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Nicky By Jacobus Felix It had been a brutal couple of weeks. I was out on a contract to a firm in the north, wrestling with a complex take-over deal. The home team, an up and coming new enterprise, had got themselves enmeshed in a morass of international legal and financial issues, and worse, faults had been found in their flag-ship product, threatening not only delay, but also potentially disastrous litigation. I quite enjoyed the challenge, although it was a race against the clock to resolve the technical, contractual and legal issues - but then that was my forte: providing a one-stop service. And they were a good team to work for; young, enterprising, enthusiastic, but inexperienced and well out of their depth. The nominal head of the set-up was a very gifted engineer, on whose ideas the company was based, but the real power was his partner, Beatrice. She was in her early thirties and a very striking woman. Tall, slender and curvaceous, she dressed and played for power - and it showed. From the Italian high-heeled shoes, through a sharply cut suit hugging her figure, to her understated make- up and perfectly coifed blonde hair, she oozed authority, and obviously enjoyed being in control. And, as a consequence, she obviously resented having to call on an outsider, and at first it looked like she was going to do everything she could to make my life difficult. But, then, this situation is all too common in my line of work. But all credit to her, after a couple of days in a somewhat cold and frosty atmosphere, she did eventually manage to admit to the mess that they had got themselves into. And, after I had explained my position (not impressed with internal power struggles, only here to complete a task - as painlessly as possible), she was gracious enough to put her trust in me. Thereafter, we got on well, and I started to make progress. Underneath the steely exterior, there was lurking a bubbly, fun- loving character and some serious brains. We started to get along better and better, enjoying the occasional joke, while pursuing the business in hand at an accelerating pace. Eventually, there was light at the end of the tunnel and, with a bit of ingenuity, we not only got the company out of trouble, but managed to incorporate some modifications to their product, improving its performance and profit margin at the same time. Ted, the engineer, looked shattered, and although still looking the picture of cool efficiency, the strain was showing in Beatrice's eyes. I too was feeling a wreck - too much coffee, too little sleep and that taken on a couch, while my mind was barely functioning through the fog of the past days. They were both immensely relieved and very grateful, and once we had completed my business, as quoted, Beatrice suggested that a small bonus might be appropriate. Now, I'm not normally into back-handers or bonuses, but when she offered me a week at a nearby Country Club hotel to unwind, it seemed an offer too attractive to resist. I was exhausted when I arrived at the hotel to check in and asked not to be disturbed as I would, hopefully, sleep the whole day through. The pretty young receptionist looked most sympathetic and asked if I would like a cup of hot chocolate brought up to my room. Too tired to argue, I nodded agreement and made my way to my room. I dropped my bags, stripped off and went straight for a shower, which, while not that refreshing, did at least clean me up a bit. When I emerged from the bathroom, the promised hot chocolate was on the table. I was in half a mind to leave it and go straight to sleep, when I saw a little card on the tray. "Sweet dreams" it said, and was signed with a kiss by Sarah, the girl at reception. I smiled, thinking briefly of the pretty blonde girl, then started to sip the chocolate. It was warming without being too hot, and comforting and had a strong dose of brandy - it would certainly help me sleep. I had barely finished..... I awoke feeling much refreshed; in fact, barring a slight soreness in my ear, which I put down to the hours spent on the phone over the past weeks, I was feeling great, better than I had for years. I looked at the windows and then the clock and realised that I had, as hoped, slept through the entire day; it was now early evening. I also noticed that my bags had been emptied, everything carefully put away in the wardrobes. Even my dirty laundry had been taken. Well, this hotel was going to get ten out of ten for service! I showered, shaved and dressed casually and went out for a walk. Amazing what a good night's sleep can do. The stresses and strains of the past weeks seemed to be behind me, all the problems seemed containable, indeed, even as I walked, I found myself discovering new solutions, new ideas. When I returned to the hotel, I stopped at reception, looking out for Sarah, whom I wanted to thank for her consideration the previous night. But she wasn't around. I asked one of the girls, who didn't seem to know of a Sarah, but suggested that if I had arrived late it would probably have been one of the contract staff here to fill in for a gap. After a healthy dinner and a couple of glasses of wine, I was surprised to feel suddenly tired again. Odd, considering how wide awake I had felt only a few minutes before, but I supposed that I still had a lot of recovering to do. Wearily, I crept up to my room, where I found, just the same as the previous night, a tray with a hot chocolate on it and, just the same, a little card and message. Loosening my tie, I sat on the bed, sipping my drink (it tasted even better tonight), idly flicking through the TV channels while thinking, with a smile, about Sarah. And about Beatrice. And then ............ Then I awoke, and it was a brand new day. Once again, I felt bright and chirpy but then realised, with a start, that I was stark naked and in bed. I must have woken briefly to get undressed, but then the room was tidy, and everything had been put away - odd. Anyway I showered and got dressed and emerged to find a breakfast had been laid for me - and I realised that I was famished. I cleared the lot and, feeling full of energy, decided to visit the health club. Now, I'm not a fitness freak. I like a bit of exercise every now and then, and I enjoy a game of squash, but health clubs are not normally my scene. But today, it seemed the right thing to do, and I felt determined to make the most of the 'bonus' for my work. So off I went. The staff were very welcoming, and as it was still early, I got personal attention. One of the guys took me through a work-out routine for about 45 minutes, on a series of weird and wonderful contraptions. To my surprise, I found it really satisfying, and felt surges of unknown energy as I followed his lead. After a breather, he offered me the game of squash I had originally asked for. I was a bit reluctant, I had already had more exercise than I normally get in a week, but he persuaded me. It was great, I felt keyed up and concentrated hard on my game, taking his tips and finding myself able to return shots I would normally have not even bothered to run for. He beat me roundly, of course, but it had been excellent fun. After that, I declined any further exercise for the day, thanked him for his time and headed for the showers. He called back, suggesting that I take a massage to un-knot any muscles not used to such punishment, and thus be ready for another session tomorrow. Good idea, I thought, so after showering, I went through to the massage parlour. A girl stuck her head round the door and said she would be back in a few minutes, but asked me to lie on the table and relax. As I lay down, I heard faintly some strangely familiar music in the background. I couldn't place it but it seemed gentle and relaxing and I strained to hear it better. As I concentrated on the music, I felt a warm wave of lethargic acquiescence flow over me, and I just lay back to await my massage. I was only dimly aware of her ministrations as she kneaded and pummelled my flesh, but I felt very happy just letting her do her stuff. I could hear voices in the background, but was too wrapped in my little cocoon of contentment. My mind drifted, again, to thoughts of Beatrice, and I found myself imagining myself with her. God, she must be stunning out of her business suit, and I saw vivid images of her at home, with casual clothes on, and indeed without, and her hair loose about her shoulders. She could do anything with a man, I thought - and it seemed as though I heard her voice replying, saying that I'd better believe that she could, that she would. My reverie was disturbed by the masseuse telling me to roll over onto my back. I was about to tell her to leave me alone to my dreams - when I realised that I had to obey this woman, that I had to do precisely what she said. Indeed, in a flash my mind cleared to the single imperative - to do what this girl was telling me, faultlessly and utterly and without hesitation. I complied, and instantly agreed when she suggested I put on headphones to avoid being disturbed. It was that same music and once again I slipped into semi-consciousness. I was hearing things without hearing them, concentrating on something, but not sure what it was - but it felt so good that I wouldn't have resisted even if I could. Again, my thoughts turned to the enigmatic and intriguing Beatrice. It was as though she was talking to me, and, for all I know now, I may have been talking back. I certainly cannot remember what we were talking about, but it was deeply satisfying, and I know that I was hanging on her every word, anxious not to miss anything. I heard the masseuse tell me that she was going to give me a shave, and immediately felt Beatrice whispering that there was nothing she liked better than the feel of completely smooth skin. The girl told me to be very still and not to move a muscle unless she told me, so absolutely still I stayed. She lathered my face and neck, and gave me the closest, most comfortable and relaxing shave I could remember. Then she started on my chest. Now, this was kind of unusual, I knew even then, but it seemed to be OK, and it was as though Beatrice was encouraging me to let it happen. Anyway, I had been told to be still and was powerless to resist. Every inch of my skin she shaved, from my hairline to my toes. I lifted my arm and legs and rolled over when told, but otherwise felt so good just acquiescing to her actions. I felt neither shy nor concerned when the girl got to my groin and, with absolute confidence in both her authority and her skill, allowed her to render my most tender parts completely smooth. It was though a layer of my life was being removed, that I was being cleansed, but I just knew that I was better for it, that this was good for me and that I would be a better, happier person for it. Illogical it may seem, but it was crystal clear to me then. And so it went on, I was immersed in a warm haze of comfort, listening to the music, to Beatrice and to the masseuse, all at the same time yet able to follow each with total ease. Whatever the girl did had to be good, I knew it would be, so when she trimmed my eyebrows and then filed and polished my nails, I knew it was OK. At last, I surfaced, feeling on top of the world, all my cares and worries gone. It was as though I had woken to a new reality. Full of energy and confidence, I swung my legs off the table and thanked the girl for her time, promising to come back. "Oh, you will," she said, "you certainly will." As I was walking towards the door, she suddenly told me to come back and kneel in front of her. Even before I thought about it, my body responded, turning around and hurrying to comply. As if by reflex, I knelt at her feet, with my head bowed. It was just natural. Nothing more, just natural. She patted me on the head and said, "Good boy." And I was gratified for her words, because it felt of supreme importance that she was pleased with me. I wanted to please her. Then she told me to go. I showered again and dressed, then went for lunch. Once again I was ravenous and gratefully ate everything in front of me. After lunch, I sat down in the lounge with a cup of coffee to read the newspapers. I skimmed through them, reading very quickly and absorbing the key stories with little more than a glance. Turning to the crossword, it seemed startlingly easy today and, with a start, I found that I had completed it in a matter of minutes. Perhaps it was the sound rest, good food and healthy exercise that had cleared my mind of years of accumulated rubbish - but everything seemed to be so much more straight forward than in the past. Yes, perhaps my life was changing - but undoubtedly for the better. I drove into town in the afternoon, with nothing particularly on my mind. As a matter of habit, I stopped at a couple of computer shops, but they didn't hold my attention. Bookshops, too, in which I would normally spend hours browsing, seemed dull and unexciting. And so I wandered, content with my thoughts and the fresh air, feeling relaxed and more contented than I had for years. And then I bumped in to Sarah, the mysterious girl from reception. I stammered out a greeting, and tried to thank her, but I felt confused. She looked bright and cheerful, pleased to see me, but held a finger to her lips, and I shut up. She told me to follow her, which I was very pleased to do. And I spent a very happy hour with her, wandering from boutique to boutique, clothes shop to clothes shop, make-up counter to make-up counter. I've never done this before, I thought, and it's great fun. I got a real buzz out of looking at fabrics, feeling materials, and discussing freely with Sarah how things looked. She seemed to know all the answers, and I was utterly absorbed in what she was saying about women's clothes, what went with what, potential problems and so on. It was quite fascinating and a great experience. She was a great talker, and I hung on her every word, responding with total honesty to her questions and commenting when allowed. I guess everyone must have thought that I was a new boyfriend, but I didn't care. I was just happy to be with her. When we had finished, I was laden with shopping bags, lots of things that I had been all too pleased to buy for her. Although we seemed to spend hours looking at things, discussing what to buy, she seemed to know instinctively what she wanted and never once tried anything on; lucky girl, I thought, knowing her sizes and knowing that things would fit. Anyway, she kept up the banter as I drove back to the hotel. When we got there, she asked if I would take all the shopping up to my room, she would collect it later. "Of course," I replied, "delighted to be of service." "You'd better be," she said, which seemed somewhat strange, but I passed it off, just happy to have had time with this wonderful person. It had been a thoroughly satisfying day, I thought, as I got back into my room. I showered prior to changing for dinner, and it was then that I had the first real chance to look at my body. Yes, I thought, it real does look and feel better for having been shaved. And I found the feel of my fingers sliding over the smooth skin most arousing. So smooth, so sensitive, so clean and pure; why, oh why, had I never done this in the past, I thought. And within a few seconds, my cock was hard as iron as warm waves of pleasure swept over me, simply from the feeling of stroking my smooth skin. It was so glorious that I held back from touching my penis, seeking to extend the pleasure. Almost my instinct, I started to play with my tiny nipples, and was delighted to discover that even a man's could respond, swelling and becoming hard little points. Oh, but that felt good, as I pulled and stretched them, trying to coax them into further extension. Even the sudden flashes of pain as I pinched the tips served only to inflame me further, until I was almost bursting. Wow, I thought, this is bizarre, yet so good. Kneading and massaging my non- existent breasts, my eyes fluttered closed and I saw a vivid image of Beatrice, urging me on. Do it, she was saying, you've deserved it, enjoy. And my cock exploded, long streams of semen jetting across the bathroom, splashing onto the mirror. On and on it went, as I felt wave after wave of intense, overwhelming fulfilment rush through me. It took me some minutes to recover my composure, but I felt not a hint of guilt or shame. This may have been totally selfish, even narcissistic, but it was good and clean and I felt a better person for it. It took me some minutes more to clean up the bathroom from the sprays of semen cast with abandon, but I did not mind and I actually got a little thrill from doing it while perfectly naked. Finally, I got round to getting dressed and went down to the restaurant. As always, the service was first class, the waiters and waitresses seeming to know precisely what I would want. I was all too happy to go along with their suggestions and had another brilliant meal. This time, when the wave of lethargy hit me, I was happy to comply. The day had been busy and very energetic, and my bed seemed very welcoming. When I got back up to the room, Sarah had collected her shopping and, once again, left me a night-cap on the table. What an intriguing young lady, I thought, as I shucked off my clothes over a chair and slid between the sheets, so young, so demure, yet I would do anything for her. I had the strangest dream: Beatrice and Sarah were in my hotel room, talking to each other and discussing something very important. Although I was there, I felt no inclination to join in their conversation, I was just pleased to be in their company. Whatever they wanted was good, and I would just accept what they said. Beatrice was quite obviously in charge and although Sarah expressed views and opinions, she was always utterly respectful and obedient to Beatrice's judgement. Then they stopped and called for me to stand up. Sarah took me by the hand to the centre of the room, while Beatrice opened the wardrobe and drawers. One by one, she selected clothes, which she told me to put on. I was all too willing to comply, indeed, I felt powerless to resist, even when I saw that the clothes were the very garments that I had purchased that afternoon in town! First a pair of silk knickers, then a bra, then a garter-belt and stockings. Sarah showed me how to put on each one, and padded out the cups of the bra with tissue. It felt wonderful, utterly wonderful, the fine silk sliding so easily over my smooth, hairless skin, absolute joy. Then a silk blouse - buttons on the wrong side - and a short skirt, all fitting me perfectly. Finally, the shoes that I had found so attractive in the shop, medium height court shoes of the softest leather, and fitting like a glove. The rustle of the strange garments and the feel of the material on my skin were electric, and in my dream the concept of being so attired raised not a concern. Beatrice then sat me at the dressing table and started to apply make-up to my face. All the while she was telling me what she was doing, while I watched in the mirror and listened with rapt attention. Foundation, blusher, eye-shadow, mascara, she did the lot. The transformation was incredible, the male face with which I was so familiar was gone, replaced by a face of such female beauty as to be impossible. When Sarah came up behind me and slipped a blonde wig over my hair, I was transfixed. This was me, the new me, and I felt great. At Beatrice's command, I stood up, tottering on the heels as I tried to walk, but surfing on the waves of power and pleasure I felt as I looked in the long mirror at this vision of perfection. Beatrice and Sarah seemed very pleased and clapped with joy as I twirled for them, and their pleasure seemed to me the ultimate reward. If this is what they wanted, then I was only too happy to oblige. One by one they hugged me, giving me deep, long kisses. Nicky, they decided to call me, and they told me how beautiful Nicky was and how happy they were that she could be like them. In my dream, I could recall the total joy, the complete satisfaction and the compelling imperative to do their bidding. It was as realistic a dream as ever I had had, and when I awoke, I recalled it in absolute detail. But once again, I felt refreshed, contented, vibrant and alive, and although bizarre, the dream worried me not a jot. Each morning was better than the last, each good night's sleep restoring me, bringing me into a new and satisfying reality. I showered and shaved, once again revelling in the smoothness of my body, wondering how often I would have to do the rest of my body as well, for I had no doubt but that I would. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but it still came as a shock to find that my wardrobe did, indeed, contain the pretty clothes that we had bought, and the drawers of the dressing table held lacy underwear and a broad selection of make-up. Had it been a dream, had it been real, had I really found it so satisfying? Fingering the silk, I knew in a flash that it was true, but at the same time, I felt a warm glow of confidence, that it was good and wholesome. Indeed, I felt a surge of pride as I recalled how beautiful I could be. I wanted it to be true. Nevertheless, I dressed conventionally out of habit and once again, after breakfast, went down to the health club. Today, it was the masseuse who gave me my work- out, and she pushed me hard. She shouted and swore at me as I strained every muscle in an effort to meet her demands, but it was to no avail. She called me a worthless wimp, and a lot of other names far worse, until I found myself on the verge of tears in frustration. I so desperately wanted to please her, but the performance she wanted was always just out of my grasp. I was slow, or slovenly, or not concentrating, everything was wrong and her fury knew no bounds. Finally, I burst into tears, begging her to stop, pleading for forgiveness. She ceased her tirade and told me to stand next to a low horse. Was I really begging for her forgiveness? she asked. Yes, I cried, oh please. Would I accept punishment for my poor performance? Yes, gratefully, I answered. Would I beg for my punishment? Yes, yes, yes, I begged her to punish me, to cleanse me of my offence. She pulled my shorts down to the ground and told me to step out of them, then bent me over the horse and told me to grasp the legs. And then she started to spank me with her hand. Thirty times she spanked me, the remorseless tattoo ringing round the small gym, accompanied by my moans of pain as she set fire to my bottom. I gritted my teeth, against the sensory overload, every muscle pulled taut as the fearsome spanking continued. At last she was finished, and she told me to stand up again. I could barely move, my muscles cramped from their convulsions against the brutal assault. I hung my head meekly in shame. "Are you really sorry?" she asked, would I promise to improve, the better to do her bidding? "Yes, and yes," I answered, "yes." Then she gathered me in her arms and gave me a hug, of such tender love that I immediately felt absolved, assuaged, utterly contrite and certain above all else that I would, indeed improve until I met with her approval. "Come on, Nicky," she said, "let's give you a rub-down to ease those muscles." And without comment on her use of that name, nor any concern at the lack of shorts, I allowed myself to be led into the massage room. Again, she gave me a total massage, accompanied by that gentle, absorbing music, and I felt my grief being lifted, my spirits returning. And again, she shaved me from head to toe, rubbing smoothing ointments into my skin until it glowed. This was heaven, I thought. "Yes, it can be," answered Beatrice in my mind, "but the standards are high, and you must show your commitment or face endless frustration and disappointment. I am expecting a great deal from you, Nicky," she said, "Are you willing to face the challenge?" "Oh yes, Mistress," I answered, probably out loud, unconsciously using the term and acknowledging her authority over me. And I willingly let the masseuse ply my body with creams and oils, which she promised would improve its tone. I raised no comment when she applied a special ointment to my scrotum and cock, nor complaint at the burning sensation it caused. And the same on my chest, a different cream, but the same diligent attention to getting my skin to absorb as much as it could. Even when, on my front, I felt her probing my anus with a gloved finger, I knew that I must comply. Again, a special cream from her trolley, liberally applied outside and within the tight ring of muscle. When she had finished, I could feel the glow, the warmth in my most tender parts, increasing my awareness of my body. She told me to put on a smock, then led me through a few doors to a hairdressing salon. Another girl came up and asked if this was the man. It was, and she greeted me using the name Nicky. And immediately, I felt the warm satisfaction of being subservient, that I would do whatever she wanted me to and, more particularly, she could do anything she wanted with me. After washing my hair, which was quite long and a bit shaggy, she trimmed it back, seeming to know precisely what she was going for. There was no mirror and I just sat motionless as ordered, passing no comment, trusting utterly to her judgement, answering her questions and enjoying being in her charge. So satisfying, so comforting. She then applied a succession of conditioners to my hair and scalp, leaving each in for about twenty minutes, before rinsing it out, and finally blowing it dry. And between times, she wheeled me over to another bench, where she set about making up my face. When she had finished, she wheeled the chair up to a mirror, where I was greeted by a vision of loveliness. My hair had been lightened and straightened, so that it seemed far longer than before, and it had seemingly doubled in volume. I was now sporting a rounded bob that curled neatly around my ears and sat in a girlish fringe over my forehead. And beneath that was the most beautiful face, undoubtedly female, with fine eyebrows, highlighted cheekbones and a cute bow of a mouth. She told me, Nicky, always Nicky, that I looked wonderful and that I could be a very beautiful girl, and I felt great. She then showed me how the style could be brushed slightly differently and within seconds become a conventional gentleman's cut; until I became practised, she advised that I stick to the man's style unless there was someone to assist. She told me that one of the conditioners she had rubbed into my scalp would cause my hair to grow quickly for about a month, and warned me that it might feel a bit itchy. "Well, Sir, you can go now," she said, and with those words, a felt a sudden realisation of where I was. I jerked out of my comfortable little cocoon of warmth and acquiescence, knowing that I, Nick, now looked like a girl. I started to panic, with conflicting emotions of embarrassment and fear, against the acute arousal I felt to look upon my new image and the underlying compulsion to please this woman. She saw my distress and pushed me back down into the chair. "Don't worry, Nicky," she said. And my anxieties fell away, leaving me feeling relaxed, satisfied and compliant again. "You'll get used to it, Nicky; you still have a long way to go but you'll see! Now, let's get you ready to go out." Meekly, and still in my gown, I allowed her to lead me through to a changing room. Sarah was there waiting for me, and immediately greeted me as Nicky, telling me how wonderful I looked. As she wrapped her arms around me, I knew that this was the real thing, my will ebbing away as I immersed in the comfort and reassurance of her control. Careful not to disturb my hair, she lifted off the smock and looked over my body, commenting on the fiery redness of my well spanked bottom. Had I been naughty? My head dropped in shame and she demanded to know what had happened. I felt genuine remorse as I recounted the tale of my poor performance in the gym, but a warm glow resurgent from the pain. Her fingers glided over the hot skin, each touch like an electric shock, arousing me, making me feel so alive. So too the inflammation around my nipples, which seemed now incredibly sensitive to the lightest of touches. I jerked back as she pinched one hard little point, and immediately received a slap and a scold for not standing still - and I was deeply sorry. Then she started to dress me, first underwear and stockings, then the blouse and skirt, then shoes and finally a scarf for my neck. She chatted to me throughout, complimenting me on my looks but at each use of the name 'Nicky', and she used it often, I felt my will ebbing away. I could not have fought against it even if I had so wanted. I was happy, deliriously happy in the new person being put together. When she was satisfied, she told me to follow her. We left the hotel by a back door and she indicated for me to get into her car. We drove for a few miles to a large house set in beautiful grounds. She led me in through a side entrance and into the hall, where Beatrice was waiting to meet us. She looked stunning, a veritable goddess, perfection incarnate. She greeted me warmly, kissing me lightly on the cheek and looking me over with a critical eye. I recall vividly my ardent hope that I would meet with her approval. She nodded, and said that it was a good start and that there was promise, but that there was a long way to go. She told Sarah to take me away and commence my training. I had no idea what she meant, but soon found out. Sarah took me through into a beautiful room and immediately launched into teaching me how to be a woman. It was a mixture of explanation, encouragement and practice, into which I entered with total commitment, and the soft music in the background helped rather than interrupted my concentration. Little gems were seeded in the midst of general chat, directives delivered in clear, unequivocal terms which I felt immediately burning into my brain as inescapable and enduring truths. 'Nicky, you will always respect the whims and desires of any woman in your presence.' 'Nicky, you must discard all inhibitions over your body. You must never feel shy about being naked. You will acquiesce to anything that your Mistress may wish to do to your body, and to any act of sex in which you may be invited to participate.' 'Nicky, however you may be dressed, you will never again remain standing to urinate, but will always sit, as befits a woman.' 'Nicky, you must take every opportunity to wear high heels, until you are totally comfortable and confident on five-inch, even six inch heels.' 'Nicky, you will always take absolute pride in your body, your appearance and behaviour as a woman; you should strive for an under- stated, natural look, an unforced grace in all things.' 'Nicky, from now on, everything you do, and I mean everything, from making a cup of tea, to leading complex corporate negotiations, must be driven by the absolute imperatives of grace and beauty. You will constantly drive yourself, asking yourself how, in this task, how can I show more grace, more beauty.' 'Nicky, you may live a double life, but your ultimate aim henceforth is to become a total woman, beautiful and subservient, attractive and obedient in every respect.' 'Nicky, your own desires are meaningless, except when they are in pursuit of your Mistress' wishes.' And so on. For hours, she had me practice poise and walking on high heels, how to bend over, how to carry things, what to look out for when responsible for another's comfort, even how to speak, how to laugh. It all seemed totally natural, so obvious, yet all the better for having been explained to me, the most eager pupil. We stopped for a cup of tea, while I rested my tired muscles, my back and my legs in particular protesting at the unaccustomed tensions, but I knew they would get used to it. Quietly but abruptly, she told me to get undressed. Even this was a lesson, how to strip in a lady- like fashion, alluring, restrained demure, yet sensuous and proud. Then she too stripped and, for the first time I saw her body - beautiful, captivating. She shook out her long straight blonde hair out until it cascaded in waves over her shoulders and down her back. But she wasn't entirely naked: a fine chain connected delicate rings in her nipples, and there was a glint of something shiny in her groin too. Standing in front of me, she looked me in the eye and said, "Nicky, I am going to show you my body, the better for you to please me and other women in the future. Nicky: you will never again look upon a woman's body in lust, you will never again think of your own pleasure; from now on, a woman and her body will be objects of adoration for you, precious beyond measure and deserving of your every attention. You will revere and honour a woman's body, your sole aim being to bring it pleasure. If a woman invites you to have intercourse, you will of course comply, but only because it will meet her wishes. You will learn how to achieve ultimate mental satisfaction from providing service to a woman, beyond anything you may previously have experienced, but never again will you show any physical response to your arousal unless so ordered. Nicky, for the time being, forget that you ever had a penis, its only purpose now is to permit the passing of water." And she was right, absolutely right; all I ever wanted was to worship at the temple of womanhood. I felt my erection fade and willed my prick to shrivel and become inconspicuous. Telling me to remain seated, she showed herself off to me, describing each part of her body, the sensitive spots, and the painful spots. She cupped her breasts, showing how, when flicked, the nipples reacted by becoming hard, erect and extended. She told me that it had taken a year to stretch them to their current length, but that it had been worth it for the huge extra sensitivity. Lying down in front of me, she showed and described in detail her vagina, how the lips reacted to stimulation, what hurt and what felt good. Her inner lips each carried two tiny gold rings, which she used to hold herself open for my inspection, and showing me how reactive and supple a woman's body could be. This was all a wonder to me, why, oh why, did young men never get this sort of lecture. How much better could they please their women, if only they knew? She moved on to her clitoris, and she explained how the nub sat in its little sheath, and how she had had some fine cutting done to permit it greater freedom to extend. As she moved her finger around, I could see it coming to life, almost glowing as the bright red head poked out, stretching to nearly an inch long, like a miniature penis. It was utterly captivating. But much as I wanted to touch her, to explore and to bring her pleasure, she ordered me to remain still while she continued to explain and demonstrate how to stroke, fondle and caress. I watched in awe as she brought herself to climax after climax, by stimulating different parts of her body in different ways. She was looking at me throughout, telling me what she was feeling and explaining how, by restraining her physical reactions to orgasm, she achieved a far more intense mental peak. But the physical signs were there, the rippling of muscles, the mouth of her vagina opening and shutting, the pulsing of her almost incandescent clitoris. I was in total awe at this fantastic sight. How could it be that had I never before considered the power, the versatility, and the sheer glory of a woman? And I felt immensely privileged to have been given the opportunity to try again. Then she told me to lie down on the fur rug. As I got up off the couch, I felt, to my shame, an abundant stickiness between my thighs. Although my penis remained obediently flaccid, a steady trickle of juices was testament to my internal arousal. Sarah frowned at this, but said that it was to be expected at this stage. She then proceeded to stroke and knead my flesh, not as a massage, but to show me the frighteningly powerful forces that could be unleashed. She kissed, and nibbled, tracing her fingers lightly across skin that I never dreamed could be so sensitive. At her order, I concentrated on remaining still. Relentlessly, she brought me to a pitch of sensory overload, such that I felt I would burst - and all without ever getting near to my groin. I was rigid and twitching, taking fevered gasps of air, as I felt control slipping out of my grasp. And she managed carefully to sustain the pace for what seemed like hours. My nipples were on fire as she teased and pulled on them, the occasional nip with her teeth, followed by the most gentle of caresses. She said that I should have them pierced and ringed, that I too could stretch them, permanently, to the limits and beyond. Yes, I hissed through gritted teeth, I would like that, the prospect of being so marked suddenly overwhelming. Oh yes, what I would do to have proper breasts. She could read my mind, I'm sure, because she said that the creams applied earlier in the day would start that process off, but that I would need some injections in my chest to accelerate it and make them permanent. Did I want that, she asked in her soothing yet commanding voice, was I prepared to take that step? And I heard my own voice saying, "Yes, yes, yeeeeeessss, help me, please, help me to become a woman, please..." She then moved between my legs and said that, for the last time, she was going to be allow me to ejaculate for my own pleasure; hereafter all my orgasms would be dry, my penis only of use when required to bring pleasure to a woman. I nodded, unable to resist in the throes of such intense stimulation. She wrapped her fingers round my wrinkled stub of a penis, and stroked my balls. I could feel them churning with the pressure, the pent up fluids seeking escape, but unable to release. She blew on the tip, and took it softly in her lips for a few moments until I thought I had lost my mind, then she picked up a glass from the table and pointed the short stubby prick into it. "Now, Richard, release, let go." And, on order I did, the maelstrom of energy coursing through my body suddenly concentrating in my balls. My back arched painfully as spasm after spasm wracked me, and I felt pulse after pulse of semen jetting through my poor soft penis into the glass. In the depths of my mind I heard her soft voice whispering in my ear, "Bye bye Richard, hello Nicky," over and over again. At last, it subsided and I slumped back to the floor. She cradled my head in her arms, stroking my brow, and smoothing my tousled hair. She held the glass up in front of me, and I gasped at the quantity of semen, half a cupful. "Nicky, my poor darling," she said, "I know it was hard, but you are better for it." Again, I felt cleansed, another step made in my rediscovery. She put the glass to my lips and invited me to drink. Without hesitation, I sipped at the milky fluid, hearing her tell me that, after a woman's fluids, this was the most precious flavour to me, to which I could very easily become addicted. But more important to me was the symbolic consumption of my own history. She stroked her fingers across my smooth face - and I went out like a light, with a feeling of bliss, of perfect happiness. I awoke with a start, still naked and still on the rug. Sarah was kneeling by my side, holding my arm face-up. "Hush, my darling," she said, "this won't hurt." Then a prick as she slid a needle into a vein. I slumped back on the floor, wide awake, but unable to move. "Nicky, you brave girl, you have made the decision. I only gave you that injection to ease you through the next few minutes and to prevent your movements causing any damage." First she took a small pen and outlined a ring on each side of my chest around each nipple. I saw her filling a long-needled syringe from a tiny bottle, and then felt as she inserted it carefully at several points along the marked circles, dispensing a few drops deep under the skin at each. And then a further injection right into the base of the nipple. Oh, the pain, but it was delicious and, unable to move, I felt the energy of that pain become a surge of pleasure and power in my mind. She dabbed at the tiny spots of blood with a pad of lint and told me that she would now pierce the nipples. She picked up what looked like a pair of forceps and a long thin needle-like shaft, and suddenly appeared above and behind my head. She looked down at me and smiled as her arms reached forward to hover above my left nipple. Her nimble fingers placed the tips of the open forceps down over the nipple and then closed them tight over it from above. A blinding burst of pain hit me as the tiny nipple was crushed between the jaws of the closed forceps. In her right hand appeared the ominous long, hollow and pointed needle. She aligned the needle so that it was pointed outwards towards the nipple and began to press it through an opening in the head of the tightly clamped forceps. I moaned and gurgled as the needle advanced through the hole in the forceps, through the nipple and out through the tip of the forceps on the other side. I stared in disbelief and fascination at my punctured nipple. A little drop of blood had appeared on either side where the needle entered and exited. I'd heard of nipple piercing, but never in a million years believed that I'd ever consent to such deliberate mutilation of my body. Yet, today I had asked for it and been given it, I had yearned for it and now enjoyed the pain, the statement, the submission. Tears were rolling from the corners of my eyes at the intense pain in the highly sensitised flesh, but she carried on. Sarah, still smiling kindly, withdrew the needle and swiftly inserted a small gold ring through the hole and then released the forceps. Before screwing the ball closure, she showed me the super-glue that she was going to apply to the thread, just to ensure that removal was not an option. The same forceps then descended over my right nipple and clamped down tight. Again I moaned as the forceps closed, and again as the needle passed through the trapped nipple. And then the room went dark and everything went black. When I came to, I looked downward. There were the small bright gold rings skewering the tips of my tiny, male, nipples. The pain was still intense but I sighed, mentally if not physically, coming to terms with the irrevocable changes that I had, totally willingly, brought onto myself. Pins-and-needles in my limbs heralded a return to mobility, and Sarah immediately came to give me a long, searching kiss. Her warmth, her presence, her attention wiped away any trace of fear or regret; while I was with her I could feel nothing but calm, satisfied joy. "I love you," I said quietly. "I know," she said, "and it is right that you do. But you have a lot to learn yet on how to show that love." She took my hand and helped me to my feet. Unsteadily, I followed her to a mirror, to see the full effect of the rings - they looked terrific. I touched one with my fingers, but recoiled at the flash of pain. "Don't worry," Sarah said, "they will heal in a few days and you will find them infinitely more sensitive and responsive thereafter." I traced a finger round the ring of tiny pin-pricks on each side of my chest, feeling the barely perceptible lumps of the gel she had injected. She told me that the gel was a 'sleeper', a long- lasting cocktail of hormones that should last at least six months, sufficient for full development of my breasts - I could hardly wait! Finally, she reached round, and grasped the short wrinkled stub of my penis. "Remember, Nicky, you have no use for this except to pee through." I looked down at it with undisguised contempt. How dare that ugly thing mar the beauty of my body? Perhaps I should have it cut off? "Oh, no," she said, reading my thoughts, "remember that your body belongs to your Mistress, and she may want you to use your penis. You will keep it, we may even seek to enlarge it for our uses, but it is not yours to discard, nor can you ever ejaculate through it, nor any more do you have any control over it." As if to prove a point, she twirled in front of me, exposing herself, seeking in every way to arouse me. "Go on," she said, "play with yourself, give yourself some fun, if only for the last time. Dream of how you would love to plunge your prick into my body, to give me the fucking of my life." God, she was so beautiful, I could worship that body for the rest of my life. My mind was on fire with erotic thoughts, how I could please her, bring her to mind- blowing orgasms. As ordered, I curled my fingers round my penis, stroking it and squeezing it. Nothing. Nothing at all. In spite of my intense mental arousal, there was simply no longer a connection to my groin. I could feel tears of frustration and humiliation welling in my eyes. Then she stopped her dance and whispered, "Erect, Nicky," in my ear and I felt an immediate rush of blood to my groin, almost causing me to faint. Looking down, my member rapidly engorged, swelling and becoming red and hard. It looked huge, longer, thicker than I remembered from the past, barely a part of me. "Now masturbate with it," she said in a low voice. I ran my fingers over, picking up the sticky juices from its tip. But it was bizarre, I felt pleasurable sensations from my fingers, enjoying the slick friction, but nothing but touch from the penis itself. I tried fast and slow, squeezing, stroking, and cajoling to recapture the familiar buzz. Nothing, it was a hard, rampant piece of meat, but it brought me no pleasure. I broke down in tears, with the feeling of palpable loss. On my knees, I buried my face in the rug, while the monstrous roll of prick lay hard, rigid, but useless between my thighs. She was right, it was no longer my penis, it was hers, theirs, controlled via my subservient mind to react at will to their whims and fancies. "No, no, you must not cry, Nicky. Remember that you get pleasure from pleasing women, and your penis is a part of that. Now, come to me, please me with your rod." She lay on her back, knees up and spread wide apart, inviting me to fuck her. I shuffled over, brought the tip to her labia, and slowly slid in to the hilt until I could feel my smooth hairless groin rubbing against hers. "Oh, yes, Nicky, fuck me, fuck me hard." And I started to thrust in and out, teasing her with intermittent movements. All the while, nothing from my penis, none of that fear of climaxing too soon, this was mechanistic, a service provider. Then she started to moan, and her sighs and whimpers of pleasure ignited me more than any sensation from my prick. I surfed on her pleasure, I drank it in as nectar from the gods. I could feel the walls of her vagina rippling against my shaft, I could even feel the hard mouth of her cervix as I plunged deep, and I could feel her orgasms pulsing through. At last, she called on me to stop and I withdrew. "Down, boy," she said and as if by magic, my penis softened and shrivelled to its former state. "Nicky, that was wonderful," she said, hugging me in her arms, and my life was complete. And she was right again, my pleasure at pleasing her was far more intense than any selfish male orgasm. After lying together cuddling for a few moments, she took me to the bathroom where she took off my smudged make-up and then led me into the shower. We soaped each other tenderly, lovingly, she careful not to inflict undue pain on my nipples, while I revelled in the chance to feel her skin under my fingers. Ah, heaven it was. We washed each other's hair, the touch of her long silky mane sending new waves of pleasure through me, knowing that it was pleasing to her. And then we towelled each other off. She insisted that I shave my face and neck again, to prevent any hint of stubble, while she started to dry her hair. I watched in rapt silence as she manoeuvred the hair drier, noting how she held it, directed its flow to lift the strands, how she brushed through the long mane, keeping it straight. Oh, how I longed to have such hair. "You will, my darling, you will, if it pleases your Mistress." She told me to wait while she got my clothes. She came back with her arms full. First on was a pair of the sheerest stockings imaginable, and thrills of pleasure accompanied their sliding up my smooth legs. She put a heavy garter belt around my waist and clipped up the stocking tops. Then she produced as a flesh- coloured tube and strap affair, made from some strong but supple fabric, that she then fitted to my short penis. The tube slid over the soft shaft, while the straps, clipped to the garter belt, held it in place. The result was that my penis seemed to have disappeared, held tightly down and back between my thighs, compressing my scrotum back into my body and leaving no more than a mound in front. Yes it was uncomfortable, but when she then slid a pair of frilly pink panties up my legs, I could see the benefit - not a hint of maleness. "Normally," she said, "it would be locked in place with a padlock, but I am telling you now that you will want to wear it whenever it is possible to do so, at least until your penis and scrotum have retracted so as no longer to be apparent." Then she fitted a special bra, padded in such a way as to suggest small breasts, while at the same time, protecting my ringed nipples from any pressure. But instead of my blouse and skirt, she then passed me a shirt and tie, trousers and socks. I was surprised - but she said that my transformation was yet far from complete. I would return to the hotel as a man. The only slight difference were the 'shoes' she presented; while outwardly conventional men's lace ups, she showed me the disguised internal lift, how, when laced, they would hold my feet as though in 4" heels - that explained the too-long trousers I'd been given. Already, the male clothes felt strange, but then no more odd than everything else that had happened. But I needed only to move a stockinged leg inside my trousers, or to brush an arm across my chest to be reassured that Nicky was inside. In the bathroom, I brushed my hair as normal, with a parting and back behind my ears, noting that, as the hairdresser had promised, it looked a perfectly conventional man's cut, albeit that the hair was lighter, glossy and full. While I was dressing, Sarah braided her hair into a long plait and pulled on a simple cotton shift. When we were ready, she told me that I was to have dinner with Beatrice, my Mistress. She led me through the house to the patio, where Beatrice was waiting. "Ah, Richard," she said in greeting. A shiver ran through me, as if curtains in my consciousness had been drawn back. I was suddenly aware of what had happened, and found it unsettling to say the least. I recalled in absolute clarity what I had done and what had been done to me. I also recalled that had agreed to it all, that I had begged to be mutilated, and I could not forget the supreme pleasure I had enjoyed during the day's activities. Yet, here I was, a man, a living breathing man, with no history of fantasising or any deviance of any sort, in the space of two days throwing his entire being away to become a sissy, a slave to the will of others in a most bizarre form. Beatrice saw my discomfort, and motioned me to a seat in the sun. A large gin and tonic was brought to me and I took a long slug to settle my nerves. She pressed a button on the table, and I heard faintly in the background that same familiar, haunting yet comforting music. "You recognise the tune, Richard?" she asked. I nodded, picking up the themes put still not able to place it. "Well, so you should, after all, whether you know it or not, you have been listening to it a lot over the past few days. It is a subliminal hypnotic influence tape, created specifically for you and unique to you. You may not remember, but on the first night you arrived in the hotel, you spent over 20 hours hearing it without a break. And the drugs in your hot chocolate ensured that not only did you hear it, but you listened to it too. You heard it again the following night, and at regular points in between - in the shower, on the radio, in the gym, even in the restaurant. And you are listening to it now." She stopped talking, allowing the music to settle my nerves and open my mind. "Do not worry, Richard, I mean you absolutely no harm, just flow with it. There is nothing that you can do anyway. If you had resisted within maybe 2 hours of induction, then you might have been able to break away, but now - no chance. The commands I have implanted in your mind are so deep, so reinforced that neither you nor anyone else will ever be able to erase them. Nor can you resist; you can't resist because your mind no longer wants you to resist. Forget all about hypnotic trances, with this system you are constantly open to and actively seeking suggestion - no, not suggestion, but command. Forget also any notion that a subject cannot be hypnotised into doing anything they do not want to do - I can make you do anything I like, I can and will make you want to do it. I have opened up whole new areas of your brain; I have implemented new patterns of thought over which you have no conscious control. Even while we speak, your brain is listening out for new commands, eagerly awaiting new orders, while repeating, relearning and rehearsing the fundamentals, driving them ever deeper into your psyche. It is a continuous process that your mind does not want to stop, on which it has already become dependent. "Of course, there is no longer any need for any drugs to assist the process, my route into your mind is continuous and fixed. But I repeat, I mean you no harm and, having started it off, you are now my responsibility, a responsibility I take very seriously. And I will look after you, you can be sure of that. I want to anyway. Now, you probably won't remember, but this is the ear- piece that you have had in your ear while asleep in the hotel." She pointed to a tiny ear-piece, barely the size of a hearing aid. "I'm going to leave it with you now, to use whenever you want, and especially whenever you are feeling nervous or unsure. Once fitted it will play your special hypnotic baseline, together with coded hypnotic commands to which you, and only you are receptive. These commands can be re-programmed remotely, to pass any new instructions or messages that I deem fit - if you think about it you will find that you already know how to receive the daily update. Don't be afraid of it, use it as a comfort - and don't worry, it's waterproof, so you don't even need to take it out for a bath or a swim! "So, what have I actually done? I have made you utterly, inescapably subservient to me. If I should ever tell you to do something, you will be powerless to resist. And in the right circumstances you will be similarly subservient to other women who will know how to control you - you will be receptive to their demands, their orders in the same way as you are to mine. But that suggests coercion, which is not the intent. You will want to do my will, and you will take great pleasure from meeting my demands. You do now, even just sitting there, your mind is constantly seeking ways to please me, and it is your sole aim in life." And she was right. "I have implanted a series of behavioural responses, on which you are rapidly building as you learn from those around you and explore your new existence. You don't need to know the details, they will surface naturally at the appropriate time. Have I left any time-bombs? No, not that I am aware of, although your reaction to certain stimuli may on occasion surprise you. But there is nothing that will intentionally do you any harm. "Let me explain why. I was most impressed with your work; you helped us out at a time when we really needed help, although were loath to admit it. More than that, you took us at face value and were neither smug nor condescending. And you are obviously very gifted, both as an engineer, as a lawyer and as a financier. Thanks to your efforts, not only have we been saved from ruin (and you will see from this house that I enjoy my comforts), but our market share has quadrupled in four days, and our share value continues to rise almost vertically. Yet you sought no more than your contracted reward; I was watching you very carefully, wondering if you would seek some further gain, and wondering what I would do then. Because I like you. "I want you to work for and with me. But I knew that you were a loner, enjoying the freedom of private consultancy. I also suspect that you would have been offended if I had asked, and the more so if I raised the price. So I devised a neat way round it, and your future was sealed the second you accepted the hotel offer. I'm sure that you will have deduced by now that I have a number of especially 'trained' placements among the hotel staff - they have been instrumental in bringing my plan to fruition. You will work for and with me now, assuring the future prospects of my company, of me - and indeed of yourself, for I do intend that you be rewarded for your efforts. And, because I have removed a huge element of choice from your psyche, your mind will now have far greater capacity for useful, constructive thought - you saw yourself how quickly you were able to consume crosswords. "So you might then ask why all the emphasis on feminising you. Simple. As I said, I like you. But I am a lesbian, exclusively lesbian, and a dominant one at that. Ask anyone around and they will tell you just how much I despise the male of the species. You are the first man who has ever impressed me, the first adult male whose company I have been able to tolerate, let alone relax and enjoy. I wanted you around. Yes, I could have simply made you want to work for me, but we would never have been able to relax and talk. I also wanted to create a dependency, but I have no need of a mindless slave. I want your mind and, against all my instincts, I like you as a man, but I want to love you as a woman. That is why it is so important to me that you be transformed. "But that transformation, although well on the way now, must not be too rushed. Your body has a lot of work to do, and your mind a huge amount to learn; that will take time. I also may need you to work as a man - you don't have to tell me that there are ways of doing business man-to- man into which a woman would never be allowed to intrude, let alone a transvestite or transsexual. Yes, I hate those terms too, they are vulgar and meaningless, and do not come anywhere near to your situation. I also intend to exploit to the full your previous contacts, friends and networks. So, at a degree of risk, I have deliberately left Richard in place. In terms of command, there is no difference; my hold on Richard is just as rigid as it is on Nicky. And deep down, Richard has the same imperatives, the same desires as Nicky. Richard appreciates the beautiful things in life just as much as Nicky and, indeed obeys the same rules of obedience and devotion to me. But he can quite naturally behave as a man and be accepted as such. Whereas Nicky, who is all set to become a very beautiful girl, could never pass off as a man; Nicky is driven by a desire to be as feminine as possible. "And it is Nicky who I want to live with me, bringing all the intellect, accumulated wisdom and wit of Richard, but in a form with which I can live. I want a companion, not a slave. I want you to be happy with me, and me with you - so you had to be a girl, at least in appearance and character. But surgery? No, because it is not impossible that I may, in due course, want your babies. As for the rings and the spanking, well, unashamedly they are for my pleasure. I get a real high out of bondage and domination, out of punishment and control. They are for my fun, and I know that you would wish for no more than my pleasure. "Richard, take it as a mark of respect that I have explained all this to you; after all, I could have run you for years without having to explain a thing. But I want you to be calm, relaxed and happy, and I certainly didn't want any personality crises getting in the way. And you will undoubtedly serve me better if you understand my intentions. Now, you are going to have to trust me. You certainly don't have any choice, but trust me you should. The steps you have already made, the drugs you have already ingested or had injected will be effective for roughly six months. And I make a solemn promise to you as a human being that, if after six months it isn't working for whatever reason, I'll systematically de-programme you and allow you to leave. There is no point in me promising to give you a choice, because you have none, you and I both know what your answer would be. So I will have to make that judgement on my own account. Now, have another drink and think for a while if you need to. When you are ready, come through for dinner, during which I want to hear your side of things. And please call me Beatrice." I sipped at the strong drink. It was a lot to take in, but it all made sense. What could I say? The choices had all been made for me, and I could not even consider there being anything other than devotion to her will - that was a given. Whether my intellect and character were intact - that was another thing, but beyond my control and therefore not worth worrying about. But if they were important to her, then I would, I must do everything in my power to retain, to improve upon them, and in the way that she wishes. My mind went into overdrive, teasing through the many factors, matching my desires and intentions (i.e. hers) to possibilities. Within a few seconds only, I had exhausted the process and went into the house and found her at the dining table. Once we had finished a light meal, over which we exchanged inconsequential chat about her business, and the outcome of our recent efforts, I marshalled my thoughts and then spoke. "Mistress, Beatrice, you know that I love you and want nothing more than to please you. What you may not know is that the same might have been true without all your efforts. I think that you are right, I would have taken a lot of persuading to work for you in my previous form, although anything other is almost beyond comprehension. I'm sorry that you do not wish me to join you straight away, but if that is your wish, then so be it. As for the feminising, you have indeed worked magic. Even as Richard, even so soon, I feel far more comfortable recognising myself as a woman, and I shall do everything in my power to improve my performance - as a woman. Perhaps it was inside me all the time, just waiting to be released, perhaps not. But I am immensely grateful to you for having shown me the better way. I am proud to be under your influence, and I feel empowered by it. I understand why I am, for the moment, Richard, and I understand too that I am not yet fit to be your companion, but I do yearn for the day when I may be found ready. "Accepting the situation, which I obviously do, I do have some thoughts for the future, for your consideration - and please, Beatrice, please do not take what I have to say as any sort of criticism or complaint. Be assured that I do want to work for you, not just to toil but to give you the best possible service. Perhaps more as 'Richard' than as 'Nicky', I may in time identify ways in which I can improve, subject to some further indoctrination, or refinement of the control under which you now hold me. I trust that you will allow me sufficient freedom to explore that envelope. Likewise, just as gamblers or addicts may use hypnotherapy, would you permit me, when required to ask you to assist in improving my character or optimising my mental abilities? I hope so. Finally, you know that my only desire is to serve you in whatever way you wish - that is a given. But I recognise that you want me as a companion rather than simply a person. Perhaps you would consider, in the longer term and subject to my meeting your requirements, reducing the level of control you exert, so as to reduce the burden on you. It might permit me to refresh my interest and experience of matters outside what is currently a very focussed attention and may be even argue with you? May I be so bold as to repeat that I only mention these things in my desire to meet your wishes in the best possible way?" "Oh, Richard, I'm very relieved. I am impressed by your swift rationalisation, rather than meek, dumb acquiescence. And you are right, we may need to adjust the degree of control, although my nature and habit is always to restrain rather than liberate. I'll think on it - but you must always feel the freedom to speak plainly, especially with respect to professional matters. I think I have made a good choice. "You will go back to the hotel this evening, Richard. You still have four days of your 'reward' to run, and I sincerely hope that you will enjoy them. Use the time wisely, for you have a great deal to accomplish, and use those members of the hotel staff who have already identified themselves to you as members of my team. They will progress your training and development, acting in accordance with my direction: some of it you will enjoy for itself, other parts you may find painful, but you will nevertheless gain satisfaction because it is my will that you are fulfilling. But over and above that, they will provide you every assistance you require; Sarah will find you tomorrow morning to discuss your requirements - you can trust her implicitly as an agent of mine. "At the end of your stay, you should check out and go home. You will have as long as you need to close off your interests at home, complete any on-going business, and sever any connections. I won't see you again this week, but will look forward to seeing you when you are ready. Before you go, please take your ear-piece: you do not have to use it, but I think you will want to. Please take also this (she handed me a box). It is a titanium slave bracelet. When you are ready, you may put it on your ankle, but it will never come off again. The catch cannot be slipped and the metal is too tough for cutting." It was late when I got back to the hotel, and my mind was in a whirl. So much to do, and so little time. I raced up the stairs to my room and stripped off the male clothes. Oh, it was so much more comfortable to wear just stockings and underwear, though I did slip on the high-heels. I didn't need the pouch to remind me how to use the toilet, but just naturally sat down and let the urine flow. But, actually, having my cock and balls strapped away felt better and more natural, so I left the pouch in place. The way ahead was becoming clearer and my mind, made more acute by Beatrice's re- programming, swiftly and logically sorted out priorities for action. Top of the list was that I was ravenous, next was that I would need rest. I rapidly thought through the sort of diet that would facilitate the bodily changes and ordered from Room Service. A huge platter of salad and bread was delivered which I consumed while reviewing my future. It was much easier now, because I knew what was happening. And, by virtue of the hypnotic programming, I was naturally content and enthusiastic about it all. The big point was that now I could play an active part in the process, rather than responding as no more than a pawn. I had rediscovered an element of control, if not on my destiny - which was fixed and immutable - but perhaps on the route to it. I could focus my attention and my activities, optimise the time I had available, the more quickly to achieve the end-state sought by my Mistress. Tired and immensely satisfied, I slipped in to bed, still wearing my stockings, panties and bra but made a point of inserting the ear- piece. As my body heat activated the tiny receiver, I heard comforting sounds in my ear - I was safe and happy. I awoke, once again refreshed by a deep, deep sleep, but wondering wistfully what I had learned through the night - it mattered not, whatever it was, it was her will. The pleasant sounds from my ear- piece were still there as I reflected on the previous evening and my conclusions. Yes, I felt much more confident and certain about what was happening to me and, on the balance of probabilities, it was best to assume that I had, indeed, regained some influence, if not freedom, over my future. Alternatively, of course, she could simply have programmed me to think that. Again, it was not worth dwelling on, because the result was the same either way. As I rolled off the bed, sharp flashes of pain came from my nipples. I took off the bra, noting with some disappointment that I didn't yet have any breasts, and examined the rings. Yes, there was some inflammation, but the piercings looked clean. I enjoyed the thrill of my stockinged legs rubbing against each other as I walked across to the bathroom. I slid down the delicate silk panties and sat down for a pee while running the bath. The sensation of my urine flowing through the captive penis was again strange, but a reminder of what I had had burnt into my consciousness the previous day - nothing more to me than a tube for peeing through, while remaining an instrument of pleasure for women. That was fine by me, and the constriction didn't feel that uncomfortable, more of a reassurance. I took off my underwear, including the pouch, and slid into the bath. On impulse, I leant over and poured a large dose of bath oil into the steaming water. Oh, that was glorious, and I indulged myself for long minutes, stroking my skin through the hot, slippery, perfumed water. I cleaned the area around my rings diligently, acutely aware of but content with the stinging from the raw skin. Somehow, I knew that I had to manipulate the rings in their holes in order to prevent the skin sticking, but I also knew that it was too soon to dare giving them a tug. I washed my hair and, automatically, applied some conditioner from the bottle that had appeared on the tray. Yes, I suppose there was some itchiness in my scalp, and I massaged with my fingers in a probably futile attempt to get my hair to grow more quickly. I tried to put a bath sheet around my chest, as a woman should, but my nipples were too sore, so I had, reluctantly, to make do with a smaller towel round my waist. After a good shave, I emerged into the bedroom to find Sarah sitting on the bed, and a huge breakfast laid out on the table. Immediately and instinctively, I dropped to my knees with my head bowed and waited for her pleasure. "That was nicely done, Nicky," she said at last, "although there is much work to be done on your poise and posture. But you can get up now. I want you to consider me a friend, and we must be able to talk to each other, and we can do that without in any way diminishing the authority and power I hold over you. Come on, sit at the table, let's have something to eat." Over breakfast, we discussed my 'training', she asking me first to outline my thoughts. I rehearsed my conclusions from the previous evening and explained that I had four lines to pursue, and that they should work in parallel. First, my physical development. I had no doubt at all but that I was being supplied with some sort of hormone treatment, but that alone would not be sufficient. I would need to train my body to take up the proper shape and to prevent muscle simply turning into fat: I imagined strict corsetting 24/7 for the foreseeable future, but she may have other and better ideas. I would gladly take further ornament too, whatever was considered appropriate, although piercing for earrings would be nice. Second, my training as a woman. As she had pointed out, my poise, posture and ability to move as a woman were as yet immature and would need a great deal of practice. And I had to learn how to look after myself, set my hair, apply make-up and so on. But there had to be a myriad of other things that a woman should know, what to do and what not to do. Third, I must not neglect my professional skills; after all it was for them that Beatrice had elected to 'capture' me. I would need to get back up to speed with business issues, as well as conducting some intensive research into her, our, business, the markets, competition and so on. Finally, from what I knew of Beatrice, I strongly suspected that she would wish to use me as a sex slave to bring pleasure to her, and anyone else, male or female, that she so wished. And that was likely to involve disciplines and skills of which I could only speculate. She nodded, and agreed with my overall assessment, although there would be some refinements, some aspects that I had probably not yet considered. Then she asked how I saw that being achieved in the remaining four days at the hotel, and thereafter. I suggested that, on a day to day basis, these four strands could best be approached in the order I had presented them, with roughly four hours devoted apiece - physical fitness and bodily preparation 7 till 12, 'womanly' things 12 till 4, professional research 4 until 7 and finally, in the evening, training for sex. Again, she nodded. "Yes, that would work, but it is going to be hard work, and both your mind and your body will need substantial rest," she warned. "We'll see how it goes," she said, "I think that you should start your day as Richard for the time being, at least until you have mastered how properly to prepare and present Nicky, then you can switch over once you have finished downstairs." She then opened her bag and pulled out a selection of bits and pieces. There were some more of the special bras to protect my sore nipples until they had healed, a further selection of underwear and clothes, and a couple of spare penis restraints. Also a large bottle of depilatory bath cr?me that would keep my body free from stubble (but I need to keep my hair well protected!), and a range of other cosmetics. Finally she pulled out a small box, and a vial. She confirmed that, to date, I had been receiving quite heavy doses of a hormone cocktail to assist in my mental and physical transformation. But now was the time to switch to a steadier regime of medication. Filling the syringe, she told me that she would inject my thigh with a 'sleeper', a large dose that would only slowly leach into my system, over a matter of months, similar to the injections in my chest, maintaining an appropriate hormonal balance without the need for pills. Pulling my towel aside, I accepted with pleasure the stab, and the feeling of the fluid being pressed deep into the muscle in the inside of my leg. Another step. The next four days were frantic, tiring, but also stimulating and deeply satisfying. I soon settled in to an effective relationship with Sarah, seeming almost to re-learn the art of conversation after a period in limbo. Although the pressure was intense and unrelenting, I enjoyed it, because my programming had told me to enjoy it, and because it was what I so deeply wanted to do. In the gymnasium, Karen had me do punishing aerobic routines, tailored finely to enhance the right muscles without over- developing others, followed by long sessions of stretching other muscles that I would need as a woman - limbering up my hips, loosening my back and so on. She promised that I would in due course be able to put my feet behind my head, but for the moment, a graceful 'split' was good progress. She it was, too, that tutored me in poise, assisted by a pair of outrageously high-heeled trainers. With my feet bound almost vertical, I practised walking, climbing stairs, just standing, and sitting while she forced me to hold my chest and back in the appropriate posture. Again, and again, until at last it started to come naturally. Catherine in the hair and beauty parlour did my hair every day and made my face up. Each time she repeated the instructions and showed me how to do it for myself, from the rubbing in of conditioner, to the brushing and blow-drying of my hair, from the application of eye-liner to the polishing of my toe nails. Thanks no doubt to the preparation of my mind by my Mistress, I was a quick learner. I was able to concentrate intently on every action, recording each movement in minute detail, then repeat and refine it for myself, so that after two more days only, I was happily re-creating the beautiful shining hairstyle, the finely featured face and complexion she had first shown me. I also picked up innumerable tips on what to use, what not to use, the good names, the not-so-good, each nugget eagerly absorbed and stored. Then Sarah would bring me Nicky's clothes for the day, each day a different selection, so that I became familiar with various styles and types. Bra, stockings, panties of course, then skirts, blouses, dresses, even a suit. And each day the shoes got higher as I became more accomplished, more natural in my movements. We would go out for lunch and talk for hours, discussing a phenomenal range of issues, what to do when a man looks at you, feminism, sport, social life, what women chatted about, how to giggle, protocol and so on. Some was obviously to a prescribed litany of topics, but more and more I felt our conversation broadening as my confidence grew, and I got a real buzz out of simply being in company, two girlfriends out together for an afternoon. We went into town a couple of times, and I was now able to take an active part in the shopping, selecting my own lingerie, my own shoes. I was no longer shy about using changing rooms, confident that the 'pouch' would conceal any hint of maleness, although my legs had some way to go before becoming truly feminine, and it would be some time before my larynx softened to reduce the male bulge in my neck. We tried perfumes too, and purchased a couple of small bottles for me to try and to get used to. Sarah reminded me that I would need to maintain, at least for the time being, a wardrobe for Richard, and we spent some time looking at men's clothes. We discussed discretely the sort of clothes that would not look amiss on a somewhat effeminate body and, in particular, with what would be quite long hair. On the second day, we got back to the hotel early as she said that there was someone calling to see us, and there were things we needed to do before she arrived. We went up to my room, where she told me to get undressed, fully undressed and wait for her in the bathroom. She came in a few minutes later with an armful of tubing and a bag. She was going to give me an enema, and more importantly, show me how to give myself one. I was nervous and apprehensive, she could see, and she told me firmly, "Nicky, you are going to have this enema. Not only that, but you will give yourself an enema at least once a day for the rest of your life and always before you spend any time with your Mistress Beatrice. She has ordered this; she will always want you clean, inside and out. Listen to me: you are to learn to enjoy the enema, to appreciate the sensations, such that you will look forward to it, and be unable to do without it." I felt her words burning their way deep into my brain, joining the growing library of immutable commands it had received in the recent days. Yes, I would learn to enjoy it, yes, I was even now looking forward to finding out about it and, yes, I wanted to be cleansed inside as well as out. She proceeded to show me the equipment: the fearsome-looking nozzle and tube, the bags, with their hooks to hang up, the soap pills and the plug. I examined them all, and watched as she filled one, then two bags with warm water and added the soap, then connected the whole lot up, running the fluid through to expel any air, then shutting off the valve. Then, having applied a generous layer of Vaseline to the nozzle she told me to crouch down on my haunches and pick up the nozzle between my legs. She directed my hand so that the rounded end was pressing against the hard, tight muscle of my anus, and explained how to press gently until the muscle relaxed and then slowly ease the nozzle until the sphincter slid into the retaining groove. It hurt initially as the tight ring of muscle was stretched over the hard plastic, but I concentrated on relaxing and enjoying it and soon the end slipped in. I gradually worked the probe in, feasting on the novel sensations of intrusion, until I felt it lodge in place. I could feel every millimetre of the nozzle in contact with my insides - it seemed monstrous! But Sarah assured me, with a giggle, that this was the smallest nozzle available, and that, in due course, I would not only be able to, but would welcome far, far, larger objects in my ass. The thought sent a tingle through me - could it be true? Of course it could. She lifted me to my feet and told me to hold on to the edge of the bath with one hand while operating the valve in the other. I turned it on and felt a warm rush of fluid into my backside. Again, it felt very odd, and my reflex was to push against it, but no, Sarah told me very firmly to relax and accept it, welcome it. More and more, I could feel it pouring into me, distending the gut and when I shifted slightly, the motion of the fluid inside, slopping around. When the first bag was empty, she showed me how to change to the second and carry on the flow without a pause. The pressure started to hurt and I got a twinge of the feeling one has with diarrhoea, imminent loss of control into a spasm, and I asked to turn it off. Sarah told me to wait for a few moments, to let my insides relax and stretch. The feeling died away, and I turned it on again, but soon, and before the second bag was finished, I knew that I was physically full. Sarah moved me gently over the toilet bowl and told me to crouch slightly. She took my hand to the hilt of the nozzle and invited me to relax my anus and allow its withdrawal, but to be ready immediately to clamp myself shut. She explained how important it was to be able to hold the fluid in order for it properly to achieve the cleansing. Gingerly, I started to pull the plastic out. Again, I nearly lost control once my sphincter was free of the groove, and had to concentrate to prevent a forceful expulsion. Slowly, slowly, I slid the probe out, ready to snap shut. As the tube finally popped out, I recoiled at the splashes of water that followed it, and dropped the nozzle. Sarah laughed, and told me not to worry about it, then handed me the plug, telling me to put it in place. I groaned as I pressed the hard rubber bung against the already tenderised ring, but once again persisted until it popped into place. "Now you can relax," she said, "all safe inside!" I felt bloated and a bit nauseous, but she said I would get used to it. The best thing to do, she said, was to walk around a bit, make a cup of tea, anything to keep moving, get the soapy fluid swirling around to every nook and cranny. But I felt about to burst and found it difficult to be at ease, and with a hand on my tummy, I could feel the tremors of my intestines reacting against this unaccustomed fullness. "Let me take your mind off it then," she said and, moving towards me, lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal her shaven nakedness beneath. "Nicky, I want to feel your tongue against me, inside me, I want it now." I was powerless to resist her command and, as I fell to my knees in front of her, she clasped my head in her hands and held me to her mons. Nervously, I put out my tongue at her delicate folds, breathing in the heady scents of her body. "Yes, lick me, open me with your tongue," she gasped, as I made the first tentative strokes. As I tasted her for the first time, I gained confidence and probed more deeply, dragging my tongue up her slit. It was a revelation to feel her lips respond, quivering, engorging, opening, until the hard nub at the top was free and erect. Her nectar was exquisite, the most fabulous thing I had ever tasted, and I was instantly hooked, needing more and more. Faster and faster, my tongue flicked up and down her slit, round and over her clitoris, into her vagina as far as I could reach, in search of this magical, mystical honey. I could feel her body tremble and her sighs as a series of tiny orgasms rippled through her. My mind was spinning with the intense feelings of joy and fulfilment as I brought this woman pleasure. I could afford to let my tongue tire, and put ever more energy into its frantic movements, licking, probing with a life of its own. At last, she said, "Enough!" And I sat back on thighs, my head bowed in subservience, my face covered with her sweet, precious juices. She pulled me to my feet and gave me a long, searching kiss. "Oh, Nicky, that was wonderful, even if you have a long way to go to perfect your technique! But, look, twenty minutes, and you haven't given your tummy a thought, have you?" And she was right; any discomfort had been purely secondary to my duties to her. "Ok, time's up, let's get you cleaned out." We went back into the bathroom and prepared the enema bags and hose with clean warm water. Then, squatting over the pan, I eased the plug out of my anus to feel the huge release of brown soapy water. Wave after wave drove through my abdomen, expelling what seemed like gallons. The spasms stopped and she told me immediately to re- apply the nozzle for a rinse. It was easier this time, the muscle having been stretched by the plug, and soon I felt the flow of water filling me up. One-and-a-half bags was still the limit though, and we had to repeat the rinse three times until she was satisfied that I was properly cleansed inside. "Don't worry," Sarah commented, "when you do it regularly you seldom need more than one rinse, but it will take a few days to really clean you out." I took a shower then, cleaning myself and all the kit ready for use again, and emerged feeling radiant and clean throughout. My nipples had just about healed; I still made sure that I moved the rings regularly, but there was no heat, no discharge and all seemed to be well, although the flesh was still tender. Under Sarah's watchful eye, I put on a clean pouch, stockings, panties and a bra, then a blouse and a loose pair of slacks and finally a new pair of high-heels. We waited in my room for a little while, chattering happily like a couple of schoolgirls, then there was a knock on the door. In came an attractive middle- aged woman carrying a large suitcase. "Hello, my dear, you had better get undressed," she said. I hurried to comply, there being something in her voice triggering my instant and total obedience. "No, keep your stockings and shoes on." She came up to me and started kneading the flesh on my chest. "Early days," she said, "but there is definitely something there. I think you are going to be beautiful, really beautiful." I blushed. "Now," she said, "let's see what I can do to help." She took a measuring tape from her pocket and slipped it around my waist. "Hmm, 33 inches," she mused. She pinched my flesh hard in her hands all around my hips and tummy, and after a few minutes announced that she thought she could take at least ten inches off, and that even 21 was a not unreasonable target. "Yes, 21, let's go for that." She took several other measurements around my abdomen, then vertically down my back, hip bone to shoulder, point of sternum to waist and so on, making copious notes in her little book, while I wondered just how such a reduction in my waist could be achieved. "Has she had an enema recently?" she asked. Sarah nodded. "Good," she said, "that always makes things easier, and you will need to keep your bowels empty." When she had finished, I dropped my arms down, then saw her sift through the suitcase and produce a corset. "This should do for starters, I think, certainly until I have made up some bespoke versions." She pulled it open and indicated for me to step into it, then shuffled it up over my thighs until it sat over my hips. It seemed to be made from an extremely tough, resilient and unyielding material, yet was soft to the touch and lined with silk. Having adjusted its position, she started to draw the lacing shut, moving swiftly between the many laced panels to keep the tension even and adjusting the shape to my body. Soon it seemed to be moulded to my body, touching everywhere at the same time, giving a warm feeling of protection. She inserted a couple of soft pads into the breast cups, to fill them out and to protect my ringed nipples, then stepped back and asked me to turn slowly around. Not quite satisfied, she adjusted a couple of the laces, again making notes as she went. "That's better, now for the real work." And with that she set about the lower panels, drawing foot after foot on the laces. I felt the pressure immediately as it tightened round my abdomen, and my breathing became difficult. "Short, shallow breaths please, we don't want you fainting my dear!" She stopped for a moment, allowing me to steady a bit, while she checked that there were no folds of flesh pinched. Then carried on, steadily tightening it, forcing my tummy in and up. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but it was worth it to see my figure so quickly and radically transformed. Everything was forced up. Even without breasts, my chest seemed to have been pushed outwards, starting to fill the hard cups at the top of the corset. And there was now a very obvious flare from the diminished waist to the exaggerated hips. "Promising, promising," she murmured. I felt hot and flushed, a combination of the enormous pressure I felt inside and the thrill of seeing me take on a decidedly feminine shape. "Now, walk around the room, for a while." I took a few unsteady paces, feeling all the new tensions on my body, but quickly started to get the hang of it. I was amazed how the corseting worked in harmony with my high-heeled shoes in affecting my posture, forcing my shoulders back and my hips forward. It seemed as though I was a foot taller, while the constraint imparted a sense of grace, indeed, it enforced a graceful approach. She told me to bend, first from side to side, then forward and back. The two women were there ready to catch me should I lose my balance as I complied, slowly, for I could not do anything else trussed as I was. That movement of my body seemed to loosen things up, perhaps simply allowed internal organs to adjust themselves, for when I returned to upright, it felt as though there was a degree more freedom and certainly my breathing was easier. But she knew the tricks of the trade and immediately took several more inches down on the laces. Once again, a cycle of bends, some walking around the room, sitting down and, slowly, standing back up again. It was difficult, and it would take some getting used to, especially to avoid fainting from loss of breath or blood pressure. Sarah noted my concern and, looking me straight in the eye told me that I would get used to it, because I wanted the shape and, more than that, I would want to wear a corset whenever practicable - I would feel a loss when without it. Once I had got my breath back, I felt more relaxed and, as directed, a growing attachment to the corset and to the sense of constraint. But more important, I wanted to see what I would look like fully dressed. Sarah had thought of that and produced a long, sleek Lycra dress, which she handed to me. I stood up carefully, then slipped the fine material over my head, smoothing it down over the exaggerated curves of my body, my chest, my groin and hips. It looked simply wonderful, and I lifted my hands to my silky hair as I twirled in front of the mirror - breath- taking, in every sense of the word. And I had a brief flash of understanding: previously, I would have felt pure, unadulterated lust for the vision in front of me. Now, I felt not lust, but arousal; I was aroused because there was, in the mirror, a beautiful woman, and it was my purpose in life to please women. I was more aroused, because I was looking at a woman that I felt sure Beatrice could love. But I could not relax with that, for there was the other part of my service to be considered, and religiously I applied myself to reviewing, revising and refreshing everything about her company. I spent some time on the phone, calling various contacts in the city, trawling for every bit of information available. On the second day, faxes started coming through. Not much new about Beatrice's company, on top of what I had already established in the course of the previous weeks, but there were a few bits of extra background. More interesting was the emerging picture on the competition and general market forces. As with the newspapers and business magazines that I scanned every day, I found myself able to assimilate, sort, analyse and store huge quantities of information very quickly. And it seemed not the slightest bit odd to be sitting at the desk in the hotel room, dressed in stockings, corset and high heels, strands of glossy blonde hair stroking around my cheeks, with my back straight and my legs demurely held together. It felt totally natural and very, very comfortable. My concentration was much more acute too and, without an interruption by Sarah, I would have carried on consuming file after file well into the night, so avid was my thirst for information. But every evening she would knock on my door, wheeling in a dinner trolley. We would have a glass of wine with our meal, and discuss my progress, what I had been doing, where I needed more practice and so on. And then we would spend the rest of the evening teaching me about sex. My inhibitions had been wiped away and there was nothing to shock me, except for the range of possibilities. Sarah taught me things that I would never have dreamed being physically possible, let alone stimulating. But teach me she did, coaching me through the use of my fingers, my tongue, my teeth, my nose (!), my nipples, how, when and where to stroke, graze, caress, bite, pinch. She showed me a huge range of 'toys' and how to use them on a woman for best effect, where to apply pressure. Great emphasis was put on slow, gentle, drawn out attention, how to bring a woman gradually to a fever pitch, and then how to sustain it, easing off before climax was reached, then resuming. She showed me all the signs of impending orgasm, and how to arrest things if they had got too far; the aim was always to hold the woman at 'simmering' point, desperate for orgasmic release, but not quite getting it. This was the goal to which I should aspire, not the urgent, soulless, selfish up, in and out of so many men. We played with vibrators and dildos, feathers, Ben-Wa balls, strings of pearls, nipple clips and so on. I was constantly amazed at how she was able to sustain the levels of stimulation for hour after hour, and in spite of all my efforts always maintaining her composure, firmly in control and moving on to the next item on the agenda as soon as she was ready. She also started to prepare me for my role as the receiver of sexual attentions. With the help of a moderately sized, and very realistic, dildo, she explained how I should use my mouth on a man's prick, the use of lips, teeth, tongue and cheeks. To my surprise, I did not find it in the slightest offensive, but simply applied myself to mastering another vital skill. Although I gagged horribly at first, I soon got the hang of suppressing the reflex and allowing the hard rod to slide all the way down my throat. She then attached the dildo to a harness around her waist, and I repeated the exercises against 'her' rampant prick. She held my head and showed how a man might forcibly move me against his shaft, whilst always ensuring that I didn't resist, but simply tried in every way to bring pleasure. Then there was something that I had been expecting, with some trepidation but also some excitement, anal sex. First, she described some of the anatomy, the delicate nature of the membranes, the risks and dangers, especially in the absence of proper preparation and lubrication. I had no experience of this at all, so she demonstrated first on me. While telling me in minute detail what she was doing, she lubricated a finger, then gently pressed it against my ring until the muscle yielded entry. With one then two fingers, she started to explore, and I felt the tips twisting and stretching my inner membranes. Although the sphincter itself felt sore, there was no pain inside, no discomfort, just something odd and good. She picked up a very long, thin vibrator, and quickly exchanged it for her fingers. Now, I felt the real penetration, the probing of the vibrator, far further, far more intimate than the enema probe, as though it was pushing all the way up into my chest. In a gentle voice, she told me to enjoy it, to feel it and feed on that sensation. At her command it was as though a flood-gate opened in my nervous system, and my mind was bombarded by wave after wave of intense arousal as she twisted and turned the rod. Then she switched it on. I thought I had somehow become connected to the mains, each little vibration sending flashes though me until, I was almost convulsive with pleasure and arousal. Suddenly, she pulled out the vibrator, to my groan of disappointment, but immediately replaced it with the dildo strapped to her waist. This was thicker, much thicker, but it slid easily into my loosened arse. She started thrusting in and out, deep strokes, long and steady, until I felt her hips against my bottom, then out again. So this is what it is like getting fucked, I thought, this is what women feel when invaded by a man's prick - nice, very nice. She knelt forward on the floor and talked me through how to explore a woman's arse, using either vaginal secretions or other lubricant to smooth the way. She showed me too the control she had developed over it, tensing and relaxing it at will against any intruder, and demonstrated the exercise I should do to develop the same. Under her instructions, I used one finger, then two, then three, slowly expanding and stretching the sphincter muscle, feeling its tone. I twisted my fingers, feeling the soft membranes between front and back passages, pressing forward to achieve maximum sensation. I used my tongue also, experiencing for the first time the flavour of a woman's back passage. It wasn't unpleasant, a bit musty, slightly bitter, but to me alluring and compelling. Then, too, the techniques when using a dildo in one, and fingers or tongue in the other. I had never realised how versatile the anus could be. And throughout all this, I never once got an erection. My penis remained obediently unmoved by anything going on, in spite of the powerful and highly erotic stimulation given and received. I started to understand what Sarah had said just a few days previously, that I would learn to achieve mental orgasms of far greater intensity than anything I had experienced before. That such a mental orgasm need not be accompanied by any physical manifestation, excepting some tell- tale signs, such as rolling eyes, trembling, shortness of breath, and in extreme circumstances, maybe even fainting. Suffice to say that I found it highly satisfying, taking me time after time to new levels of arousal. And through it all, the imperative always at the forefront of my consciousness was that I gained my pleasure from giving pleasure, not from anything I might receive. Sarah was a marvellous tutor. Not only was she fabulously beautiful, a goddess incarnate in my eyes, but she was kind, loving, gentle and encouraging. She always told me when I was doing well, and gave me regular hugs and kisses which served to boost my confidence in my role as a slave to women's sexual desires. And she did everything to explain when there were things that I could do better, pointing out the little ways of improving my techniques. And throughout, she was fun, a real pleasure simply to be with. Without any inhibitions herself, she took the mystique out of conventionally taboo subjects, but without debasing eroticism, indeed elevating it to a higher plane, worthy of both respect and free indulgence. She made it clear that sex was supposed to be fun, enjoyable, without guilt, shame or restraint. The end of my week at the country club hotel was getting very near. I needed to take stock. Whether of my own volition, or through brain- washing/hypnotism, my life imperatives were: first, service to my Mistress Beatrice, second obedience to the commands and wishes of women in general, third to become as fully and permanently feminine as possible, so as to be attractive to my Mistress. I recognised that these were now so deeply embedded as to be beyond any compromise, indeed becoming ever more so with every hour spent listening to the soothing music in my ear - I wanted to fulfil them with every breath, every thought, every waking moment, there was nothing more important. I had to decide where to go from here. I had had my instructions from Beatrice, to close off my previous life so that I would be able to enter her service unfettered. But also to ensure that I could draw upon contacts and advice, the better to manage her business interests. On our last night in the hotel, Sarah and I had a very 'loving' session. I had paid meticulous attention to preparing myself, scrubbing my skin, shaving with absolute attention and dressing with great care, so as to appear as feminine and beautiful as possible. We enjoyed each other's company and bodies to the limits (or so I thought), revelling in the sharing of time, contact and love. I tried to my utmost to demonstrate my accomplishment of the skills she had taught, applying myself fully and exclusively to the task of bringing her all the pleasure I could inspire. In return, she showered me with love and attention far beyond the share of a lowly slave - she was kind, courteous, and she fucked me into oblivion. But the time had come for me to go out on my own. The following day, I got up and instinctively followed my routine morning ablutions: use the toilet, then a thorough enema; careful application of depilatory cream, paying particular application to my face, groin and chest, followed by a hot bath. Then a hair- wash, using the special conditioners that continued gently to lighten, strengthen and straighten my hair. With my hair in a towel, I would then smooth lotions into my skin, especially those areas, such as my tummy, which were slimming down. I also used a special ointment for my anus that Sarah had provided to soften the muscle and to make it more sensitive, after which I would insert a plug, of increasing length and diameter day by day, gradually stretching the muscles and making my bottom more versatile. Once that was in place, I would slip on the penis pouch, clipping the straps to a garter belt, followed by stockings and panties. I was now quite proficient in putting on a corset, crossing my arms behind my back to tighten the laces; as predicted, and indeed as ordered, I enjoyed the feel of the corset, its tightness a reassuring presence as well as improving both figure and posture. There was no doubt about it, I was at last developing breasts, young, almost pubescent breasts, tight and firm against my soft chest, and gradually filling the cups of the corset. And my nipples, now recovered from the piercing, were becoming longer and fatter, rubbery between my fingers and carrying their gold rings without any discomfort. Thereafter, I would have to decide whether to be Richard or Nicky. If the latter, I would apply my makeup, then comb and blow dry my hair into the increasingly full and natural bob, before donning clothes from Nicky's wardrobe. If the former, I would brush my hair back, and put a loose shirt over the corset and slide trousers or slacks over my stockinged legs. There was no internal conflict: I knew utterly who I was, what I was and what I should be doing. That I should have two radically differing appearances was simply a consequence of my position, my status and my role. I could select either Richard or Nicky at will; the choice depended only upon my forthcoming tasks and commitments. While the selection of clothes obviously fitted with that choice, it also and perhaps as importantly served to remind me of the image I wished to portray. But inside my mind, I knew that day by day I was steadily moving towards Nicky. Day by day I felt more and more comfortable looking, dressing, thinking and behaving like Nicky. Day by day, the thoughts, nature and reactions of Richard were being erased, replaced by those of a professionally accomplished, but demure and submissive girl - and I loved it. Nevertheless, today was a 'Richard' day for going back to my flat and starting the process of closing off my previous life and it was as Richard that I checked out of the hotel and loaded my car - with considerably more bags than when I arrived. Before I left, I went through the procedure of refreshing my ear-piece - dialling the special telephone number, then simply holding the phone to the correct ear. A short burst of high-pitched tones indicated the passage of information, and then it was complete. I felt good, confident and ready to go. The drive home seemed to take forever, but I was content. I realised that this was the first time in a week that I had been on my own for any length of time, free for a period of quiet thought after the somewhat intensive pace of the past week. I tried to concentrate on the quiet musical tones in my ear, figuring out what hidden messages were being passed; what new behaviour pattern was even now being driven into my core, so deeply embedded as to be instantly second nature? It mattered not, I need never know, it was all to the fulfilment of Beatrice's wishes.