ready to do
anything that might increase her visability.
|||||||||| 7:40 ||||||||||
There was a break, in which half the room made a beeline for the fresh
air of the outside where, from the smell wafting in through the door,
they were all smoking like chimneys.
Her boyfriend turned to her, "So what do you think?"
"I don't know.... That Candice, UGH!" she shuddered, "She did a lot much
worse things than I ever did!"
"Maybe so you don't have to."
|||||||||| 7:50 ||||||||||
Miss Vicki returned to the podium, and announced that the meeting was now
open for sharing...
"But so everyone who needs to will get a chance to talk, we ask that you
keep your sharing to five minutes. And first I want to call on..."
People hopped up and down in their seats going "Me!" "Me!" "No, me!" as
she waved her finger around like she was deciding who to pick, until the
finger landed on her own sternum- "ME!"
"AWWWWWW..." came a cry from the crowd.
She grinned, "And that's what happens when you give power to one of us."
Nor did she keep her own sharing to five minutes. It was more like eight.
She talked about her transition, admitting she had been a member of that
subgroup of transsexuals known as autogynophiles, for whom the desire to
be transformed is mostly a sexual fetish; and how once her erotic
cravings for physical womanhood had been satisfied she had branched out
into what she called "exogynophilia"- being hopelessly turned on by the
thought of turning someone else into a woman.
At first she had channeled these desires into stories she wrote, becoming
one of the most popular authors of forced femme fiction at a site called
HYPERGRAPHIA, but after she got married and settled down in the suburbs,
Vicki fell into a cabal of evil, shrewish feminizing housewives who
conspired together to turn all their husbands into submissive big-titted
nymphomaniac bimbos.
"That really goes on?" whispered her boyfriend.
She nodded. Miss Vicki and her friends might have been the very ones
she'd gotten tips from when she'd embarked on her own shortlived career
in forced feminization.
|||||||||| 8:01 ||||||||||
She hadn't really got much out of Vicki's sharing---the woman still
sounded more proud than regretful over the things she had done. And she
didn't much care for Gina, who replaced Vicki at the podium when Vicki
called on her, who spent her whole five minutes griping about her boss at
work (yet the group members applauded her bitching and moaning, and
called out a somewhat sardonic, "Keep Coming Back!"; as if Gina
especially needed it; And apparently you could just plain dump at these
meetings if you needed to, so long as you were also doing the things
necessary to turn your lif around...)
But the girl Gina picked as she headed back to her seat said some stuff
she could relate to, that she could hear something of herself in; as the
older woman that girl picked and every speaker after her. She even
related to the big leather clad gay guy, whose name it turned out was
David, not Bruno. She listened with interest as he talked about how he
managed to make his Ninth Step amends to Bill, and how the relationship
he'd lost all hope of ever regaining was beginning again, very
cautiously, in a place that felt weird to David but he knew it was the
only chance he had: A place where both partners were on equal footing.
Where each was a real person and not a puppet to the other's desires...
|||||||||| 8:23 ||||||||||
The sharing ended, the meeting was coming to a close. There was a
birthday cake for somebody who had managed to go a year without
feminizing anybody, and Vicki handed several people little metal tokens
for various other lengths of abstinence from their particular disorder.
Nine months, six months, a month. They were even giving out tokens just
for showing up.
"Go on, Honey" Her boyfriend Mike whispered. But Shelly would have had to
get up there and say, "Hi, I'm Shelly. I'm a forced feminizer." and it
was such an intimidating long way to the front of the room and back.
Maybe next time.
Next, time??? The thought had surprised her, but she went 'sure, why
not?' Mike would like that.
Shelly didn't know it, but she was already in the middle of taking the
second step, seeing that since this seemed to be working for these others
who were so much like her, she was starting to believe that that just
maybe "a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."
They all got up and join hands, and reading from the placard up at the
front of the room, she managed to mumble along as they chanted the
Serenity Prayer:
God, Grant me the serenity to change the things I cannot change
The Courage to change the things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference...
Serenity. Wisdom. Courage. Change...
Maybe, just maybe, she could.
|||||||||| |||||||||| ||||||||||
|||||||||| |||||||||| ||||||||||
This one's dedicated to Dorothy for the basic idea; and to Julie O for
her Protector series (which I alluded to heavily in Candice's speech;
hopefully without crossing the line into infringing on her story
universe.
NOTES: If this story sounded like one big long advertisement for 12 Step
recovery programs, it's not. You can do what you want. It was my attempt
to describe what a first whatever-anonymous meeting is like for many
drunks, addicts, gamblers, overeaters, smokers, debtors, sex addicts, and
there's even one for online video games now...
This is a work of FICTION. I don't seriously think writing or enjoying
forced femme leads to acting such fantasies out, or is harmful in any way
(I'm not stranger to submissive fantasies myself, but mine always start
with me already being female, so you won't see them here at FM...). But
the characters at this meeting had to come from somewhere.
And the notion of autogynephilia turning into 'exogynephilia' was just a
bit of silliness that popped into my head with no basis in anything, and
it certainly doesn't have anything to do with any actual (and quite
talented) authors named Vicki or any variant thereon...
In this story I was trying to imagine the motivations that drive the
women who populate forced femme fiction- why they would possibly do such
things to someone. The above was the best I could come up with, and while
it's all fairly simplistic pop psychology garbage, it's better than the
assumption that seems to hang implicit over so many forced fem stories---
and the thing I can't help but find disquieting about them on a
subjective, emotional level---that these women do it because women are
all evil bloodsucking bitches and that's just what we do.
India
- 13.03.2020
- 12
- 0
