Laura And Joanna free porn video

I had begun to feel lonely. I had graduated quite some time back and, true, I had got a job doing accountancy, but I didn't find it satisfying. And I had had to go to a new part of the country where I didn't know anybody. At university, I had had a good number of friends, and from time to time I had gone out with girls, but nothing had become serious. Yes, we had enjoyed each other's company, but somehow that special something needed for a deeper relationship had not been there. Now I had begun to yearn for a serious relationship, and at the same time, outside of the school or university environment, I found it harder to meet people. So I joined the art class. Laura was a couple of years older than me, and had some senior role in a relatively small investment house that specialised in relationships with venture capital trusts that were concerned with medicine, robotics, and a few other things. She was a strong, confident woman with personality to sell, and had some talent at drawing, and wanted to develop painting skills. So she joined the art class. I was immediately attracted to her. I found her beautiful, although admittedly not stunning, but her body was just perfect. Moreover, her way of moving was just somehow really special. Yes, at 5' 8" she was a little tall for me, but then I was only 5' 7", and if I insisted upon the classic relationship being taller than the woman, I was cutting my options drastically. But I think it was her sense of humour that reached out and grabbed me most of all; it just seemed to match mine perfectly, and we spent an inordinate amount of time laughing at each other, and with each other. We started going for a drink after class, and I was captivated by her, and her world. True, I found her habit of deciding which bar we were going to, what we were both going to drink, and how long for, slightly disconcerting at first, but I was happy to run with it. In fact, I was rapidly falling in love. After a couple of months of this, I decided to invite her out on a proper date. Nothing special, just a meal at a local restaurant, but it would be the first time we met up other than after art class. So I asked her, and she sat back in her seat and turned those penetrating blue eyes that she had onto me, and said, "I would be happy to, but I should warn you that I'm not exactly conventional and you shouldn't raise your hopes too much for a serious relationship, if that is what you have in mind." I was just delighted that she accepted, and answered that I would be happy with anything that developed or not. So we had the meal, and it was fun, although we went our separate ways after the meal, but that was okay. We saw each other a few more times doing different things; cinema, a live music gig, skating, and so on. I wanted to make the move on her, but I was really nervous. Part of the problem was that I had realised that she was really assertive, or dominant, you might say. And it felt wrong for me to take that sort of initiative; I rather expected her to do it. But she didn't, so it took perhaps half a dozen dates before I plucked up my courage and kissed her after a meal. She responded positively, but in a limited way, and I was a little puzzled. I stood back looking at her inquiringly, and I got the penetrating blue eyes again. She took me by the hand and led me down the street to a bar and marched across and ordered drinks for us both, as usual not bothering to ask me what I actually wanted. She sat me down and said we needed to talk. She must have seen the disappointment fall across my face and hastened to tell me not to panic. I sat back and listened as she explained a few things about herself. First and foremost, that she had a very dominant personality. I said that I had realised that, but she said it went far further than I had understood, and for that reason most of her relationships had been with women, which was fine with her since she was bisexual, and in fact preferred women. She found most men struggled to deal with her dominant nature, although she allowed that most women struggled to deal with it as well, but she found that they didn't so often find it a threat to their femininity in a way that men found it a threat to their masculinity. And that was why she was not currently in a relationship (other than with me). I was reeling at the news that she was bisexual - I hadn't seen that coming - as she went on to explain why she was seeing me. Apparently it had started out just because she enjoyed my sense of humour, but she had found me good company in a fuller sense, totally unthreatening, and able to deal with her assertiveness. This was rare, and consequentially she found the relationship with me really quite appealing. There was a "but." But she had been holding back some of her assertive instincts, and if our relationship was to progress, or probably even continue, I would have to accommodate them, and she doubted that I could. She was sorry, but there it was. She felt she needed to warn me. At that moment, for the first time since I had known her, there seemed to be a vulnerability about her, and my feelings of love suddenly increased tenfold - I realised that I was head over heels, madly in love with this woman. I took both of her hands in mine, looked in the eyes, and said the fateful words, "I would do anything for you!" The penetrating blue eyes became even more penetrating, and there was a pause while she studied me. "Would you? I doubt it. I would ask so much of you. You would have to accept that you were mine, fully, for me to do what I liked with you. I would love you for it, but it would be a heavy price to pay." I heard the words that she would love me, and that was all I wanted. I really would do anything for her love, and I said as much. She answered that she doubted I could conceive of what I would be letting myself in for. I would have to accept whatever she wanted for me, or for me to do, or not to do, and either be happy about it or pretend to be happy about it. And she warned me that she could be pretty extreme. Did I really think I could accept being fully under her control? The word, "extreme," scared me a little, but I thought I knew her well enough to trust her. In fact, I was sure of it, and besides, I was also sure she wouldn't do anything bad to me if she loved me, and she had just said she would. So I repeated my commitment, and even challenged her to try me. That may have been a mistake! The conversation went on for some time, but all I got was that she would ask things of me, and expect me to do them and be happy about it, no matter what they were. I would always be free to decline, but obviously that would mean the end of the relationship. I was curious, but I really meant that I would do anything for her and for her love. We had a few drinks, and then she decided we had had enough and led me out of the bar. To my utter surprise, outside the bar she pinned me against the wall and gave me the most passionate kiss I think I had ever had. Her car was just one street away, and she took me back to her place for the first time. It was a three-bedroom detached house, significantly bigger than a single woman would want, I thought, but at that time such practicalities were not really on my mind. Still reeling with surprise from the kiss and being taken back to her place, I was blown away by the way she proceeded to use me for sex. There was no other way I could describe it. I couldn't say I was raped, because I loved every moment. It was just that she was so dominant and decisive about the whole thing. She knew what she wanted, and either took it or told me to do it. And she was selfish about it. I particularly remember lying on my back on the bed as she sat astride me, grinding herself on my cock, totally using it as a tool for her pleasure, not caring at all that I felt as though she was tearing it off. It was more than discomfort, it actually hurt, but at the same time I loved it and I loved seeing the pleasure written all over her face. And I came strongly. I stayed the night, and in the morning I sat up in her bed, looking down at this beautiful woman and her brunette curls spread all over the pillow, wondering at what had happened the night before. She must have felt me looking at her, for she woke up and stretched like a happy cat, and set up next to me. "That was good," she said, "we must do that again sometime! Meanwhile, I fancy a mushroom omelette for breakfast. Go on, off you go, you will find all you need in the kitchen. I'm going to have a shower and get myself dressed." I was slightly shocked, but part of me had expected something like this given all the talk of her dominance and expectations, and I smiled a little as I started getting up to do as asked, and said, "Yes Mistress." She frowned at me and said, "None of this 'Mistress' lark; I am not your mistress and you are not my slave. I am Laura, and you are John." I took the point, apologised, and hustled off to the kitchen. Half an hour later she appeared, dressed casually, for it was Saturday, but looking absolutely stunning in a tight pair of jeans and T-shirt that flattered her incredible body. We had a nice breakfast, and then I went up to have my shower and get dressed. Coming out of the shower I went for my clothes and found my underpants and T-shirt gone, and replaced with a pair of cotton knickers and one of her T-shirts. I just looked at her inquiringly, and she raised an eyebrow, and explained that she expected me to wear what she had put out for me without question, and to be happy about it, but that on this occasion she would explain herself by pointing out that my underpants and T-shirt were dirty and smelly. I got the point, and got dressed. The T-shirt was actually quite a good fit; it was clearly a loose style and not particularly cut for boobs, so although it wasn't quite right, it wasn't bad either. But the knickers felt really weird; there wasn't room for my junk, and I felt like I was falling out of them. Laura read my face, and in response to her query I explained the problem, being careful not to be critical in any way. She nodded thoughtfully, and said that we would have to do something about that, but didn't elaborate. I was just left wondering how often she thought the problem was going to occur! We spent a pleasant morning together. She had set up one of her bedrooms as an art studio, and we had a go at doing some paintings, and had a good laugh. Then suddenly, out of the blue, she jumped on me and said that she needed to fuck me. It was a repeat of last night in some ways, in that she was completely dominant, and again she was totally concerned about her pleasure, and not at all about mine. She was content after her second orgasm, but I was frustrated, and it obviously showed. I got the penetrating blue eyes again, and without her saying anything, I realised what the situation was. Her pleasure mattered, and mine didn't. If it didn't please her to pleasure me, I would do without. I said, "I get it, that's part of the deal." She smiled that brilliant smile, and nodded, and that was it. We both hit the shower again, and she drove me home. Back in my little flat, I took stock. It was all a bit weird, but on balance I was very happy. And curious, and excited. I loved this woman, and couldn't wait to see her again. I changed out of the knickers, but kept the T-shirt on, and after a few hours of doing domestic chores, I reached for the phone, but then held back. I had got the point; she was in charge and would call me when she wanted me. I smiled to myself, and went and sat on the sofa to watch the news or something. My mind went back to our lovemaking, and in no time I was masturbating to get the release I had been denied earlier. It was great, although of course I would rather have come with her. Eventually, the time for bed came with no call from her, and I hit the sack, and masturbated again fantasising about her fantastic buttocks jiggling on me as she rode my cock. The next day, Sunday, she turned up unannounced just before lunch and we went to a local pub and had a particularly good pie and chips, again decided upon and ordered by her, before we went back to her place and did a bit more painting. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but was a little worried about the sex I knew was coming, and it turned out that I was justified because I couldn't perform adequately. In no time at all I had had to confess, and not surprisingly, she was angry with me. The words rang in my ears, "I can see I am going to have to do something this." But nearly two weeks passed, and we saw each other almost every day, and she didn't seem to do anything about it, much to my relief. Sometimes it seemed like a normal relationship, and then there would be some requests - or perhaps I should call them orders - from her. Most appeared to be random and inconsequential, as they she was just testing my willingness to accept her domination of me, which I was, and which in fact some part of me enjoyed. There was a whole series of requests to wear items of female clothing. Nothing dramatic or obvious, and mostly just at her house, although occasionally she had me wear something discreet when we went out. She said she had enjoyed seeing me wearing her knickers and wanted more. She got some high-heeled shoes my size and had me wear them sometimes, just so that I knew how they felt. I was happy to do this for her, in part because I had in fact been curious myself. They were not extreme heels, but I had never worn anything like them and it's took a while to be able to manage them. I had to concentrate every time I moved, to stop my ankles wobbling sideways on the stilettos. They changed my posture a little, but most of all they changed the way that I walked. Because I had less spring in my step, I had to rotate my hips to compensate. "Very feminine," she said, "I kind of like it!" But I didn't have to wear them often, which was good, because apart from the weirdness, I felt vulnerable in them. Despite these things, it was good. We both had a lot of fun, I could see that she got a lot out of my acceptance of her instructions, and there was a lot of sex. But I only came about every other time, and in my frustration I jerked off again, and she caught me. She was furious, and kicked me out of her house mid evening. I thought we were finished, but two days later she called me and told me to take the next day, a Friday, off work and be ready for her to pick me up mid-morning. Of course, I did, and was waiting nervously long before she appeared. I got the intense gaze, and she told me that I was going to accept her full control of me, or it was over. "Anything," I said. She continued to stare at me for what seemed ages, and finally motioned to the passenger seat of her car. She said nothing as she took me to a tattoo and piercing studio where she had made an appointment for me. I knew I had to just run with whatever was going to happen, but it wasn't too bad apart from serious embarrassment as all the hair on my groin was shaved off, and a row of circles were embedded all the way across my groin in a line just below where the hair had been shaved off, above my cock, and another shorter line were inserted between my legs, behind my ball sack. And that was it, we left. Laura didn't explain, I didn't dare ask. We got back in her car, and silently we went back to her home. We got out of the car, and she looked hard at me again, but took in a deep breath and said that because I had accepted the piercings, she was forgiving me. It was still a bit awkward between us, but it didn't last long, and by the end of the day we were laughing and joking again. She gave me some cream to rub in over my piercings four times a day to accelerate healing - she said she had got it from one of the companies her firm worked with, and that it was on trial. I hadn't packed, so I wore her clothes again. But this time, she said, she wanted me really femme. I really wasn't going to argue, so on the Saturday morning not only did I cooperate as she "helped" me get dressed, I pretended to be very happy about it, as she had said right at the beginning of all this that she expected me to be. She had fucked me (that's how I thought of it now) that morning, so a shower was in order, but she also had me shave everything below my neck, as well as making sure I had no trace of a beard. It took a while, but she was happy with my efforts, and then she laced me into a waist cinch. She must have bought it for me, which I found strange, but I said nothing. It was skin toned, with no embroidery or anything of that nature, just a set of laces and four suspenders. It reached from the bottom of my rib cage to the top of my hips, and was actually fairly comfortable even after she had tightened it. She had had me wear stockings before, so it was no big deal when she passed me a pair, but they felt different as I put them on. Maybe it was because I now had shaved legs, but I found I continued to be aware of them rather than rapidly getting used to them. I put on a pair of knickers - I was used to that now - and then she handed me a bra. This was a first, and I was rather taken aback, but I managed to hide it and almost squealed, "Oh, this will be great!" She had a lovely smile as I put it round my waist and did up the clasp, turned it round, and pulled it up with my arms under the shoulder straps. It was a fairly plain affair, white elastic with fairly full cups, and it fitted fairly well, which I found a bit surprising because I had thought my torso was a bit bigger than hers. I started trying to settle it into place, not at all comfortable with the whole feeling of restriction, but she said, "Hold on, it needs these..." and she produced a couple of small plastic bags filled with rice, and popped them into the cups. She saw my look of surprise, and smiled mischievously as she settled them into place and helped me adjust the length of the shoulder straps, and I managed to recover my equilibrium. In truth, she had such a lovely smile all over her face, I couldn't help but begin to enjoy it too. In no time at all, I was wearing a blouse. It was a fairly snug fit, but it did fit. It was just the right size for my fake boobs, and was quite comfortable unless I tried to reach or move into an unusual position; then I found it a bit restrictive. It was plain white cotton, apart from some blue trim on the collar. She had me leave the top two buttons undone, so the neckline was quite comfortable. I was used to wearing a collar and tie anyway, so actually it felt fairly casual. She passed me a half slip, which I stepped into and pulled up to my waist, under the blouse. It only reached to a little more than halfway down my thighs, but it was very tight, and when I tried to step into the skirt she held out for me, I nearly overbalanced because of the restriction; I just couldn't move my legs apart as much as I had thought to. Still, it was no big deal, and I pulled the skirt up and zipped it up over my blouse at my waist. It was a fine woven blue cotton material, quite snug and it would not have fitted if I wasn't wearing a waist cinch. It stopped just above my knees, and had a walking slit at the back, although I realised straight away that it would not help, given how tight the half slip was. By now, I had come to the realisation that Laura had prepared all this days before, and therefore before she caught me jerking off, but I was just happy that she was taking the relationship forward, however strange it seemed. She told me to sit down in front of the mirror, and she quickly put some lipstick and mascara on me, teaching me technique and she did so. Nothing dramatic, she reassured me, and then clipped a necklace round my neck. It was a gold chain, with a pendant that was a funny shaped piece of gold. She told me that it was an unprocessed nugget that had been found in Wales about a hundred years ago, and that it was her gift to me. I was nonplussed. On the one hand I was very happy that she felt it appropriate to give me such a gift; it was a very good sign as far as our relationship was concerned. But on the other hand, it was mighty strange that a woman was giving a necklace to a man. She gave me a pair of black stiletto sandals to wear, which I put on with no trouble but wobbled badly when I stood up, for they were markedly higher than I had worn before. She laughed at me as I waved my arms around trying to keep my balance, and said, "Yes I know darling, but I want you to practice." "Darling." She called me "Darling." Here I was, a man happy with my masculinity, dressed as a woman and wearing make up, and I was thrilled. We had a great weekend, laughing and joking, and practising our painting. On the Sunday, she dressed me in different clothes, but in the same general style, and I began to get used to it, although I remained acutely aware of it all, and in particular the tight band around my chest, the limitations exerted by the half slip, and of course the heels. I had plenty of time sitting down, and my legs didn't ache or anything, but I did move around quite a lot, and I had to get used to what felt like a completely new way of walking, even as compared to when I had worn high heels before around her house. I found I could get no spring at all from my "grounded" foot as I took a pace, and that to bring my other leg forward I had either to bend my knee more than normal, or rotate my hips. I did a bit of both, but it wasn't natural and I was very aware of the heels all the time. My piercings healed completely. On the Sunday night, she told me that I was to quit my job and work for her, terminate my lease, and move in with her. I was very happy about this, although completely blown away by the apparent ease with which she took such far-reaching decisions and made such fundamental changes in my life. I had come to hate my job, and the idea of doing some subsidiary accounts for her investment firm, as she said she wanted, was appealing. Also, I was to keep house for her, but I was okay with that; it was not a big job, and although she had not mentioned rent, I wanted to make a contribution. So on the Monday, I went to work and handed in my notice. The company was going through a very quiet period, and my boss was actually happy to lose me, and said I could stop work straight away and take gardening leave; I would still get paid until my notice period expired. I spent the rest of the day packing up my stuff from my flat, which wasn't much, and by the end of the day I had moved in with Laura. The next day, we went back to the piercing studio. I was pretty nervous, but she reassured me that I was not getting any more piercings just then. I was again exquisitely embarrassed as I lay back on the couch, naked from the waist down with my legs apart as the same technician got to work. First I was injected with a local anaesthetic, which was pretty effective. I didn't dare look, but I could feel lots of pulling on my piercings and I could tell there was some soldering going on. Then I felt my penis being manhandled, and I gave a squawk of fright. Laura squeezed my hand and told me to relax, it was just that a catheter was being inserted. I was full of questions and concerns, but she leaned over and kissed me, and told me it was only temporary. I gritted my teeth and said nothing, concentrating on trusting her, and after some pushing and shoving, and some pain despite the anaesthetic, I was told it was all done. "What was all done?" I wondered, and took a look down. A mesh had been fitted to the rings at my groin. It was a close-fitting mesh that held my penis down and back, and held my testicles inside my body cavity. I now had a flat front, just like a woman, and no potential possibility of an erection. A catheter had been fitted that had been coated with a special film that would not cause problems over a long-term insertion, and I would now have to sit down to pee. Laura shrugged and spread her hands expansively, and reminded me that she had warned me of the consequences of my masturbation, and these were the consequences. Now I couldn't wank. The shock and horror must have been clear on my face, but I said nothing because the smile on Laura's face was just so captivating, and I could hear my own words promising 'to do anything for her' echoing in my brain. She squeezed my hand to reassure me again, and told me to relax, and that it was coming off in two weeks. Two weeks! It was immediately clear to me that I would not have an orgasm during that time. I tried to disguise my shock as I got dressed, my groin area still numb. Maybe I was imagining it, but I was convinced that my trousers didn't hang right with my new shape, and as we walked back to the car I kept trying to adjust them. We strapped ourselves in, and then she looked at me with those penetrating eyes again. "Do you want out?" she asked. I took a deep breath as I looked back at her, and answered with conviction, "No. I love you!" Her beautiful radiant smile lit up her face, and she said she loved me too. I had just been chastised; no possibility of sex for two weeks, and I was happy about it. The chastity mesh, for that was what it was called, on my groin took quite some getting used to. Sitting down to go to the toilet was fine, it was just the experience of not having anything there, compared to what I had grown up with, of having something very important there. But it was not uncomfortable, and in fact I could not feel it as such unless I thought about it. Unfortunately for me, that was often, for she was both beautiful and sexy, and she enjoyed arousing me in the knowledge of my new limitations. Somehow though, she managed to make that fun. Having moved in with her, she had me wearing female clothes more often than not, but it was all just a bit of fun too, and not as thorough as it had been over the weekend. I wore knickers exclusively now, and was beginning to acquire a collection. I hadn't really thought about it, but there was a really wide range of styles to be aware of and to choose from, from sexy thongs to bikini cut, to full cut and so on. As part of it, she had me grow my hair and learn to do some make-up. I enjoyed these games, and was equally happy to shave my legs and arms every couple of days as she instructed, to increase the credibility of the make-believe. But she also had me rub some cream over my body and over my beard to prevent hair growth. Apparently it was another experimental formulation, but it was just as effective as the cream that had accelerated the healing of my piercings, and after ten days she told me I could stop shaving. She was right, there was no trace of hair anywhere below my neck other than that which is now beginning to grow through the mesh over my groin. And my chin was soft and totally free of hair growth. Most of this time I wore jeans or sweatpants with a T-shirt. The T- shirts were clearly feminine, but felt normal. But I wasn't happy with my jeans; they felt like they were falling backwards all the time, so we went to TK Maxx and bought a new pair for me, a pair of women's jeans! This was the first time I had been out to buy women's clothing, and it was very embarrassing even though I don't think the shop assistants or anyone else noticed or cared; after all, Laura was with me and given that I did not try them on, they could have been for her. Back home I tried them on, but they weren't good. They suited my flat front, but were tight around my knees and yet loose around my bum. Clearly I had a problem, since I was not man shaped any more, but was also not woman shaped. As we stood there, looking at the fit and agreeing that it wasn't right, Laura mused, "Perhaps you would be better in a skirt?" I was shocked, although perhaps I should have seen it coming, and immediately answered, "I think not." Her beautiful blue eyes turned penetrating on me, and thinking quickly I added, "I don't think a skirt would hang right either." For a moment she considered this, and then her smile returned and I realised I had got away with it! "You are probably right," she said, "but what do you propose?" "How about sweatpants?" "Yes, good idea! I'll get you some," she volunteered. I wondered what was wrong with the ones I already owned, but I knew better than to say anything and just got on with the day wearing the new jeans despite the lack of fit, while Laura popped into the office for a couple of hours and stopped by the shops on her way home. As I had feared, the new sweatpants were overtly feminine in both style and colouring, although not outrageously so. They clearly showed off my flat front. Together with my knickers and the sweatpants, I would wear my gold necklace every day, and perhaps a bangle or two on my wrists. I usually wore slippers around the house, which were very clearly feminine, and my T-shirts were usually brightly coloured in a feminine style, and on the days she had me wear a bra, padded out as before, they were styled to suit. But despite all this, and disconcerted as I was about the clearly increasing feminisation of my wardrobe, I was happy to see the pleasure that Laura so clearly got from what she was doing with me, and at the same time I was relieved that she was not turning me into a silly sissy. And when I went out shopping, I was allowed to dress more masculine. We immediately settled into a routine. I would get up before Laura, get myself dressed and put on my make up in the subtle but effective style she had taught me, and go and prepare breakfast while she got up. She then went to work at her office, and I did the housework and a bit of accounting work. The accounting was not particularly challenging, but it was interesting enough, and it was good to keep my hand in. I had dinner ready for her when she came home, after which she would disappear into her study for an hour or two while I tidied up, and then we would spend the rest of the evening together painting, watching TV, or whatever, before going to bed. It was good, and I was happy. Now without a functioning cock, I had to use my tongue and hands to please her, which I was happy to do - her pleasure was so evident. She was still completely in command of our love making, in turns rubbing herself on me, or telling me what to do, how hard, and how fast. She came at least twice every night and wore a happy contented smile as she drifted off to sleep. I, of course, just got more and more frustrated, fingering the mesh over my cock or even massaging my breasts hoping to get some pleasure from them as she did from hers. I was counting down the days to the promised release date, and I just knew that I was going to have the biggest orgasm ever. As lovers do, we would frequently hug each other, or hold hands, or steal a quick kiss, or caress each other. For me, such things were an affirmation of her love for me, and I was very happy. One day, as we hugged, she tousled my hair, as sometimes she did, but then leaned back and looked at me critically. I asked, "What's wrong?" "You're getting shaggy," she answered, "We should do something about it." "Well, I was going to get a haircut a few weeks ago, but you said you didn't want me to." "I know, but the time has come. Go into the kitchen, take your top off, and sit on the chair in front of the window. I'll give you a haircut now." As usual, there was no discussion, I was just told what to do. But she was nice about it, it was just her natural assertiveness; it was part of her being, and I loved her. So I did as I was told. She splashed water on my hair to drown out my existing style, and I felt her putting a central parting in place rather than my usual side parting. But she didn't take it to my front hairline, instead she just combed that part of my hair forward. Then she got busy with the scissors, and although I couldn't see what she was doing, it was obvious I was getting a fringe. It was also obvious that she wasn't taking very much off the sides or back. In no time at all, she had wiped the loose hairs off my shoulders with a wet flannel, finish drying my hair with a hair dryer, and brushed it. "What do you think?" she asked. I got up and walked over to a mirror. It was clearly and unambiguously a feminine style, but it was winter and I thought I could hide it under a woolly hat when I went out, so I wasn't too stressed. "It's very feminine," I said, meaning to intimate that I was not fully happy about it. "Thank you," she said, "I learnt to do it when I was a student at uni." She had taken my comment as a compliment. I decided to let it ride. "I like making you feminine, and you being feminine," she mused aloud, "and I think we should do more. But your top back on, and then we'll do your nails." Well, of course I didn't argue, and 20 minutes later I had had a quick manicure and my nails had been painted with clear varnish. I was told on no account to cut them myself. She began to teach me feminine mannerisms, and she encouraged me to adopt them all the time. One in particular made me realise that she knew what she was doing in this respect, for she had me stand with a hand on the upper part of my buttocks in a casual manner, just as a man might put his hand on his hip. She said that no man ever stood like that, but that women sometimes did. As time went by, I started looking for things like this both when I was out, and when watching television, and I realised it was true. There were a whole range of mannerisms that she had me learn and adopt, from the obvious and frequent, such as sitting with my knees together, and the way I held my hands when walking or sitting, to the subtle and infrequent, such as covering the lower part of my face with a hand when shocked or embarrassed. It felt like we were going too far with this make-believe game, but she always presented it as a fun thing to do, and it clearly made her happy. About ten days after the piercings I was beginning to feel that my release day was close enough to taste, but then she astonished me by telling me to pack my bags, we were going for a three-month posting to Southeast Asia that evening! Of course, I was not asked about this, but it was all part of the deal, and I loved her, and I knew she loved me. I did summon the courage to ask whether my release date would be affected by this, and she reassured me that it wouldn't. So I decided not to worry, and got on with some rapid packing. We didn't need to take much more than clothes, since apparently pretty much everything we might need would be provided at the other end, and if not, we would easily be able to buy it. Packing my suitcase, I was struck by how little masculine stuff I now had, but wasn't particularly worried about any of it. After all, what mattered was that I was in a happy relationship. It was a long flight, but I slept through much of it, and we were met at the other end and taken to a villa just out of town which had obviously just been rented for us. It transpired that Laura had declined the offer of domestic servants on the basis that I would do all that was necessary, and I was fine with that, because I was now wearing some items of female clothing all of the time when at home, and was often fully en-femme. I wasn't keen to share that with anyone. The villa was lovely. It was a bit smaller than Laura's house back in England, but it had a nice veranda and a private pool. The garden was basic, a few tropical plants and bushes, and it was surrounded by a high wall. It was not overlooked, and was therefore very private. It was well furnished, with TV and satellite dish, and fast broadband. The nearby town had a mix of Western-style and traditional Asian shops, and the capital city was not far off. By this time I had learned more about Laura's business. By working with and investing in venture capital funds that in turn invested in cutting- edge medical research and robotic developments, her company not only got a good return when things went well, but also learnt ahead of the market what was coming and therefore had a major advantage. But on the plane I had learned from her that some things had not gone well and that a way had to be found to accelerate certain new developments. It turned out that I had more to do with this than I had expected! It was only two days after our arrival that I found myself in a clinic. I was, frankly, scared, but I was holding myself together on the back of the deep trust I now had in Laura. I knew my mesh was to be taken off, but I knew that quite a bit more was going to happen, that Laura was not telling me about. She just said, "Trust me, this will be good for us." And I believed her. The hypodermic needle went in, and I went out. When I came round, Laura was there, and she had a big smile on her beautiful face as she leaned down and gave me a hug, and told me that all had gone well. I ventured to ask what, exactly, had gone well and she explained. Her whole demeanour was one of delight; apparently not only had she solved a problem for us, but this was also an opportunity taken to shortcut some medical trials, which would much shorten the time to market. She hastened to assure me that no risks had been taken with my health, which much reassured me, but in any case I could not be angry with somebody I loved and who was so clearly delighted with what had happened. What had happened was that some minor surgery had been carried out to link some blood vessels in my penis to my nipples. Now, when I got aroused, blood would flow to my nipples and they would become engorged, just like a woman. It was thought that over time they would become more sensitive and bigger. Laura was thrilled with this, she had often mused that she would like to play with my nipples and me feel what a woman feels, and her not being able to do this was not fair. I took it in, and decided that this was not really a bad thing. There was, however more. Some tiny implants had been embedded both in my cock and in my brain, and she could now give me an orgasm any time she liked simply by sending a signal to the implants. She showed me a ring on her finger, which appeared to simply be a Topaz stone, but when it detected her fingerprint from the other hand on it, and she turned it, I would get an orgasm. That sounded good to me, because I had been virtually crying with frustration and so looking forward to my release. Thinking of this, I reached down to fill my newly released cock, only to feel mesh. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I sat up in shock, unable to believe that she had not fulfilled her promise. I looked at her and started blabbering, but she leaned over again and hugged me and told me to relax. Somehow she was reassuring and I began to calm down, and she began the short explanation. Her first point was that the mesh had indeed come off as promised, it was just that it had been put back on again! She understood that I might not be satisfied with a literal fulfilment of her promise, and that I might expect something rather more, and this led to her second point. She had intended to leave me a few days without the mesh, but that she had failed to understand ahead of time that the mobility of my penis when unrestrained would not be compatible with the implants, and therefore it had been necessary to do it this way. She was sorry, but there it was. She suggested I should concentrate on the fact that I could now have orgasms; as many as she wanted. This did sound good, and she very rarely apologised to me about anything, so I understood that this apology that she had now made to me was a big deal for her. And again, she was delighted that the surgery had gone well, and was very happy about the new arrangement, and it was really hard to maintain bad feelings in the face of seeing happy. So I sighed inwardly and accepted her apology. I had one question. "Is there any way for me to come other than via your ring?" "No," she answered. "I did say I wanted to be in control, and you did accept it." I took this in too. Slowly I understood the ramifications. I could still break up with her, and presumably reverse what had been done. But otherwise, she effectively had full control over me. But I told myself that this was not very different from the relationship that we had already had, and I had, after all, promised to do anything for her, and anyway, I loved her, and I was secure in her love for me, which was obvious. So I just smiled at her, hugged her, and said, "Okay, thank you my love." I guess I might have expected a squeal of delight or something, but in fact she suddenly became serious and reminded me that she had warned me early on that her need to be dominant was profound, and that I had gone into this with my eyes open and fully warned. It was true, so I nodded and agreed, and her smile was back. I was already aware that a drug was being developed that hugely accelerated the healing process - a cream containing it had been used to accelerate the healing of my piercings. Apparently it worked on most primates, but even then was unreliable and although sometimes hugely effective, sometimes it was only marginal. But it was being tried on me, the first human application, and it appeared to be very effective, the benefit being clear even within hours of the operation. Despite the far-reaching consequences for me, in fact the operation was relatively minor, so I was out of the clinic and back at the villa the next day, apparently all healed up. My nipples didn't feel any different, except when I was aroused, but apparently that was as anticipated; it would take a while before the increased blood supply made a difference. Nor did anything else feel different; I had no awareness of the implants. I almost wondered if they were really there. But there was no doubt about it when I was aroused - my nipples hardened and throbbed. Laura took me to bed that night, and as usual our lovemaking was mostly me doing what she told me, to satisfy her needs. But before we got into it, she showed me a strap-on that she had picked up, and showed me how to fit it on myself. I looked at her silently, acutely aware of the irony of actually possessing a cock that I wanted to use, and yet having to strap on a substitute that would give me no feeling at all. But she misread me, flashing her brilliant smile and saying how great it would be. And it was, for her, as she had me lie on my back and ground herself to orgasm on my fake cock. Typically, she took full command of what was happening, and it struck me that it had been what felt like a long, long time since I had actually fucked her as such. It was a long session, but eventually she was satiated. However, I was not, but did not dare ask for anything. Eventually she justified my faith in her, and said, "I think you have deserved this!" She reached across to her ring and turned it, and over the next few minutes I felt the most wonderful feelings I could remember ever having had, before crashing to a huge, huge orgasm. I almost passed out, and it took me a while to come down from the high, but when I did, still breathing heavily, I looked across at her, and took in her huge smile. "Good, huh?" She was clearly very pleased, but then she turned serious and added, "But this won't happen very often, my love, for I want you to understand that my needs are paramount and you are not expect anything in return. I will give you orgasms occasionally, for I love you, but not routinely." Still basking in the afterglow, I just nodded my understanding. Perhaps it was the change of location, but Laura became more dominant, if anything. And she took a newfound delight in my chastity mesh, often saying how feminine it made my front. She had me wear more female clothes now; I often wore a full outfit, including a skirt, and often with the high heels. In fact she significantly added to my wardrobe, and I now had several pairs of heels. In truth, my transvestism really did seem to turn her on, and I was occasionally rewarded with orgasms. She took me to a local tailor, who in an exquisitely embarrassing but a mercifully short time measured me up in detail and produced a pair of tight blue jeans the next day. They did fit perfectly. Like a glove, they were snug from my waist to my heels, and my flat front was very clearly evident. I was okay with wearing this in the villa, but I was worried that Laura would want to go out with me wearing them. Still, I knew better than to say anything, and just said how happy I was that they were good fit. And it was true, I was happy to be able to wear jeans again and not feel uncomfortable. Laura's smile was radiant, and she promised to get another couple of pairs. The next day she came in and with a flourish showed me them. One pair was white, the other pair was a light red, and had a shimmer to it resulting from a silver thread that had been woven in. They were very feminine. What could I say? I thanked her and smiled. As time went on, she particularly seemed to like me wearing the tight white jeans which so showed off my flat front, but she often mused how the look was spoiled by my masculine frame and butt. I soon discovered how effective the rerouting of blood to my nipples was. From the very first, I could feel them engorge even as my penis was not allowed to, every time I got aroused. And this was fairly often, as a consequence of my relatively rare moments of release. My nipples, and the areolas, did increase in size, and did become sensitive. In fact, after a couple of weeks, I realised that the sensitivity was becoming too much, and I tried putting dressings over them so that my blouse or whatever top I was wearing did not scrape them. Of course, Laura soon spotted this and mandated that I wear a bra from then on. Admittedly, it did solve the problem, but I wasn't keen on having a tight band around my chest all the time. I tried to get used to it. We settled into a routine very similar to that which we had had back in England, except that I could sunbathe by the pool. Laura insisted that I wear a bikini for this, because she wanted to see the sun tan lines. It was a mark of the thoroughness of her feminisation of me. I tried to get used to the idea that I would be wearing the chastity mesh for the foreseeable future. Of course, I wasn't happy about it, but when Laura allowed me an orgasm, it was fantastic, and I tried to convince myself that it was a good exchange. I found myself trying to turn her on as much as I could and as best as I could, because I was fully dependent on her for sexual satisfaction, and the more she had, the more I had. I found that nothing worked better than me taking the lead in my feminisation, so when she was around I wore more feminine clothing and higher heels, together with jewellery and more make up. And I worked on my feminine mannerisms. One day I greeted her return from the office with a flower in my hair, and was rewarded with an orgasm that night. It felt like no time at all before I found myself back in the clinic, but this time I was not given an anaesthetic. I was able to sit up in bed and watch a series of injections in my breasts, and some cream being rubbed onto them. Another cutting-edge procedure, it transpired, and within days my breasts had developed to B-cups, and I needed the bra to contain them as well as to protect my nipples. They were big, although not huge, on my frame, and it took me a while to adjust to them. They didn't get in the way much, and I didn't knock them very much. When I did sudden movements, I felt them move relative to the rest of my body, but I did begin to get used to them. It was only a week after that I was back in the clinic yet again, again looking at Laura mutely begging her to tell me what was going to happen, to no avail. The anaesthetic went in, and as before, the next thing I knew was Laura standing over the bed smiling down at me. "Great success", she said, "and you are fully healed in only a week!" I was shocked to learn that I had been out for a week; what had happened that required that? But then I focused on the, "fully healed" bit, and took comfort in the belief that it could not be much. As before, Laura went on to explain. Apparently one of the companies she worked with had developed a treatment which softened bones for a period of time, allowing them to be stretched and remoulded. Laura had decided that she wanted to take my look much further, and had modified my pelvis. Some tiny screws had been put through my skin into my hips and pelvis and anchored into the bone, which had then been softened. Some tension had been applied to the screws which had pulled my bones into a new shape, that of a woman. The treatment had then been stopped, the screws removed, and my bones had been allowed to harden again in their new shape. I now had much wider hips, and my legs were further apart by about three inches. She explained that to further the look, I had undergone liposuction to reduce my waist significantly, and some of the fat that had been obtained had been injected into my legs to make them more feminine, and the rest into my buttocks. A type of glue, so to speak, had been added to the fat mix which meant that the fat would not migrate, so the look that they had created was permanent. Whilst my bones had been softened, the curve of my lower spine had been significantly increased, such that now when I stood my stomach and body would appear to curve forward from my buttocks which would now appear, by contrast, to be thrusting backwards. She was delighted with the success of the procedures, and of the fact that my healing had been accelerated so effectively, and with an assurance that I was just fine now, she invited me to get up and get dressed! I was reeling with the news of what had been done to me, and was struggling to take it all in. In fact, it didn't really register with me, and physically I felt fine, so I swung my legs from the bed and stood up. It took me a moment to get my balance, but I felt fine, and as I stood there, nothing felt very different except that my hips were in the way of where my hands wanted to hang. I walked across the room to the mirror. It took me only two paces to realise that things were very different; in engineering terms the lever arm of my legs on my pelvis had increased, and I rapidly found that I had to swing my hips to absorb the new forces that I experienced. Having worn the high heels quite a lot by then, this began to come to me very quickly, and in fact I think I had adjusted my walk somewhat by the time I took half a dozen paces across the room. What was new was that I could feel a little jiggle from my buttocks. I also had to hold my lower arms out from my body to avoid them crashing into my hips. I looked at myself in the mirror and was shocked. My face was unchanged, as was my frame down to my waist, apart from the B cup breasts. It was slight for a man, possibly a little heavy for a woman, but not something that attention would be paid to given the breasts that were there. My waist narrowed far more than it had ever done before, and then my hips flared out in a way that only a woman's would. I turned sideways, and saw that what Laura had said was true; my enhanced buttocks trust backwards below my tummy which projected forwards above my crotch, which itself was very feminine looking. In fact my pubic hair had now grown through the mesh, and the mesh was hardly visible. I looked to be an attractive female that had a face that was still somewhat masculine. Laura read my mind again, and said that a bit of restyling of my hair and a bit of make-up was all that was necessary. It took me quite some time to absorb what had happened, and I stood there for some minutes, turning my body and looking at myself. The truth behind the phrase, "I would do anything for you," was becoming evident to me. Out loud, I said, "I am glad I got used to my breasts before this was done!" Laura looked down at the floor, and said, "Yes, about that. They are going to be bigger. I want you to be aware of them all the time, and in fact we will be doing that now." I let out a whimper, but managed to mask it with a smile, and in no time at all, the same procedure that had been done to me before was repeated. And that was it! Laura had brought some clothes from me to wear home from the clinic. The white jeans were new, necessitated by my new shape, but they fitted perfectly, which is to say they were tight and showed my feminine curves. I wore a thong under them, as was usual, and on top I had a bra and casual T-shirt. But the heels Laura had brought for me felt like skyscrapers; significantly higher than I had worn before. I knew better than to ask; if Laura wanted me to wear them, then I had to wear them, and clearly she did. Just a few hours after I had come out of the anaesthetic, we left the clinic. In the new heels, I could only take small paces, and had to roll my hips an extreme amount to make up for the lack of flexibility in my feet. I felt that I must look like a slut, but Laura was very reassuring about my appearance. I was most self-conscious about my arse, it felt huge and although I was standing or walking as normally as I could, I had looked in the mirror and I was convinced it looked as though I was sticking it out. We went home, and I was allowed to change out of the heels and put some flip-flops on. I made some coffee and toast, and we went to sit by the pool to talk. Frankly, I was still in a daze from what had happened, and I was struggling to reconcile that with the complete normality of what we were doing. Every movement that I made felt different, particularly when I walked. We sat by the pool and held hands. I didn't know what to say or how to say it, so I said nothing. Laura broke the silence, "Look John, I know this is a huge amount to take in and that you must be reeling inside, but I did warn you loud and clear, and you did promise. I do love you with all of my heart, and I do so thoroughly appreciate what you are doing for me. I want you to know that. When I look at you, all feminine for me, my heart flutters. I get a real kick out of doing all this, and I will probably do more, but I wanted you to be assured of my love for you." I burst into tears, and Laura was on me in an instant, hugging me and stroking my hair, and making soothing noises. I calmed down, and before long we were eating the toast drinking the coffee, and bizarrely, things seemed normal! We had a treadmill in the villa, and Laura got me on it to practice walking with my new hips. She was there to coach me, telling me to roll my hips more, or more smoothly, or a slightly different timing or whatever. I learned how to hold my arms when walking; out from my body and slightly up from normal. After about half an hour, I felt I had it right, and indeed I got a kiss of approval, but the warning from Laura, "Tomorrow we do it again, with heels." We spent the rest of the day lounging around, and even did a bit of painting. It all felt so normal, apart from my awareness of my wide hips and what seemed like a huge butt sticking out behind me. And one other thing - I found that my nipples tingled a lot, when looking at Laura. Her body was dynamite, and was a pleasure to look at. My cock had often responded when it had been able to, and now I found my nipples did the deed. Together with the tingling, they got hard and pointy. Laura noticed, of course, and laughed at me. "The surgery worked, huh?" That night our love making was particularly intense. I felt like I was using the strap on non-stop for hours, and my boobs got a thorough mauling. But I was allowed to come twice, and it was marvellous. The next day I woke up to bigger boobs. Clearly much bigger. I sat up in bed looking down at them, trying to adjust, and it was almost through a daze that I heard Laura chuckle and say, "C-cup now, I reckon! More to come." I continued looking down at them, trying to imagine them bigger still. Laura reached out a hand and gave me a caress. "Come on, snap out of it, go and make the breakfast. We have to change your name today." Not for the first time I was shocked by the ease with which she made far- reaching decisions about me. I spend my head to look at her, feeling my hair, which was now getting quite long, flip round, and I also felt my boobs jiggle a bit. "What?" I exclaimed, and then, realising that I had spoken out of turn, I brought a hand to cover my lower face as I had been taught. Laura laughed at me. "Well, you can't carry on being called John, can you? And we are going to get your ears pierced, and start on your new wardrobe." I took this news in. Of course, what she said was true, I had to have a female name, and equally obviously, with my new shape, I needed some new clothes. So I did as I was told, got out of bed, and headed off to make breakfast, feeling my boobs jiggling quite wildly. After breakfast Laura sat me down and plucked my eyebrows. She had tidied them up before, but now they were thinned dramatically and shaped into a feminine arch. I put on my make up, got dressed, wearing a C cup bra that Laura had thoughtfully provided for me and we went out. Apart from the trip back from the clinic, I hadn't really been out overtly dressed as a woman, and initially I was very nervous. I was dressed casually, in jeans and T-shirt, just wearing trainers, all very low-key. But I was sweating with fear, and my stomach was full of butterflies. Laura was very reassuring, and I very quickly realised that I passed easily, and began to calm down somewhat. I did notice, though, that I was attracting admiring glances from young men. I didn't know how to take this. On the one hand, it was reassuring because it meant that I did not look weird. But on the other hand, I was a guy, and being checked out by men was not at all part of my game plan. Several times we would walk past some guys, and I would look over my shoulder to find them looking at us. I knew Laura was gorgeous and could and did attract that sort of attention, but it was also obvious that I was getting my fair share; they were checking out my new arse. Even so, as the day wore on I became more and more relaxed about passing as a woman in public, and it was a good day. Several hours later, having visited the consulate, 'John' had become 'Joanna', each ear had 3 piercings, and I had acquired a few skirts of various styles, a new waist cinch, and an under bust corset. The corset was wicked, of red satin appearance but feeling like steel, it had black lace trim and suspenders, it was very efficient in reducing my waistline even more than the surgery had, and restricting my ability to breathe! Two of the skirts would only fit me if I was wearing the corset. Laura had thoughtfully brought a jar of the healing cream with her, and smeared some on my ears immediately after the piercing, reassuring me that I be fully healed by the next day. After dinner and a film, we fell into bed together and made love. I felt my boobs were swinging around far more than before, and my nipples tingled so much that they almost hurt. I decided I liked it. Laura had three good orgasms, but I wasn't allowed any. She reminded me that I wasn't to expect them as a matter of routine, and said that even though I had been a good girl that day, she didn't feel that she should allow me to get used to too much reward. Fair enough, this had all been explained to me before, and I had accepted it, so I simply took pleasure in giving her pleasure. The next morning I woke up and even without moving I knew that my breasts were huge. But I had to move, of course, and I sat up feeling them moving around in front of me. I looked down and gasped; it seemed like they filled my entire field of vision! I got out of bed and walked across to the mirror, rolling my hips in the way that I had learnt, feeling my buttocks jiggle a little, and feeling my boobs swing wildly. The mirror showed that I was now seriously stacked; my boobs were nearly as big as my head! Because of their weight, they hung down a bit, but were still quite full and perky. My male mind appreciated them for what they were, gorgeously fuckable big tits. My female persona, which was beginning to develop, was simultaneously proud of them but concerned about management issues! "Wow!" The voice came from the bed. "D cup now, huh?" I turned to look at her, feeling my boobs follow me a fraction of a second later. "You are stacked, Joanna. Great arse and now fantastic tits. Go and make the breakfast." I headed off to do as I was told, feeling my nipples tingle at the compliment. As I walked, my boobs swung wildly from side to side. I tried holding them with my hands as I walked, which helped, but then I could feel them jiggle in my hands. And of course I couldn't go on with my life holding my tits. After breakfast I was not surprised to find that Laura had got a couple of D cup bras ready for me. They were both quite pretty, one skin toned and the other white, the white one with quite a bit of delicate lacework. Both were styled to have the straps come down the sides of the breast rather than over the front. I got dressed in the white bra, some thong knickers, some tight shorts, and the crop top that Laura handed me. This was a different style to what she normally had me wear. It was low-cut, showing quite a bit of my cleavage although not obscenely so, and it came down to the bottom of my rib cage. But it was tight, and my boobs were fairly thrusting at it. Still, it couldn't be said to be extreme. The bra supported my boobs nicely, but as I walked over to the dressing table I was surprised to find that I still jiggled and swayed alarmingly. Laura read my mind and reminded me that she had said some time back that she wanted me to be aware of my boobs all the time, and that this style of bra would help in that quest! The bra would support my boobs nicely, almost presenting them for viewing, but would not much restrain their movement. I would not be wearing any other styles! As always, I said nothing as I digested this, and I got on with doing my make-up. Laura had me do a heavier style than I had got used to, adding eyeliner and eyeshadow, but nothing extreme, and then I replaced the studs in my ears with earrings, two small hoops and then a dangling chain in the lower piercing. I turned round for some shoes, and found that Laura had selected some fairly high heels for me. She told me I needed to practice, which was certainly true, and we headed off to the treadmill. I found that I needed to take smaller paces than before, and walk more slowly putting one foot carefully in front of the other, rolling my hips markedly more than I had become used to. Even so, my boobs jiggled and swayed. Laura's advice, presented with a bright smile, was "Get used to it!" I felt like I walked a mile on the treadmill, constantly being watched by Laura and directed how to improve my walk. Of course, I knew she had my best interests in mind and that my new walking style was best for me, but I was a guy and I knew what I must look like. It was time for me to get back doing house work. Laura headed off to her office for the rest of the day, telling me to keep my heels on all day, and to practice walking the way she had just taught me. I tried, but by the time I cleaned up after breakfast, made the bed, done some washing, swept the floors, and done a few other things, my legs were aching and I slipped them off. My boobs dominated my day; they were in my line of sight much of the time, my arms kept knocking into them, I felt them jiggling and swaying when I made the smallest movement or even coughed. I re