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Thesis by Caitlyn Masked ------------------------------------------------ I started writing this story in February of 2020 and didn't finish it until late April. Proof reading took until June. It's by far the longest I've ever worked on a project as most of my previous writings came in a single session or at most over a few days. I want to especially thank my precious Tygress Kitty as without her reading along and giving me her opinions, I'm not sure I could have finished this. Thanks Tygress! ------------------------------------------------ Being a Phd student in gender studies is great. It's a newer field with a lot of research possibilities and the thought of having your dissertation and thesis being published isn't just a formality for graduation, it's an honest to God chance to affect the future of your field. And on a sly note, it often helps in dating. There are many women that I would never had a chance of bedding if I hadn't told them I was well versed in women's studies. Even the position I found myself in when my thesis came to me wouldn't have been possible if I hadn't talked this lovely sexy Phd student in fine arts to participate in a m?nage ? trois! My buddy was kneeling on the bed with the lovely girl's mouth wrapped around his cock while I was standing at the edge of the bed, leisurely stroking in and out of her quivering gripping pussy when it struck me. Especially in this position, how exactly was I defining this exquisite girl as female? Her breasts were assumed to be brushing over the rough cotton sheets, but I couldn't see them. Her smooth hairless skin, her long hair, her soft muffled moans, her curves.... None of these were necessarily given to her biologically. And after sliding out of her pussy and pushing appreciatively into her ass, I couldn't even see her genetalia. For all intents and purposes, we could be three guys fucking on this bed. That idea stayed with me and eventually changed from "Could this chick actually be a guy?" to a fully formed thesis statement. "Gender expression, defined as the general population's view of a person's gender, is not intrinsically linked to a person's biological sex." The only problem I had was getting approval for a research project to prove it. My grades never really reflected my love of this subject and I was told by my advisors that the size and depth of a research project to prove this thesis would be beyond me. Thankfully I wasn't the only one having trouble getting my thesis and research approved and instead of starting over, a bunch of us with similar projects in mind grouped together behind my thesis. I wrote up most of the theory and defended the thesis before the professor board. When it came to research, we realized getting a subject was going to be problematic. While most psychology research projects involved a large study group, ours involved one person changing over time and then getting several smaller study groups to judge in stages. In laymen's terms, we wanted to define what men considered feminine. Was it hair, eyes, skin, and makeup? Was it facial features like nose, lips, and cheeks? Was it body features like arms, throat, and breasts. Was it body motions like sitting, walking, and laughing. To be fair and thorough, we would have to have many different groups study the same person and continue to add small feminizing features until no one could discern that the subject was a man. My project mates were sure we could get by with using different subjects. A man in the beginning, a man with makeup, a more androgynous man, a feminine looking man, a masculine looking woman, an androgynous woman... so on and so forth. But I continued to argue that it needed to be the same person with only the individual study groups changing, otherwise the results would be invalidated. I tried finding either a man or a woman that would work, but over and again even with the best makeup and prosthetic experts on campus I couldn't get the man feminine enough or the woman masculine enough. When I realized we would need actual surgical intervention, I tried several local and even national trans groups to see if I could find someone willing to help us with the study and get feminizing surgeries like throat shaving, face lifts, and breast implants. No one was willing to take the time to do all of these procedures piecemeal as most wanted them done in one or two larger procedures. When I was the only one arguing for scientific truism and waiting for the perfect subject, the group was prepping to move on. Finally, wanting to actually prove this thesis and have the research ring true, I offered up myself. I knew that no surgery was permanent beyond the tracheal shave. While technically you couldn't reverse the face lift, you could do facial surgery again to remove the femininizing effects and returning my face to one of masculinity. I'd just end up with different face than my current one. And above all, I was comfortable and confident in my sexual identity and knew that these external changes wouldn't change anything about the deep real true 'me'. One advantage of performing a large research project in a group is that you're working with a bunch of near experts in psychology and gender. Once they pressed and realized I was willing to go through this possibly years long project, they offered me up all the support I could possibly need. And with that final piece of the puzzle in place, we started. For the first couple weeks we moved quickly. I'd come into the studio and get professional photos taken. I wore the same clothes each time. White briefs that didn't declare any masculine or feminine traits in themselves, a pair of loose fitting sweat shorts, and a sweater that was a couple sizes to big. Again, nothing that said men's wear or women's wear. We even made sure the background was non gender specific with its checks pattern and neutral tone. We shared the photos with our study group and asked them a barrage of questions about my perceived sexual nature. It was a little embarrassing to write these questions out in the third person, asking if the person they were looking at was a man or a woman or gay or straight or had no gender, and know that they were going to be looking at me while answering. But... science! At the end when we had their stances all added into our database and was confident in the study's efficacy, we had them all come together and talk to me through a video chat. The video chat, on my part, was performed in the same studio and I had to simply act natural. I just couldn't respond with anything that would reveal my gender, my gender identity, my sexual orientation, or anything sexual in nature. And since my voice was masculine, I had to be silent throughout and either have someone respond for me vocally or type out my responses. The very first section went as expected as no one thought of me as anything but masculine. But each step along this long arduous path from there got more and more difficult. More difficult for the study and more difficult for me. Our next few steps were to remove my overt facial hair. I'd worn that mustache since high school and had had the goatee since earning my associate degree. With no significant changes yet, we moved on to me shaving but that was only the first first hurdle. I've always grown facial hair quickly and with the pale skin we all had from the hours and hours performing our research, my stubble stood out. We went through four different groups with each one having a significant enough group of people noting my facial hair. I even went so far as trying depilatory creams on my face. But when that cause a minor skin burn on my chin, the women in the group decided that all feminizing feature should be performed under their tender care. And if we were to remove hair, their choice was laser removal. It seemed extreme to me, but the ladies wore me down by simply swatting away any other option for me to gain smooth feminine looking skin. This first permanent change was worrying only in that it was something I didn't expect and was coming on so early in the project. What other unknown, possibly permanent, changes was I going to go through? It took about a week for my skin to recover from the procedure, but shaving my cheeks was now forever in my past, and my face and throat were everlastingly smooth. With the facial hair out of the way we debated about what to do next. Half the group was arguing for the facial surgeries, saying even adding lipstick would be to overt and once added, we couldn't go back to no lipstick. The other half were trying their best to go easy on me saying that lipstick and the various other cosmetics could be added for the photos and video conference but could allow me a normal life for a longer period of time as I could take it off in between. When we voted it was completely even with me being the deciding vote. After a long afternoon and evening considering it from every angle and a good night of sleep I came in the next morning and said that the surgeries were the obvious next step. Even those in our group that had been arguing for the cosmetics were in agreement, so long as I was on board. Unfortunately, that would be my last say in the testing. As I soon found out, all surgeries hurt. Recovery takes a long time, especially recovery from cosmetic procedures as while the surgical marks are hidden, you have to be very careful on the healing procedures to ensure a pleasing look. But above all the other surgeries I had over the past two and a half years, the first facial surgeries hurt the most. The first subtle rhinoplasty was very painful and to my great dismay showed very little difference. It took out a sight bump in the bridge of my nose and straightened its slight left leaning nature. It didn't even look feminine. It took two weeks to recover enough to continue and I knew that it was the first of three nose procedures. After our study group finished with almost no one saying anything feminine about me, I tried to strongly suggest that we skip the middle procedures and go with the full feminizing nose job, but I was easily argued down. They even used my own words against me as mine was the strongest voice to stay the course. Of course, I wrote those words before knowing I was going to be the one going through it. Seeing how I was reacting, it was decided I would have no more say in the day to day procedures and goings on. While I would still interact with everybody and go over the research data, I was now more of a subject than a research partner. Thankfully with all my previous work, I'd still get solid credit for the work. The nose jobs were followed by the two cheek procedures, three chin shaping procedures, and a long-lasting lip collagen injection. Each one gave small but noticeable increases in the feminine results. The next steps involved me moving in with Leilani, one of our female partners. We did this for two major reasons. First was for the study. I had to act less masculine. Leilani wasn't a girly girl by any imagination. She was part of the university MMA club and wore her hair in a buzz cut, but no one mistook her actions as masculine. She'd be helping me act less masculine without crossing the line into direct feminine motions. The second reason was for me. The facial surgeries had taken their toll on my psyche and I was having difficulty remaining natural whenever I saw myself. While the study said that the facial surgeries had little total affect on the groups, it was difficult to not see myself disappearing as 'MY' face was gone and in its place was, to my eyes, a feminine one. So, moving in with Leilani helped both of those areas. So many actions, movements, and gestures define us as masculine or feminine. There are the obvious ones like how we sit down and walk, but how we swing our arms, put our hands in our pockets, smile, and even blink have a masculine or feminine 'tone' to them. Leilani led the group into defining individual motions that would show in the video portion of our study group and had me introduce those. At home, she would focus on me and add little punishments when I'd be too masculine in our current motion and praise me when I acted and moved correctly. The punishments started minor.... dishes, lack of TV time, removal of electronics, other things you'd use to punish a teenager... but quickly escalated. Her experience proved correct and one thing that reduces a man's natural masculinity is to be spanked. She never hit me hard enough to ever hurt, but having a woman, even a tall hulking woman, strike your behind with an acknowledgement from both you and her that this is a punishment, is very emasculating. Add the fact that she could pull me over her knees even when I fought against it, made it worse. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the perfect balance... it wasn't feminizing, it was just reducing my masculinity. Deep down I knew it would serve the study, but I was growing more and more stressed about the procedures. With the facial surgeries complete we moved into cosmetics. Lipstick, eye shadow, foundation, blush, lip liner, fake eyelashes, mascara... each was added in turn and every few days it took longer and longer to get me ready. Adding to my stress was the fact that the women didn't enjoy doing all of this to me and the cost of hiring a professional cosmetologist was quickly eating into our grants. So, about the time we introduced me to foundation makeup, I wasn't allowed to just sit and have someone put it on me. I was taught how to do each individual step. I felt too ashamed to share why this bothered me so much. It wasn't learning the behavior. When we were finished and I could stop doing it, the discomfort of putting on makeup would go away quickly. What bothered me was seeing my more and more feminine face. And the very act of applying cosmetics meant I couldn't look away or even pretend that it wasn't me in the mirror. We had reached what the group was considering the middle portion, but our results weren't matching our thesis. Only about 35% of our study groups through of me in any type of feminine terms and only 30% of those thought of me as a woman. While everybody else started buckling down, working on our data, and planning how to improve the study, I just tried to not lose my hold on my self-image knowing that this meant a longer study. Even if my counterparts didn't reach that same conclusion for another couple weeks. And like handing off an assignment, I was moved from Leilani's apartment to Valentina's. Where Leilani herself had to work to not appear masculine, Valentina was the opposite. Everything about her was ultra-feminine. She never wore any pants or shorts, always choosing skirts or dresses. While she occasionally had a bold color on as an accent piece, she wore almost entirely a pastel pallet that would fit any princess motif from Disney. Her makeup was always perfect and she carried a purse with enough space for almost an entire set of makeup. And as was relevant to our study, every motion of hers was entirely feminine. I recalled a time where she was motion captured for another groups research and even her stick figure was obviously feminine. Most of us had just assumed she was sexually aloof. After all, she could have practically any man she wanted with a flirty blink of her beautiful deep blue eyes. What I learned quickly, however, was that Valentina was a lesbian. None of our research had anything directly to do with gender attraction so we never had to lay out what we were or step away from the research because of any possible biases, but I couldn't help but believe this was affecting Valentina. And through her, whether intentional or not, me. You see, she couldn't hide the fact that feminizing me was attractive and interesting to her. And I believe it's why she insisted that all of my time in her home was spent as a complete woman. As feminine as Valentina was, she was a strict task master. While she was supposed to only enforce a few movements each week, she laid out an entirely feminine lifestyle for me while inside her pink and lavender walls. I'd say she threw out my boxers and tube socks, but they never even made it INTO her apartment. Instead they were replaced with frilly, lacy panties and stockings held up by garter straps and a garter belt. These underthings were now a constant part of my wardrobe as they could be worn under my pants and shoes while on campus or anywhere outside of her apartment. But she took it into the far next level for inside as there I had to wear skirts and dresses. Most of the time I had to wear frilly overly feminine blouses but could occasionally wear a t shirt or tank top. But there was no solace there as these seemingly gender-neutral pieces of clothing were made as girly as possible through their cut, their colors, and their subject matter. Hello Kitty and Disney princesses were a big part of my wardrobe while living with Valentina. It was at this point, where passing as a woman was a distinct possibility, that Valentina's attraction went into high gear. While I was more or less made to wear female clothes all the time, she actually started wearing less clothes around the house. She'd often walk around with just a robe on, and on more than one occasion I'm sure she purposefully let it fall open and show off her sexy nude body underneath. While I knew it was wrong to encourage her attraction to me, I couldn't help my body's reaction. Seeing my hard on tent up my skirt or dress was a complete mood killer to Valentina and she soon found a fix to my 'problem'. When she first introduced the chastity cage, I laughed it off. Laughed right up until she silenced me with a deep soulful kiss. She made it very clear that if I wanted to explore her sexually at all, which she was clearly offering, I was to wear the cage. And while it wouldn't be locked on and I could take it off at any time, if she ever suspected I wasn't wearing it, she would stop any activity and would never let me touch her again. I'd love to say that my love of science and my commitment to the research let me not even consider this possibility. But I didn't have a significant other before all of this began and it's not like I could go dating as I slowly became less and less of a man. My sexual urges were feeding the fire just as much as Valentina's desires and these were both making self-strengthening loops. I appreciated and sought Valentina's attraction and that came on stronger when I appeared more feminine, so I'd work harder at making myself appear feminine which made her attraction come on stronger, which would make me work harder at appearing more feminine which... on and on. And Valentina, whether intentional or not, was feeding it as she was attracted to my femininity and became more amorous the more feminine I was which inspired me to be more feminine which made her more amorous, which made me more feminine... Making out with a lesbian was of course an entirely new experience, especially since it was clearly ever going to be a one-way relationship. Valentina was happy to kiss me and rub me over my clothes, especially when I wore the breast forms she could slide into a bra, but my clothes were to remain on at all times. She didn't want to see my lack of breasts or notice any hint of my penis. She was happy enough to feel my lipstick covered lips kiss their way over her breasts and suckle at them. She was excited to run her hand through my hair as I kissed my way down her smooth belly. And she would grab handfuls of my hair and direct my actions when I got between her lovely thighs and licked her to ecstasy. She'd often walk by while I was washing the dishes or making dinner and rub her long nails over my skirted ass. On plenty of occasions I'd find her hugging me from behind, pressing her breasts into my back, while she nibbled on my ear or neck. Sometimes while watching TV she'd slide her pelvis forward on the couch and guide me to kneel beside her and plant my eager face between her wide-open legs. She'd guide my tongue, lips, and hands to tickle and tease and delight her for hours on end, saving her eventual orgasm for the end of the night. But I think overall, her favorite position must have been riding my face. At first, I thought it was a dominant thing as the position certainly made me feel submissive in comparison to everything else we did. Having me lie on my back and then kneeling down over my face, her legs pinning my arms down with her heels able to occasionally dig into my sides, forced me to look up her magnificent body as she smiled powerfully down. In this position she was in complete control as I couldn't move my head to decide where to lick or nuzzle. When she wanted attention to her clit she simply moved and put it over my tongue. When she wanted me to lick and tease her, she'd simply raise herself up, almost out of my reach. When she wanted to flood me with her juices and get my tongue as deep as possible, she'd lower herself down and practically suffocate me with her wet pussy. But after several experiences in this position, I realized it wasn't about a power dynamic. In this position with my longish hair splayed out over the bed, with my bedroom eyes starting up at her and my made-up face between her legs and nothing else visible, she could imagine I truly was a girl. That all the masculine things on my body, like my body hair, my flat chest, and my penis just weren't even there. The only time I balked at her sex games was when one night she pulled out a dildo. I would have been happy to use it on her, but Valentina had intended it for me. She had me kneeling between her legs while she sat on the couch and was guiding my head with one hand on my ponytail. When she stretched to grab the toy from behind her she actually lifted her pelvis off the couch and pressed me tightly against her pussy. I took advantage and dove my tongue in as deep as possible. When she cooed from my extra attentions and sat back down I closed my eyes and breathed deep to catch up on my oxygen. I felt the tap at my lips and when I opened my eyes I at first didn't know exactly what I was looking at. It was still her wet pussy in front of me. It was still her smooth baby soft thighs around my face. I could still feel her hand holding my hair tightly. But inserted into her pussy and obscenely sticking out toward me was a flesh colored, cock shaped, sex toy. I tried to wrap my head around what was happening and it finally struck me that it was some kind of double ended dildo. That realization was accompanied by me opening my mouth to say... something... and Valentina didn't hesitate to take advantage of my vulnerable position. She pressed her pelvis toward me while pulling my face forward and fed me several inches of her cock. Even though I knew it was a toy, I still couldn't stop thinking of it that way... HER Cock! I don't know if it was shock that prevented me from moving on my own or the submissive nature of letting her lead all of our sexual activities, but for several long horrifying moments she used my ponytail to guide my plump lips along her cock. Only when she got a little to adventurous and tried to slide her cock down my throat did I regain control of my faculties. The gag certainly helped snap me out of it. For a brief moment she actually struggled against me as I tried to pull off of her cock but when I applied my nails to her thighs, she realized I wasn't joking. After coughing and sputtering out curses, Valentina admitted that she thought I might want to experience being more than just a lesbian girl but realized she'd gone overboard. Thankfully she agreed with my assertion that toys just wouldn't be part of our fun from then on out. While Valentina only insisted I wear all of these girls clothes inside her apartment, she was constantly suggesting I completely flip my entire wardrobe. We were close enough in size that I could wear most of her clothes, and she was such a clothes horse that she would have enough for both of us with some left over. Her encouragement that I would pass as a woman, while not backed up by our data, was devastating to my masculinity. The only reason I didn't complain to anybody about her abuses of my subject condition is that I knew eventually I'd pass that line and have to choose being seen as a woman wearing men's clothes or being seen as a woman wearing women's clothes. Being seen as a man would soon not be a choice. One seemingly innocuous feminizing choice Valentina forced upon me partially lead to a permanent change. She of course never would have tried to make this happen, but who knew that coloring your nails with temporary nail polish could lead to something like this. While we continued with the research, Valentina introduced nail polish to my daily apartment style. She made sure that I had plenty of colors to pick from, but the bottles took up much of the makeup vanity. One day while trying to find a shade of pink that matched the lipstick I had on, I evidently selected the wrong bottle. While the color was a dead match for the pale pink of my lips, the bottle was not temporary. Worse, it wasn't even a polish as I learned when Valentina tried to wash it off. It was designed specifically to go on a base coat as it was a dye. Without the basecoat it dyed my nails pink. After calling the manufacturer the next day I was informed that there was no permanent damage done, but I'd have to let my nails grow out as there was no way to remove the color. The fact that I could add their product or any other nail polish over my now pink nails was little comfort. For the research, we simply bumped up the nails to that week's step. I was with Valentine only for a couple weeks of extra cosmetics testing before I was to go under the knife again. I of course didn't go into the hospital with my now daily worn fake nails, but my pink nails still looked entirely feminine. While Chondrolaryngoplasty is listed as a purely cosmetic surgery, shaving the trachea and making it smaller, always runs the risk of other complications beyond infection and pain. With as much surgery as I was going to go through and had already gone through, we all knew that it was practically guaranteed that I would experience one complication or another, I just hadn't expected this one. When I woke up after the surgery, I had expected to see Valentina and maybe another couple from the group as support but was surprised to see almost everybody crowded into my small room. Valentina spoke for the group and said that the surgery went well cosmetically, but there was an accidental destabilization of the anterior commissure tendon. My eyes must have looked like dinner plates as she went on as I already knew what that repair would entail. The complete change of my voice and possibly the total loss of it. I re-focused on Valentina's explanation and was horrified at what she was describing. Evidently the surgeon had seen and recognized the scaring of my facial surgeries and the feminine shape and nature of my face, had even noted my fingernails assuming they were purposefully painted pink, and had assumed I was going through my own slow step by step trans procedures. So, without consulting anybody... none of my study group could have made surgical decisions for me anyway... he shaved far more of my vocal cords down and tightened the tendon up beyond what any man would have. If my voice came back at all, I was guaranteed to have a feminine sounding one. And this procedure would be irreversible with even the best surgical practices. Crying without making any noise must be hard to bear witness to as my team had seen me go through some emotional stresses, but only Valentina stayed once I stopped fighting the tears and let them go. The recovery from this surgery delayed all of our research for four months as I not only had to recover from the surgery, I had to go through vocal therapy and learn to speak again. The vocal therapist tried her best to get me as masculine sounding voice but after only a few weeks we had to abandon that hope. My voice was coming back strong, but it was obviously going to come back feminine. Just as anybody can learn to speak in different tones, I could lower my voice to a false baritone and sound somewhat masculine, but she strongly recommended that I not attempt that for at least a year. Pushing my vocal cords outside of their natural new tone might damage them. For the foreseeable future, in addition to my girly new voice, I would have to speak smoothly and quietly. Even raising my voice risked damage. Once I was finished with therapy, we began the research again. We proceeded with the same precaution of me not speaking at all, but now it was to ensure that my feminine voice didn't skew our results into that side of the spectrum. Hair was next on the research list. In addition to growing my hair out I had been using several products that encouraged growth, and now my hair extended past my shoulders. We had kept it in a masculine to neutral style but now it was being done more and more feminine. First it was just left to hang down. Then it was cut in a distinctly feminine style. Then it was styled professionally. And finally, it was colored over several steps. The results were difficult to deal with. Most of the groups when viewing only my face now picked female gender. Only rare outliers picked any degree of masculinity, and that was most often that of a man transitioning into a woman. I'm sure if they could hear my soft feminine voice it would overpower even those that picked masculine when they saw my body. My voice was so overtly feminine that I had a hard time on the phone where I needed to identify myself. In one particularly embarrassing moment, I had trouble with my bank over the phone. I needed to transfer some money from my savings to my checking, otherwise my rent check would bounce. And considering my landlord never saw me come in or out of my apartment now, it was likely he'd immediately start evection proceedings if I didn't cover the rent. Even with my social security number, my birth date, my username, my password, and of course my account number, the phone teller laughed when I told him what had happened to my voice. His "Sure Miss, try fooling someone else" and his hanging up on me brought tears of frustration and anger to my eyes and I had to calm down for minutes as all I wanted to do was call back and scream at them. In the end I had to have Zeke, a male member of our team, act as though he were me over the phone to get the transfer completed. I was so embarrassed. And to make it worse, we both knew this would happen again. With my voice this way, it would make identifying myself even more difficult. Add in my now feminine hair and the facial surgeries, and it would soon be impossible to identify myself even in person. Resigned to the fact that I would eventually need the help, I took Zeke down to the bank and added his name to my account. The bank was so old fashioned that the only way they accepted multiple people on the account was as a parent and a child or as a married couple. The parent/child option wasn't going to help as I refused to have even a trusted friend like Zeke have complete power over my account and if I put him as the child, then he wouldn't be able to do anything without me. After an hour with the branch manager he apologized but admitted it was baked into the software. While there would be no indication of our marital status in the bank's records, all correspondence and identification cards would be labeled as Mr and Mrs Anderson. At least, while not related, Zeke and I shared a last name. Two weeks later the new ATM and bank cards arrived, and I threw another silent temper tantrum. It took Valentina over an hour to calm me down and get me to explain. She only understood when I put the cards on the table. Mr Zeke Anderson Mrs Taylor Anderson My name was correct, but just by adding a 'Mrs' in front of my actual name, it was now overtly the feminine form of Taylor. I didn't even have to change my name for it to be shouting WOMAN to me. And worse, whenever I flashed the cards, I would be seen not only as a woman but as a married woman. Married to Zeke. Even with my hairy chest peeking through the sweater, I still got over 20% of the study groups seeing me as female. Not feminine. Female. So naturally the next step was to remove my body hair. The women refused to let me shave it off as they said my facial hair experience would be repeated with quickly growing stubble. That's when I learned what women go through when getting all of their body hair waxed. I'm sure the girls told the salon that this was for a psychology experiment and that I had never experienced it before as the woman working on me didn't blink an eye at my murderous, yet quiet, screams at each ripping of my hair and skin came and went. I'm hoping that it was a mistake for the woman to remove ALL of my hair as I swear, I was crying like a baby when she ripped the hair out of my scrotum, perineum, and from between my ass cheeks. The rest of my pubic hair was a walk in the park by comparison. The one advantage of having my entire body smooth was Valentina's attentions increased. She still insisted I keep on my skirt and top, but now she reveled in sliding her fingers enticingly over my soft smooth legs and my sensitive ticklish belly. I could now spend hours crouching down on the couch, on my knees and elbows, my face between her legs and licking her out from this perpendicular angle because she would reciprocate by gliding her hand up my now very sensitive legs and even slide them under my panties and over my hairless sensitive "tushy" as she called it. After the devastating unexpected change of my voice, our guiding professor and the entire team insisted I sit down for weekly therapy. The psychologist taught at the university and was aware of our research so I was able to be completely open with him. I shared how watching my maleness go away was hitting me far harder than I'd imagined. I shared how each new feminine change in me made me think we were all building a new person and leaving the old me behind. I shared how the subtle changes in how everybody treated me was making me feel that this was going deeper than being the model subject in a PhD research thesis. I even shared how well Valentina and I were going on and that one of the bright spots was us having such enjoyable sex. The result of the therapy at first was good. Through the university psychiatrist, she prescribed me some anti-anxiety medications that helped calm me down. I took two capsules three times a day and could take up to two additional fast acting capsules daily if I needed. I didn't try the additional pills as once the normal ones really started working, I could see just how tense and worried I had been and started to relax. I was able to think more clearly and realized my worry had just been rising and rising and rising making it more and more difficult to think, but my initial premise that almost all of this was reversable still stood. Sure, my voice would always be a problem, but in a few months' time after a few surgeries, I could look like my old masculine self. That calming effect helped me agree that shaving my body every other day or even waxing every other week was too much effort for too little reward. With my facial hair never to return, what would it matter if my body hair was gone too? So, we took a week off of the project to let me get all of my body hair lasered off. Valentina was thrilled! Embarrassingly I realized later that Valentina's and my relationship wasn't the well-kept secret I had assumed. Everybody on the team knew about it. They hadn't mentioned knowing about it to me as I had seemed so happy keeping it a secret. We all had a laugh and I even had fun at my 'Coming Out As The Best Looking Feminine Man That's Now A Lesbian' party at the local bar. Valentina convinced me to get into the spirit of the party by wearing a dress and some heels that I'd worn around the apartment. It shouldn't have been a surprise to anybody that I was now completely passable so long as people didn't look too closely. Especially when wearing a bra that gave me the illusion of breasts. But it was still strange how little time it took everybody to start referring to me as a woman. Not just Valentina who had been referring to me as her girlfriend for the last few weeks now, not just strangers in the bar who didn't see any 'feminine man that's now a lesbian', not just the bartender who only saw a woman in front of her, but the same research group who had seen every single step I'd gone through. For the entirety of the night I was never referred to as a man except for the sign above our group. "Get HER another drink!" "SHE wants to dance with Valentina, put some music on" "Get out of HER seat, SHE wants to sit down" "HER dress and shoes match HER eyes tonight!" "SHE'S so good at putting on makeup that I'm jealous" The most telling situation was when I excused myself to the restroom. Several of the girls hopped off their bar stools, grabbed their purses, and walked me to the back. I laughed it off as just another example of them treating me like any other girl until they turned and guided me right into the bathroom. I felt like I couldn't speak up as if this were a joke I'd look like I didn't get it and if it wasn't a joke I'd be pointing out their mistake. So instead I went into a stall, sat down to pee, then joined the girls at fixing up my makeup in the mirror. I laughed and blushed when they commented how happy Valentina was with me and just blushed even harder when Leilani mentioned that even Zeke was taken with me. Maybe it was the anti-anxiety meds. Maybe it was the copious amounts of alcohol I'd imbibed. Maybe it was just feeling good about myself and being more public with Valentina, but when she came out of the bedroom that night wearing stockings, a bustier, her heels, and a strap on, I just smiled and kneeled down. She gently guided my lips over her toy and it certainly helped my anxiety as this toy, while the same size as the previous dildo, was just smooth pink plastic. It was clearly a toy and not 'HER Cock'. I could feel her body tense up in pleasure each time I pressed on the base of the strap-on and let her guide it into my throat so that I could press on the base with my nose. While my cock was pressing almost painfully against its plastic prison, denying me release, Valentina had an earth-shattering orgasm. Her whole body tensed up like I'd never felt and she held me up against her body until I thought I'd pass out. It seems many barriers fell that night. My first time out and about while dressed as a woman, being not only seen as a woman but accepted as one by my colleagues, willingly giving a blow job to my girlfriends strapped on toy, and finally being taken to her bed giving her my anal virginity. Afterward, while we were spooning, her toy still buried deep inside of me, she even reached around, took off my chastity device, and stroked me to my own orgasm. I think if you recorded each and played them back to back, you couldn't tell the difference between Valentina's and my quiet, whimpering, lip biting, intense releases. We were now entering into the last phase of the research. Up until now we were seeing what it would take for the general population to see a man as a woman without any external stimuli. Now that the vast majority were seeing me as a woman, the project would focus on seeing if they could get that number to the same 100% that had seen me as a man in the beginning. Could the entire general population be fooled? At this point I was fairly sure it not only was possible but would happen soon. I knew there were a few more exercises to play out, but in a month or so we'd have my breast implantation. At that point, unless the audience looked directly at my crotch, they'd see nothing but woman. My face, my body, my actions, my mannerisms. All of it would be feminine perfection. While the new meds helped, they didn't stop me from getting frustrated, anxiety ridden, angry, or downright upset. My driver's license was the perfect example. I had completely forgotten that my driver's license was expiring, and I needed to get a new one. I had always assumed I'd just drive or fly to renew it in my home state with my parent's address, but that thought was a little scary now. Would I try to travel home in my regular 'mens' clothes? That would feel like a step back and probably make me just look like a tomboy. But would I try to travel dressed enfemme? Yeah, I'd gone out around campus but even if someone saw me as a man and assumed I was cross dressing, I was in one of the most liberal towns in the country. Home was a conservative town in a conservative area of a conservative state. Valentina offered the suggestion of getting one here. As a woman. She said that it not only would give me more confidence going out dressed up as I'd have identification matching my outward identity, but that it was going to be a farse if I tried to get one as a man. That the close-up photo of my face would still scream woman and therefore scream fake ID. And later, after the research was done, I could always go home and get one as I planned. As a man. My heart melted a little bit as I knew that was a big step for Valentina. She absolutely refused to think or speak of me as a man, but here she was saying how I was going to go back to being one. Not assuming I'd stay a woman, or asking, or begging... she knew that what we had was temporary and that ultimately, I I'd want to return to my old life. If I was only doing this for my lesbian girlfriend, that would still make it a good idea, right? As I wasn't going to get the new REAL ID version, I could simply declare my sex... thank you liberalism and gender identity laws!... provide my social security card to establish my identity and provide something to show my current address. I showed up with everything, including a cable bill from Valentina's since I purchased the fast internet package and put it in my name, but that account was less than the required six months old. So instead, as that was the only stumbling block, I pulled up my bank account which I had for several years. They took down the information, input all the data into their computer, and took my photo. Their printer was out of commission, so I just folded up the temporary paper ID and slid it into my purse. When the real license came in, I was so excited to see my new face on a piece of identification stating I was female. And I looked so cute! It was Valentina that questioned the address. I looked at it and assumed it had to be a random computer error as I didn't even know the address. A quick Google search later had me on the phone and cursing Zeke out. He explained that he had almost missed one of my payments and wanted to help, so he changed the address on my bank account to his place, and that way he'd get the statements. He tried to reason it out that the email address was still my school's email addy, and that was all that was important, but as I began to shout that I had to have ID with my real address, Valentina took the phone from me and told Zeke to just get it fixed and promptly hung up before I hurt my voice. Seeing how upset I was about the whole situation, Valentina took me to her bedroom where I got to lick her to orgasm several times. That always took my mind off all my worries. A week out from the surgery, Valentina was called to the dean's office. I went with her as this seemed serious but my concern only grew when I was specifically told to leave. That I wasn't welcome in the proceeding or even to wait outside. Returning to Valentina's apartment, I did the only thing I could think of to take my mind off of my worry. I cleaned. Putting on my everyday panties, my PINK branded sweats, and grabbing a pair of rubber gloves I moved into the bathroom and cleaned it from top to bottom. I scrubbed the bathtub to sparkling clean and even got all the little discolorations out of the grout. I moved on to the toilet and when I was done it shone like it was brand new. The mirror came next and I polished it until you could hardly see it and it instead felt like a portal into another room. Finally, with everything spic and span, I moved on to sweep and then mop the floor. The scrubbing mop was okay but it wasn't getting all the little spots out, so I finally returned it to the closet, got down on my hands and knees, and scrubbed the entire floor until it looked like real marble instead of simple laminate. When I put the cleaning supplies away and removed my gloves, I grew worried as the clock showed it was well past dinner time. Surely Valentina couldn't still be at the Dean's office? I tried to reach her but her phone went to voicemail after only a couple rings. I sent a text message, a whatsapp message, and an iMessage, but she didn't respond to any of them even though I could see that she'd read the iMessage. Growing even more worried I threw myself into more cleaning, tackling the kitchen this time. Hours later, with our normal bedtime looming over my head and no Valentina, I kept right on cleaning moving to the bedroom, and a couple hours later, the living room. Just as I was finishing up the vacuuming at two am did Valentina walk in. The bags under her eyes told me she'd been crying. A lot. The way she looked at me told me that her sorrows weren't over, and that what she really needed right now wasn't me railing on her leaving me hanging all day and night but instead was comfort. Dropping the vacuum wand without even turning it off I rushed to her, wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her into a warm embrace, murmuring that it would all be okay. Later, it made sense why that made her burst into fresh tears, but at the time I just thought she was relieved to have someone who was just there for her. I didn't let her speak or talk, even when she tried. Instead I pulled her into the bedroom and slowly undressed her. I put her silky-smooth nighty on and then got dressed for bed myself. When we were safely under the covers where no one could hurt us, I felt Valentina fall right down into sleep. I joined her there moments later, my arm wrapped around her as we spooned. A good night of rest didn't help make Valentina's explanation for her tardiness any easier. She stumbled over her words, had to start her telling over several times, and even broke down into fresh tears once before I understood what she was working toward. It seems someone had seen us together. Together being intimate. They had reported it to the university and it had eventually made its way to our research advisors. They agreed with the bitchy anonymous tipster and said it was inappropriate for Valentina to be "using" me in a relationship while she was part of the research team. That not only was it unethical, it may well disrupt and invalidate our research. Neither of us could understand how our relationship would make that data fail, but that didn't make their determination any less damning. Unless Valentina wanted to jeopardize her entire academic career, she would have to stop seeing me. Not only that, to make sure the research continued on, she'd have to move away from our research group and start her own study for her own thesis dissertation. I was beyond stunned. I was in shock. Not the shock of hearing bad news, although this was really bad news, but the shock that a soldier experiences in war. The shock someone feels when they see true violence in front of their eyes. The shock a parent gets when their child passes on before they do. It felt like Valentina and I had just gotten together, had just moved to a point where we could be with each other at home, in the research group, and even out in public without anybody questioning us. And now that was going to be taken away. We cried together for most of the remainder of the day as we tried to get ourselves under control and make a plan for moving on. It's not like Valentina could move out. This was her apartment after all. So, she called into the group to see what they wanted to do with me while I started packing my things. I was embarrassed to realize I only had a few sets of feminine clothes that were really mine. The rest had been pulled from Valentina's closet. I figured I'd just move back in with Leilani, but she had a cousin over from Hawaii for several months and didn't have a spare room any longer. The only other person in the research group with more than a spare couch was Zeke. I offered up some resistance to the idea stating that I could just move back into my place now that both Leilani and Valentina had shown me all about acting and moving as a woman, but no one in the group was comfortable with me being alone. At least not until the end of the experiment. Moving in with Zeke was easier than I thought as he brought a couple of his old frat buddies and all I had to do was direct them. They even finished by hoisting me on their shoulders, hooting and hollering the whole way, and depositing me in the cab of the rented moving ruck. Zeke tried to make a joke about my driver's license now matching my living address, but he shut up when he saw my angry stare. When we were finally unloaded, I overheard one of Zeke's buddies slapping him on the back and telling him he was a lucky bastard for having such a hottie move in with him. I was completely taken aback that none of the guys realized I was a man. Sure, I could fool people when I was focused on it, and I could pass in public without interacting directly with people, but these were guys in close contact with me, talking to me, joking with me. I wasn't focused on 'being a woman' around them. This was just me being me and they didn't see the man in me. They thought I was a 'hottie'. I was almost as taken aback when I saw that Zeke had gone all out in setting my room up. I had just expected an extra room with a pull-out futon and maybe his computer desk that I'd have to move around. But he had put down new rugs, painted the walls, got a bed in a box on a nice frame, and even set up a nightstand and a makeup vanity. Everything was in pastel pinks and lavenders, just like Valentina's apartment. I couldn't hold back and gave Zeke a big hug of thanks. I hadn't realized until I was wrapping my arms around his neck that Zeke stood a good six inches taller than me. With the whole Valentina situation, working her out of the group, reassigning her data mining duties, and the disruption of me moving into a new home, the group decided that we'd take a couple weeks off and let everybody just acclimate to the new reality. I knew this was mostly due to MY new reality of living with Zeke, but I was still appreciative as this was more different than I'd first assumed it would be. At first, I couldn't put my finger on it. Zeke was perfectly accommodating to my needs. He changed his own habits so that I could be as comfortable as possible. He moved his shower things around so that there was room for my body wash, my two loofah sponges, my facial scrub, my conditioner, my shampoo, my hair rinse, and my pumice stone. I actually blushed a bit remembering that it wasn't all that long ago that my shower looked like Zeke's... a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a bottle of cheap shampoo. His medicine cabinet was already almost bare, so there was plenty of room for my perfumes, nail polishes, and lotions there. But the difference wasn't just in my feminine touches to his apartment. I realized a couple days in that it was me. I was still moving in a feminine manner, but my general attitude was growing more masculine. None of the actions were disturbing by themselves, like making bawdy jokes with Zeke, or watching wrestling with him, or enjoying an evening beer with him. The disturbing thing was that these actions were now different to what I was experiencing before. That with Leilani and Valentina I had just slowly adjusted to a more feminine mentality and way of acting. Sure, we joked but our laughter was quiet and we covered out mouths when it got loud. Yes, we watched television together but it was more focused on movies and dramas and less on sports of any kind. And while we did partake in alcohol, including the occasional beer, it was always varying and when it was beer it was in a glass and not straight out of the bottle. I confided in Zeke that I felt myself being less feminine and wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. To his psychology credit he turned that back on me, asking me why I thought it might be bad. I had to admit to him, ironically while lying on the couch with him sitting in the recliner, that I was afraid that this might eventually bleed into the mannerisms that living with Leilani and Valentina had engendered in me. And if it slowly erased those mannerisms, that would bleed into the research. Thankfully Zeke stopped acting as my therapist and returned to being my friend saying that it was something to certainly focus on and work on. We continued to talk, chatting now, instead of going through a therapy session, and through gentle prodding I told Zeke the whole story of how I fell in love with Valentina. Maybe it was the beer as I can't recall the last time I had six of them. It was certainly before I'd slowly lost the 20 pounds. But I even told Zeke about Valentina's and my sex. I joked that maybe one of the most intense driving forces to be feminine was that the more feminine I was, the more she interacted with me. Sexually. Not that I minded her kneeling over my face and directing my tongue over her pussy, but it was nicer when she'd touch my hair and soft skin. Falling back into my own memories, I described how Valentina tried to first introduce a dildo into our sexual play and continued saying how I eventually accepted a different dildo. Just as I was going to describe why having an obviously fake piece of plastic fed into my mouth was acceptable while doing the same thing with a realistically cock shaped dildo wasn't, I looked up and saw Zeke shifting position in his seat. I stopped talking and must have blushed pretty bad as Zeke caught my embarrassment and started talking about the football team and their chances at a playoff bid this year. The change of topic was blatant and welcome but it didn't hide the fact that I could clearly see that Zeke had been imagining Valentina and I having sex and was obviously aroused by it. As in, the large bulge in his pants that he couldn't quite hide away, aroused. We finally said goodnight with Zeke saying it was probably best to not think about my femininity with him until after my surgery. I'd almost forgotten about the surgery. We'd only have time for one more experimental study group with a focus on my smoother skin before I went under the knife for the biggest physical change in me yet. Breasts. I recall the meeting we had months ago when making plans for this stage and how everybody in the group had a strong opinion on my future breasts. There were discussions on the size with opinions ranging from a barely noticeable A cup that would barely need a training bra, to those that thought I should get almost pornographic D cups. The final verdict was that while a larger A cup would fit my frame best, a straight B cup would make finding bras and clothes easier. I'd already had my consult with the surgeon and this time it was emphasized that this was for a research group and that one of the factors he had to consider was that these would be completely reversed. It didn't change the surgery all that much but at least if there were a problem, he wouldn't go for some far more permanent feminizing procedure like my voice. Getting the surgery was more than a little nerve wracking. Sure, my body was hairless and smooth and especially womanly with my heels, stockings, and while wearing a dress. And yes, my face was feminine shaped and overtly feminine with my makeup on. My hair was colored a very pretty, light auburn, red and styled with curls and bangs that screamed something between cute and elegant. But cut my hair, put some sneakers jeans and a t-shirt on, and go out without my makeup, and I could pass as a guy. It did bother me that I was now looking to "pass" as a guy where being seen as a woman was my new default, but those thoughts were for another time. Our research showed that my default was feminine and only through effort did I get back toward masculine. But breasts? B cup breasts with enlarged areolas? Those would be impossible to cover up. Getting this surgery meant that I'd be living as a woman. Out loud. In public and in private. Everywhere. At least until the research could reverse it. During my last few procedures, I'd had either Leilani or Valentina to hold my hand through the worst of my worries, but with neither available I confided into Zeke just how worried and anxious I was. Thankfully he didn't try to fix the situation or worse, tell me that it would be all right. Instead he let me hold his hand and just voice my concerns. He listened. And when I started to talk in circles, he pulled me away from the reclining hospital bed and just held me close. A couple months earlier this would have bothered me, but after having all my mannerisms changed, I had realized that women were far more open about touching and hugging and doing so with Valentina always calmed me down. Having Zeke hug me now was just what I needed. Later in recovery, when I opened my eyes, I knew the procedure must have been okay as only Zeke and Valentina were there to greet me back. Zeke said he'd snuck her in and that she couldn't stay, but I barely heard him as Valentina gently leaned down to give me a kiss. She said she'd love to hug me, but that such forms of shared intimacy would have to wait until the doctor said it was okay. That brought everything back and I looked down at my chest. I thought I was prepared for what I'd see as the doctor had explained it step by step. He warned me that when I first awoke, the site would be unnerving. Going from no breasts straight to B cups with no hormones was practically unheard of and the view down my chest would be disconcerting. And honestly, that was an understatement. Instead of seeing down my chest, past my belly, beyond my cock and even seeing my legs, I could now only see two bandage wrapped mounds on my chest. And they were huge. I knew there would be swelling, but this seemed extreme even considering all the bandages that were holding me together. Both Zeke and Valentina saw my emotions starting to rise, so when they reached out and each took one of my hands, I started to feel much better. I decided then and there that it would just be easier to NOT look down my body until the doctors were ready to release the bandages. Unfortunately, Valentina couldn't stay long as the research group would start coming up to visit me in pairs and she couldn't be seen with me. She gave me a very sweet kiss and we said our goodbyes, and over the next few days my healing started. Later that night the surgeon stopped by to remove the bandages and admire his work. While he was very happy and said that after recovering, they'd look perfect, I could only see two swollen, misshapen, discolored, lumps of flesh on my chest. The next day the drains came out, and the next day I was fitted with a surgical bra. I wasn't surprised that with all the swelling I was in-between a C and a D cup but the nurses seemed to think that was a good sign and that my swelling should go down faster than most people's. Zeke, it turns out, is a good care giver. When I was released back to his apartment, he took care of my every need. He was right there filling the short-term prescriptions for Vicoden, keeping tabs on how often I could take them, and supplementing them with Motrin. Even though I hated the recovery pain, he helped me switch that around to taking Motrin regularly and only using the Vicoden when absolutely needed. He cooked the meals, cleaned the apartment, and offered to help clean me. That I declined, but it was still sweet of him to offer. Most of the time I just laid on my back and watched TV. While I was initially confused about the nurse's reaction before my release, regarding the 'little swelling'... how is swelling a cup and a half's worth considered good?... I finally understood it on my one week follow up. I hadn't swollen up a cup and a half. My swelling was only a little over a half cup's worth as they'd implanted me with C cup breasts instead of B. I thankfully held it together while they measured me and got me a new surgical bra to wear over the next two weeks. At home, Zeke insisted I follow all post procedure instructions and focus on healing while he worked with the group to figure out why I had the larger breast implants. He got after me any time I bent forward to pick something up and I swear he'd practically yell at me for carrying a can of diet coke over to the couch. He really was serious about me not lifting anything for the next eight weeks. Even though I knew the limit was actually ten pounds up to eight weeks, I let him baby me as I thought it was cute. After another week and another checkup, I was declared good and could do any more follow up with the university doctor. Now it was a waiting game for the rest of the swelling to go down and for my breasts to look normal. Zeke eventually told me that the surgeon implanting C cup breasts in me wasn't a mistake. That the research group signed off on it. It seems that was a national shortage of B cup implants that the surgeon insisted on using and that the choice was to wait for a month or accept a different size. I didn't have to ask why they didn't decide on a smaller sized breast instead of a larger size as the debate had ended up between B and C anyway, with A being deemed too small of a difference. So, now here I was stuck as not just a man with a woman's chest, but a woman's busty chest. Later, when I tried to call Valentina to vent, I got a recording saying that the phone was no longer in service. I asked Zeke about it and he sheepishly was waiting for a good time to tell me, but now that I'd called, he guessed that time was now. Valentina had decided that she was having trouble dealing with the embarrassment of being removed from the group and chose to move back in with her parents, take distance learning classes, and just focus on her own new research. She specifically didn't leave a forwarding address or phone number. She hadn't told anybody about it except for Zeke, and that was only so that he could tell me when he felt I was ready to hear it. It wasn't until that point that I realized just how much I'd fallen for her. She wasn't only my friend, my teacher, my confidant. She was my lover. I loved her. And now without even a direct goodbye, she was gone. I tried so hard to not break down in front of Zeke, the guy I'd competed with at basketball in the park shirts vs no-shirts games a couple years back, but my emotions simply took over. I cried and cried and cried. I tried to cover my face and hide it away from my fellow researcher, but instead of giving me the privacy I so desperately wanted, Zeke put his arms around me and gently held me. He slowly rocked me from side to side as I couldn't stop the run of tears once the dam had broken. I didn't hear specifically what he was saying above even my quiet cries, but his voice was as comforting as his strong arms surrounding me and his warm hands rubbing up and down my back. He even avoided holding me too tight as my breasts still hurt. When I was finally all cried out, leaving tear marks all over Zeke's shirt, he easily lifted me up and carried me into my bed. He removed my slippers and slid the covers up over me. He tucked me into bed. For a long time, neither Zeke nor I brought up that moment. It was as if it didn't happen at all, and I felt a respect for him as both a friend and as a man. For the remainder of my recovery we returned to normal. He cared for me and complained when I did too much, I tried to do less and let him provide for me. When Zeke just casually mentioned that my breasts were looking good one day, I had another little mini freak out. I couldn't understand why, but I felt tears well up in my eyes and had to go into my bedroom to be alone while I cried again. An hour later Zeke came and knocked softly at the door, asking what was wrong, but that just started up the water works again. He had to have heard me sobbing into my pillow as I heard him quietly apologize and walk away. After what felt like forever, I got myself under control and came out to find Zeke flipping through one of our basic psychology textbooks. Not the ones we used in our classes, but the ones we taught from as grad assistants to freshmen. I tried my best to open up to him, to apologize for being so emotional, but at the same time I didn't understand why I was this way. Having him compliment me on my breasts shouldn't bother me as even I noticed that they looked good in the mirror. I finally gave up and confessed an even more present concern... if I couldn't get this under control, if I couldn't show my therapist that I was adjusting well to this new body modification, he would likely pause or even halt the research. I could hear him now saying that my well being wasn't worth the research. But just the thought of stopping the research was devastating to me. While we continued on, I felt I was contributing to science and helping out. If we stopped, I was just some half- transformed person, more woman than man and more confused than confident. And worse than all that, if we stopped showing forward progression our grant money could dry up. We could always re-apply and get more grants once we started back up, but it's easier to keep the money flowing than it is to get it started up. Zeke, I'm sure trying to be helpful, said that maybe it was Valentina's absence that was bringing about these feelings. Before I could even understand what he was doing, Zeke picked up the phone and called one of our fellow researchers, Darla. He told her that I needed to talk to her and that it was vital to our project. When he hung up I asked him why he'd bring someone else into this but he just sat closer to me, placed his arm comfortingly around me, and said that neither of us were going to work through this alone and we needed some help. He reminded me that Darla's specialty was on men and women going through the trans suite of surgeries and helping them with the psychological impact that their changing bodies were making. Darla came by the next day and Zeke sat down with her alone at first. After a couple hours of them talking, I was invited in and asked a series of fairly basic psychological well being questions. What's surprising is that while I understood the questions and what they were trying to get at, I hadn't actually asked myself the questions and therefore the answers made the situation seem so much more obvious. It was a little hurtful to realize that me being with Valentina might have actually been masking a problem for me... that I was attaching my newfound femininity to her specifically. Even though my body was more feminine now with my breasts, I was reverting to a more masculine state of mind. A state of mind that wasn't compatible to being in this overly feminine body. And without Valentina to mirror my femininity or to anchor me in my new feminine role, I was starting to flounder and emotionally break down. Next, as I was still reeling from these seemingly obvious realizations, she started asking me how I felt about feminine nature. How I looked at women, how I thought of women, what I thought made them more feminine. I tried to not think about the questions and just let my gut answer, but I found myself getting more and more worried as it seems my feminine self was tied far more to Valentina than I'd ever considered before. Yes, I saw Valentina as ultimately feminine.... Except her control over me was what I thought of as more masculine. While her body, her actions, her motions were all feminine, her attitude and treatment and control of me was straight out of my masculine playbook. In other words, my Freudian mind felt that women should be commanded and that was what she was providing for me. Without her commanding presence and with Zeke providing an almost feminine care for me, it left me thinking more masculine thoughts. And those thoughts were just incompatible with this body, which was exactly where the psychological and emotional breaks were coming from. We all took a break and I made us all a quick dinner. We all felt better at having covered so much ground, but none of us felt we had a good answer as to what to do next. We ate in mostly silence except for Darla's and Zeke's compliments on my improving cooking and my hesitant acceptance of their praise. When I got up to clear the table, Zeke stood up and mildly scolded me for working so hard and insisted on cleaning up. As he shuffled between the table and the dishwasher, I saw a light go off in Darla's eyes. When Zeke finished up and returned, Darla asked why Zeke felt he needed to clean up. He simply shrugged and said that he needed to care for me as the surgery would make me more delicate. I was already blushing when she turned her eyes toward me and asked me why I wanted to clean up and provide house care for Zeke, and after floundering for a bit, my only answer was that it just felt right to clean up after him. When she asked me to step out and let her and Zeke talk a bit more in private, I walked to the bedroom and examined myself in the vanity mirror. After 30 minutes of failing to find any sign of masculinity even after putting on just a little makeup and making very little effort at making myself pretty today, Darla invited me back. This time we all sat in the living room, and I immediately recognized the sitting arrangement. She had turned one of the wingback chairs to face the couch where she had Zeke and I sit near each other... the classic couples counseling position with her as the therapist. She said she had a hypothesis of why I was being bothered and a thesis of how to help me deal with the problem. As she described the problem in her view and the solution, I tried to remain still and not fidget in nervousness. Zeke taking my hand and squeezing it was helpful, but the fact that he could offer me comfort in such a way was disconcerting in its own way. Especially with Darla confidently telling me that I should start an intimate relationship with Zeke. Darla's hypothesis and solution was that I needed someone to treat me like a woman in order for me to feel like one myself. Specifically that I needed someone to treat me like I saw women. That, left alone to my own internal ways, I would simply slip back into the decades of social programing telling me that I was a man. She explained that Valentina had taken on that role for me and had made me feel feminine and womanly, but without her, I needed another person to attach my feminine nature to. As Valentina turned out to be the only female with any lesbian or bisexual tendencies in our group, there wasn't another woman who could provide me with that aid. And even if they could, it would turn the therapist's attention on that woman instead of me. It might even lead to that woman being punished like Valentina. But Zeke, for all intents and purposes, was already playing that role. He was just hesitant to push it because his view of femininity was gentler than mine. But he was willing to make up for that difference and be that stronger provider role and let me slip into the caring loving caretaker role that I saw women as. I tried to smile and see if she and Zeke were joking around with me but as I turned to look at Zeke he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into a hug. His words haunting... "Don't worry Taylor, I won't let you feel masculine anymore and I'll even be forceful as you obviously need me to be." When I opened my mouth to offer my opinion that they were both wrong, I was instead pulled into a kiss by Zeke. With his arm still around my back, his other hand worked up to the back of my head and held me there. His tongue slipped past my lips making me gasp in surprise just as Darla said "You're a lucky girl Taylor... just think of the research and let this happen for a while. We'll check in to see how you feel in a few days!" To her, my surprised gasp must have sounded like a contented moan as she simply got up, grabbed her purse, and walked out of our apartment. Zeke must have held me into his kiss for several minutes as we both gasped for air when he finally let us part. I really didn't care that slapping him across the face was probably the most feminine thing I could do as it was the only thing that came to mind conveying how wrong I thought his treatment of me was. He just held his reddening cheek and reminded me that while he had done as Darla suggested and pulled me into a kiss, he hadn't held me there... that if he'd felt me try to pull away at all, he'd have allowed it. I opened my mouth to tell him how wrong he was, but no words came out. He was telling the truth. While I wasn't happy about him pulling me in for a kiss, I hadn't made a move to pull away. His hand had even left the back of my head giving me full reign to back away if I wanted. Zeke simply patted my knee in an all too familiar way and told me that I should get to bed as I'd had a rough day and that we'd start tomorrow on making me feel fully feminine again. Only when I was in my nighty and under the covers did I realize it was hours before my normal bedtime. Knowing that I'd followed Zeke's command without even checking his facts or feeling that his order needed questioning was a turning point for me. The next morning, when I came out of the bedroom in my sweats and made my move to the morning coffee, Zeke was waiting for me at the table. He looked me over as if examining a research project, then stood up, took my hand, and walked me back to my bedroom. Without a word he let me stand in the doorway while he went through the closet and drawers and pulled out all of my recently acquired comfortable sweats, shorts, and tee-shirts. He left my surgical bras but also pulled out all of my more comfortable panties. He piled all of that up on the bed and left only my skimpy lingerie, my skirts, my form fitting blouses and sweater dresses. He said he'd fill out my wardrobe over the next week, but I wasn't to dress in anything other than the most feminine wear I could think of. He said it didn't have to be sexy per say, but it had to be feminine. Picking up the pile of clothes I'd been wearing for the past several weeks, he threw them into his room and closed the door. Valentina's and Zeke's idea of femininity were different. On one level, that made sense as Valentina was also feminine. She knew it was more about that internal feeling and our unconscious movements and actions. She knew that women, even feminine girly girl women, could cook or not. Could clean or not. Could wash clothes or not. Could watch TV or watch movies or read books or not. None of those activities were masculine or feminine, so they never mattered to her. I shared in the upkeep of her apartment not because it made me more girly in her eyes, but because it was the polite thing to do. Zeke, on the other hand, looked at femininity from a 1950's Leave It To Beaver type mentality. Women cooked and cleaned and washed the clothes. Women watched TV and enjoyed other forms of entertainment but it was either directly feminine or what their man wanted. The next day I returned to the research group and let them all marvel at my new curves. I was still a little upset about the extra cup size, but I let their warm welcome cheer me up. Zeke had dropped me off and said he'd be back to pick me up in a couple hours, telling everybody that he was still taking care of me and that I couldn't push myself. No one thought anything of him saying that other than the fact that he was just still being a care provider. But I felt the undertone. He was going to determine how I recovered because the man should determine that. When he picked me up exactly two hours later, I just rolled my eyes and went along with it, even though I was really getting into the data. When we got home, I saw that Zeke had been busy. I didn't have much reading material, but I had a couple psychology theory magazines and a few Zane Grey westerns. Had. In their place was a pile of magazines including Cosmo, Bazaar, Vogue, and Vanity Fair. The books were replaced by a not unseizable stack of harlequin romance books. The kitchen had been reorganized a bit to make room for six new cookbooks, and had a rack with several aprons on it, all looking precisely like they came out of a 50's housewife's collection. Turning to give Zeke my deathray stare I was stopped by him reaching out and cupping my cheek. The simple intimate touch was enough to stifle any argument and gave him time to explain himself. In a soft voice, as if speaking to a child, he said that he had no chance of making me feel girly in the same way that Valentina did, but he knew that a part of me was like him and saw these as very feminine, even if they were anachronistic. And that by falling into that role, I'd both present myself as more feminine to him and by extension, feel more accepting of my own femininity. Even if I had words of protest, which I couldn't think of any with such a thorough explanation, they would have been stopped by him reaching around my waist and pulling me in for another kiss. With his tongue gliding into my mouth again I was struck by the differences in kissing him vs kissing Valentina. With Valentina, kissing was the reward to presenting myself feminine, but our kisses were soft and gentle and lovely on both our ends. With Zeke, he was so obviously kissing me. Yes, like last time, he wasn't holding me in place, but I wasn't kissing him. I was being kissed. With Valentina, I never particularly noticed her scent as we both smelled of the same perfume. With Zeke, my sense of smell was overwhelmed by his presence. It wasn't just his cheap musky cologne, but I could smell his soap, and underlying both of those I could even smell him. His masculine smell. With Valentina, there was a softness to her. Both her touch and her body. With Zeke there was a hardness to him. From his big hand in the small of my back to his rough lips and hard chest. With Valentina I never knew who was making the soft moaning and cooing sounds as we sounded similar, but with Zeke there was no mistaking his pleased growl for the girly sounds coming from me. When Zeke finally pulled away, letting out a contented sigh, I couldn't move. I'm not sure how, but somehow having Zeke kiss me was far more feminizing that kissing Valentina ever was. As if he could read my mind and emphasize it, Zeke playfully slapped my skirted ass and told me to get him a drink while he took a shower. The slap and my accompanying little squeal may have got me moving but his smile and the feminine feeling it gave me kept me moving. When the shower came on, I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, trying to get my mind around it. A big part of me still wanted to protest as the feminine nature that Zeke was trying to enforce on me was sexist and bordering on misogynistic. In his world, women served men. Women derived their pleasure by pleasing their man. It seems that women didn't even have interests outside of their man. But another part of me couldn't deny the power that had over me. It may not be right for a woman to be treated this way, but it DID make me feel more feminine. With a slight shake of my head I decided to go with it. At least for a little while. And if I was going to accept it, I should go all the way. I should, at least inside of this apartment, be Zeke's little housewife. When Zeke came out in shorts and an old t-shirt I met him at the couch with his drink. I could tell he was surprised by both my beverage selection and my appearance. Instead of handing him a bottle of beer, or even giving it to him poured into a glass, I had found his old bar kit and made him a martini. And instead of simply handing him his tasty beverage, I bent forward and held out the silver presenting tray with it balanced on top so that he could take it. I barely had time to make the drink as once I made up my mind to try and go with this I had to go into the bedroom, slip out of my wedge heels, comfy skirt, and white blouse and slip into what I thought of as my June Cleaver wear. Gone were the professional student skirt and blouse, replaced with a collared, short sleeved, long skirted dress in a green and yellow gingham pattern. I had a bracelet on one wrist and my watch on the other. While my dress went to halfway down my calves, Zeke could clearly see I had stocking on underneath. And wearing the three-inch pumps, I'm sure his eyes would be drawn there. And so, began not only my treatment as a woman by a man who obviously didn't understand women, so began my acceptance of being treated that way and treating Zeke as the "Man Of The House". By the end of the week I was getting up early enough to make Zeke a full breakfast, while eating only the half of a grapefruit that he suggested. I personally hated grapefruit, but I felt making a stand on such a small thing would take me out of this new role. Zeke allowed me a couple hours a day with the research group, promising both me and them that if this week went well, we could double it next week and return to a normal schedule the following week. Those extra hours with me home and Zeke on campus gave me plenty of time to clean the whole apartment every day, wash the dishes, and even do a load of laundry each afternoon. While on campus I'd wear something comfortable and even a touch stylish, but Zeke had loved seeing me in my Cleaveresque dress so much that I now had a closet full of them. Each day I'd slip into it and immediately it would help me fall into that housewife mentality. By the time Zeke came home from either the research group or one of his classes, I had a full dinner on the table waiting for him. The cookbooks he bought were cute, but I replaced the outdated Joy of Cooking and the New York Times 1961 cookbook with books authored by Rachel Ray and Ina Garten. The first time I saw Zeke's eyebrows raise appreciably when he watched me take the apron off, I vowed to get that look every day. Even if I didn't need to have the apron on by the time Zeke came home, I made sure to keep it on just for the show of taking it off. The only exception to my daily cooking came Friday when Zeke called me from the campus and told me he was going to take me out that night. He laughed a bit when he came home and saw me in my 50's dress and told me that while it was fine for serving him at home, he was going to take me someplace nice and that I should dress up. I blushed a bit, both at the thought of being 'taken someplace nice' and at his laughter. On the surface he was just making fun of the situation, but the undercurrent of the laugh was heard loud and clear. His little woman was all confused and needed his help in even deciding what to wear. I tried to hurry, so I quickly made Zeke his evening Martini and then slipped into my room. Sliding the dress off I pulled off the lacy yet plain white bra, garter belt, and panties and put on my sexier black bra, belt, and panties. Just as I was hooking the garters up to my black stockings, I caught a glimpse of Zeke standing in the doorway. This was the first time I saw HIM blush as he quickly closed the door and audibly walked away. Looking in the mirror it took me a moment to see what he saw. I'd been dressing in a bra and panties long before I had my breasts and knew that wearing pretty lingerie always made me feel better about my new femininity. The garter belt, while new to me this week, was worn simply because it seemed so classic for a woman and wearing stay up stockings every day was a little constricting. The garters were simply more comfortable. That's how I saw my nearly nude self in the mirror. But then it hit me.... Zeke hadn't seen me undressed at all yet. Even when caring for my new breasts, he only exposed enough of my flesh to provide the needed care and handled it in a professional almost medical manner. But this, to his sexist eyes, must look like lingerie designed to entice and arouse a man. It certainly was the type of lingerie worn in the classier porn I'd previously watched. I had to shake the thought out of my head and focus on getting ready. I could hear Zeke walking around the apartment impatiently, but I knew he wouldn't recognize just how long this can take and wanted him to see the changes that needed to go through from home wear to evening wear. Washing off the classic housewife makeup I'd been wearing at home all week. Applying a far more modern evening look that would make Valentina proud. Brushing and combing my hair out and styling it from Housework Taylor to Going Out Taylor. Picking out a dress that said modern woman going out to a nice dinner but didn't scream date bait or whore. Accessorizing my chosen look with a silver bracelet, a fake pearl necklace, and a nice pair of silver and pearl earrings. And finally pulling everything out of my school purse and sliding what could fit into a stylish black velvet clutch with a silver clasp that matched the bracelet. When I slid into my pair of black heels that would show off my painted toenails and walked out into the apartment, I was ready for just abut anything from Zeke. From him being happy at me taking the effort to look pretty for him, to having to explain why it took so long. But him taking my wrist in his hand and practically dragging me behind him with a pissed off look and without a word wasn't even something I'd considered. I silently followed behind him as he rushed me into his car and tried to figure out why he was so angry. He hadn't even commented on my look and as silly as it was, I found myself judging my appearance and wondering if he'd have liked to see me in something else. When we got to the restaurant, I recognized why he was so impatient. We were immediately taken back to a table and seated with another couple. The man's words and friendly slap to Zeke's shoulder was all I needed. "Hey Zeke, next time we have a double date make sure you don't keep us waiting for a half hour!" That one word is what I focused on. Date. I was on a date with Zeke. I was on a double date with Zeke, and a couple I'd never met before. Did they know who I was? Did they know that I wasn't a full woman? Did they know Zeke and I were living together? Zeke's pinch to my leg under the table brought me back to the present and I tried my best to focus and let these questions get answered in their own time. When the introductions were made, I politely shook hands with Ben and Sherry. Ben was an old friend of Zeke's and they'd played basketball at high school together. Sherry was Ben's wife who was taking time away from her teaching career to home school their two children. Ben and Zeke quickly fell into the pattern of talking and joking that only old friends can manage, leaving Sherry and me out in the dark. That left Sherry and I to talk and it became obvious that Zeke hadn't told them anything about me. I had previously made up some lies about myself to be ready if any awkward situation arose, but now I had to embellish those lies about being a female student into a whole story. By the end of the night I'd told Sherry that I was an undergrad in the psychology department, that Zeke and I had met in class and had been dating on and off for a few months, that we had just moved in together, that we were slowly falling in love, and when pressed on the subject that yes we'd had sex. Desert was even more unpleasant as I had to not only repeat that to Ben but had to let Zeke hear me talk about how we'd been dating, were falling in love, and had had sex. I really wanted to go home after dinner, but Zeke instead drove us over to meet back up with Ben and Sherry at their hotel's bar. I tried to beg off and Ben said that would probably be best, but I'd intrigued Sherry enough that that she wanted me there. Once we arrived, we fell back into the same pattern, with Ben and Zeke reliving their "glory days" leaving Sherry and I to talk. And the more Sherry drank, the more our girl talk turned into the more intimate direction. I'm not sure how she read my reticence to talk about my sex life especially as it pertained to Zeke, but she must have taken it as just being shy as she opened up about her and Ben's private time together. I almost spit out a mouthful of my Moscow Mule when Shery asked me how good I was at deep throating. I sputtered for a moment, but figuring it was a fiction anyway and it might save myself from hearing tips on the subject, I told her that I was quite good at deepthroating and in fact loved performing that for my man. She probably assumed my deep red blush was from sharing such a detail with her, but over her shoulder I saw Zeke's head spin around and stare at me while Ben smiled like a wolf and congratulated him on finding such an orally talented woman. Not only had Zeke heard me say I was good at giving head and deepthroating, but that I loved doing it. I excused myself to the ladies room, but any thought of having a moment alone was dashed when Sherry hopped off her barstool and accompanied me there. The bar was hopping, so instead of having a moment to collect my thoughts, I found myself surrounded by a sea of women. The wait for a stall was thankfully brief but getting to a sink took a long time as the women all took their time in touching up their makeup or simply looking over themselves in the mirror. While waiting I felt like I really needed the ground to open up and swallow me whole as Sherry just continued our conversation like we were alone. My assumption that she was trying to give me tips on giving head were way off base as she admitted to me that she couldn't perform that technique on Ben and was looking for some tips on it. Not wanting to admit I was lying, I tried to remember when Valentina and I had had our fun with her strap on and talked to Sherry about breathing, relaxing her throat and even suggested getting a dildo to practice with. Embarrassingly, several other women waiting their turn for the mirror and or sinks, joined in. Most of them were in camp Sherry, looking for advice on how to deep throat while only a couple girls had joined camp Taylor and shared their advice with mine. And while this was fairly anonymous... no one was looking at me as the guy who was dressed up as a woman and acting like he enjoyed having sex with his pretend boyfriend while imagining his former girlfriend fuck his throat with a long thick pink strap on dildo... I was still going to have to live with the memory of being in a large group of women giving advice TO THEM on how to please their men. When walking back to our table, arm in arm buddy style with Sherry, I saw that Zeke was nowhere near ready to leave. He'd taken off his sport coat and was deep in conversation with his old high school chum. It was then that I decided to stop pacing myself with the drinks and get any enjoyment out of this night that I could. When I ordered up a round of tequila shooters with a couple IPAs to wash them down, I couldn't help but giggle at Sherry's reaction. Falling more into the role I'd just made up a few hours ago I bumped my shoulder to hers and told her "Live it up girl! We get to have our fun too!" One order of shooters turned into two. Then four. Then the night started to get a little fuzzy. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened my eyes. The fog of the previous night awakening my curiosity as much as it was the rest of me. I stretched a bit and felt the soft sheets and warm blanket over me and realized, three beats after I should have, that I was in bed. But as I woke up more and more, I tried to focus on why this didn't feel right. The sheets? The blanket? The view of curtains drawn over the huge window? The window that my bedroom didn't have. None of this made sense and was confusing to my still muddled, hung over mind until I noticed the sensation that was most distinctly different. It wasn't the strange bed I was in or the strange room I was in. The thing that was most wrong was the arm laying across my chest. It was the hand lazily cupping my exposed breast. Other sensations and memories of the night before started to flood my mind and overwhelm my ability to comprehend them. That arm was attached to someone behind me. Spooning me. Did I kiss Zeke last night on the dance floor? The person behind me was skin to skin with me. I could feel their breath on my neck. Oh my God, was I dancing with both Zeke and Rob at the same time, sandwiched between them? I let out a frightened, frustrated, but aroused, moan as the hand cupping my breast lazily comes up to pinch and play with my nipple. More memories come as I distinctly remember kissing Sherry as Rob and Zeke cheer us on. The boys were standing behind us, Zeke hugging Sherry from behind while Rob pressed every inch of himself into my back encouraging us in what must have looked like any straight guys' lesbian fantasy. I only broke away when I felt Rob's manhood throb against my backside. Kissing Sherry was like kissing Valentina all over, all soft and sweet and slow, but feeling the hard body of a man behind me, his hips and crotch grinding into my soft rear was too much to bear. I could almost still feel that sickening hard throb against my ass and shiver as I know he was picturing far less clothes between us. Feel that sickening throb against my ass. OH MY GOD! In a huff I throw the blanket off of me and quickly slide out from under Zeke's arm as soon as I realized it wasn't the memory of Rob's cock poking me. That was Zeke's cock poking me now! Once I'm standing, I turn and look down at Zeke waking up in the bed I'd just leaped from. His sleepy smile as he looks up at me tells me that he wasn't surprised to find us in bed together and I try desperately to remember how we went from the bar's dancefloor to this bed. The only two foggy memories that surface are a long elevator ride up as Zeke pressed me against the mirrored wall and kissed me, and standing in the middle of the room as he unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. My hand finds its own way to cover the horrified opening of my mouth when Zeke flips the covers off himself and I see him lying there. Naked. Hard. His repulsed voice snaps me back as he stands up and walks to what I assume is the bathroom. "Taylor, your hard on does NOT go with those panties or your tits. Take care of it. Now." Looking down I feel my embarrassment and humiliation triple as Zeke isn't the only one that was hard. My own penis was tenting my lacy pretty panties. My hands both drop to immediately cover my hard-on. Zeke's chuckle and mumbled "That's way better babe" confuses me until the door to the bathroom closes and I turn to see myself in the mirror. I actually feel my penis throb at what I see. My hair is disheveled and my makeup is a mess, but I'm only wearing panties and all by covering my penis my arms have pushed my breasts together. Even without a bra on, I have cleavage showing. By the time Zeke finishes with his shower and comes out of the bathroom looking fresh and clean, I've gotten myself back under control. It felt like it took forever to get myself soft as every time I saw a peek of myself in the mirror of felt my breasts sway I'd reverse course and start getting hard again. Eventually I was soft enough to retuck myself. I couldn't find my bra and didn't want to put my dress back on until I'd showered, so I had my arms covering my breasts when I tried to get into the bathroom. As I slid past Zeke, however, he slipped his arm around me and pulled me close. I felt as nervous as our first time kissing as he tilted my head up by the chin and leaned down for a kiss. This wasn't some chaste peck on the lips, this was the kiss that a couple familiar with kissing each other shared. My frustrated moan sounded sexy even to my own ears but I couldn't help it as one of Zeke's hands went possessively to the back of my head to hold me in until he was finished with me and his other hand slid down my bare back to cup my pantied ass. I'm sure Zeke only kissed me for several seconds. Maybe 20. But it felt like an eternity and brought back the memories from last night in more clarity. I don't remember how the dancing started but the fast fun songs ended and after a couple slow dances, being held lightly but closely to Zeke, he'd tilted my chin up just like this. Not forceful, but certainly commandingly. I must have drank far too much as I don't remember balking or protesting or trying to pull away. Instead I remember wrapping my arms lovingly around his neck and holding HIM close to me as we made out. I'd felt so damned feminine and kissing my date felt so natural and hot. Zeke's pulling away from our current lip lock and playful swat to my ass snapped me back to my sober present as he said we would talk more about this night at home. I showered quickly and used what little cosmetics I fit into my clutch to make myself presentable. I couldn't restyle my hair so I simply brushed it out and pulled it up into a ponytail. I had only brought makeup to touch up what I'd had on so I could only apply a layer of concealer, some lipstick, and a bit of mascara. While my reflection promised that I looked good, I still felt naked without my eyebrow pencil, my lip pencil, and my blush. Finally feeling ready, I slipped the garter belt around my waist, pulled my stockings up, clasped them to the hooks, and slid into my dress. I still don't know where my bra went and while this dress wasn't loose in any way, it certainly wasn't designed to be worn without one. Each step had the satiny material sliding over my bare nipples and I felt them grow, and stay, hard. Zeke was made up much the same as last night with only his tie stuffed into a pocket instead of around his neck saying he was going home instead of going out. Once we were in the hallway, he pulled me close and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. After last night I certainly can't blame him for having us walk in this far more familiar way but it still felt strange to move my arm around his waist. No words were spoken on the trip home except for Zeke's admission that I looked beautiful. I couldn't even acknowledge it as I knew it hadn't come from a place of honesty, but a place of arousal. When we finally got home, I saw that Darla was there waiting for us. It seems that Zeke had called her while I was showering and making myself presentable. She didn't let me know any more than that before she started to question me about last night. Knowing what she was looking for helped me consider everything under a masculine vs feminine microscope. As uncomfortable as it was and as much as I was thinking about it at the time, talking to Sherry... having our girl talk... was very feminine feeling. Except for the small slip in the bathroom, I never felt masculine or out of place being a girl with her. Going over exactly what we were talking about, blow jobs and deepthroating, was embarrassing and hard to do with Zeke sitting across from me, but Darla used that uncomfortable feeling to help me see something I'd misinterpreted. I was embarrassed about having that conversation out loud. I was embarrassed to be looked upon by Sherry and the other women as a sexual guide. BUT, I wasn't embarrassed by the actual topic of the conversation. It all became amazingly clear and impossible to deny when she had me imagine myself three years ago, completely male, and having that same conversation. I realized that the me back then, that man, couldn't have had a conversation about personally performing a blow job. About sucking cock. But the new me, this woman, not only could have that conversation but DID have it. Like realizing that I hadn't pulled away from Zeke, I realized that I could have just shut up about it and Sherry would have likely moved on to more polite chaste conversational topics. It was me that continued the conversation. Satisfied, Darla explained what Zeke had told her about last night, picking up with us dancing on the floor and where my own memories stopped. Both he and I had become quite amorous, not only kissing each other repeatedly, but touching each other. Zeke freely, with only a bit of embarrassment, admitted to feeling both my ass and my breasts. He even admitted that they felt good. Darla continued and explained how I had moved my hands over Zeke's chest and hips and how during one particularly seductive dance had practically given him a hand job on the dance floor, rubbing him through his pants. All three of us were far enough in our studies to know that alcohol takes away more than mere inhibition, but we also know that it doesn't make someone act out of their own character. It might expose someone's underlying feelings, like anger or joy, but it didn't make up feelings out of the blue. So while I wanted to blame my actions on the alcohol, I knew that was a feeble argument Darla finished by telling me that it wasn't me that prevented something more intimate from happening as Zeke and I climbed into bed together. It was him. Zeke had stopped after I pulled his underwear off and seemed willing to go down on him. Without Darla leading me to it, I could already see the steps my inebriated mind would have gone down. I was having feelings for Zeke. I was seeing him with his friend and his friend's wife. I was seeing how much Sherry wanted to please her man and accepting my feminine nature and falling more into my own lying story, I wanted to please my man. I could only nod and agree with Zeke and Darla... that a part of me not only wanted to have sexual relations with Zeke but that the thought of doing so made me feel more feminine. I figured that admission would end the conversation as it truly felt like a revelation. Yesterday I was happy to be a woman, even Zeke's woman, but had no thoughts of sex and now I was admitting that a part of me was open to doing that. But Darla continued, saying that for most women this would be an everyday occurrence and nothing special. But for me, it was a Rubicon. It was a major turning point and that if it wasn't handled correctly, I wouldn't only likely backstep and start feeling frustrated with my feminine nature again, I might even backpedal all the way to feeling masculine and those feelings would threaten the research. She not only strongly suggested that Zeke and I have sex, that we have sex right here. Right now. While she watched. Standing up I raised my hands in a warding off gesture and backed away several steps. I explained how I didn't have all of my makeup on, but Zeke interrupted and said that I was beautiful as is. I tried not to blush too deeply at his comment as I said I didn't know how to have sex as a woman, but Darla interrupted me this time, reminding me that I'd not only had oral sex with Valentina, I'd actually experienced more intense oral sex than most girls had. My stuttering complaint of still being hung over and having a headache sounded lame even as I was saying it and I brushed it aside myself as Zeke and Darla laughed. What finally convinced me was another Darla revelation. She approached me and lightly put her hands on my shoulders and explained that if I didn't want to do it, no one was going to force me. BUT, I had offered up several excuses without actually saying I was unwilling to go through with it. Like the kiss, and like the conversation with Sherry, they were right. A simple straightforward no would be reasonable and accepted. But I was nibbling around the edges of it, giving reasons of why I didn't want to do it here or now, or under observation. Biting my lower lip, I could only nod, indicating that I'd go through with it. If I was hoping for a moment to gather my wits up and prepare myself, it was denied as Darla simply stepped to the side and Zeke took her place with his hands on my shoulders. After pulling me close for a long sensual kiss, his hands gave a bit of downward pressure. I felt like my whole body was shaking as I closed my eyes and slowly dropped to my knees. The sound of Zeke pulling his belt free and opening his zipper sounded loud and all encompassing. The simple noise of his pants sliding down his legs was familiar but devastating close. In the quiet that ensued, I could hear seemingly everything. That little clock in the kitchen ticking away. Zeke's breathing from directly above me. Darla's from across the room. The click and whir of the refrigerator cycling. The hum of the ceiling fan. I knew ultimately what was going to happen, but I couldn't focus on that part. I had to just get to the next step. From here to there. Start moving. Start acting. Do something. And then the next part will take care of itself. The difference between here, kneeling quietly and wanting the floor to open up and drop me into the basement and starting a motion seemed so vast. Should I open my eyes? Staring straight ahead at Zeke's penis is sure to knock me off any forward momentum. Should I reach forward and touch him? If so, where? His leg? His scrotum? His manhood? Should I take a bigger leap and lean forward, pressing my lips and nose onto him? When Zeke's hand gently brushes my cheek, I can't stop myself from jerking away. My already seemingly massive sense of inadequacy seems to double as I shake my head but can't even explain why this is striking me so hard. It's Darla that breaks the tension in the air, but instead of addressing my fears or talking me down from the ledge I feel I'm climbing in my mind, she sermonizes Zeke. "Look at her. She's scared because she hasn't done this before. She's a virgin. And just like a virgin should be, she's nervous and fearful of making a mistake. She so desperately wants to please you, but she's unsure of how to do that. You can clearly see by her kneeling position that she wants to please you. Don't let her be scared. Don't let he die a slow death of doubt and unknowing Zeke. Save her. Help her get past these nerves. Show her you know what to do. Show her your strength and command and guide her actions as a real man knows how to. Don't worry about what she likes or doesn't like, she's giving herself to you. Her pleasure comes from pleasing you. Her pleasure comes from knowing you approve of her and love her and are willing to be patient and guide her and teach her." Darla's words slice through me like a hot knife through butter. I can't say she's wrong in anything that's moved past her lips. I AM scared. I AM a virginally nervous and fearful of making a mistake. I AM unsure of how to please him but remain kneeling, willing to please him. I DO feel like I'm dying of doubt and unknowing and need Zeke to act for me. But as much as the words affected me, they were even more effective on Zeke. I feel his hand grip my ponytail as he removes his caressing fingers from my cheek. I open my eyes and look up, partially to avoid looking at Zeke's cock and partially to see what he's doing. The look in his eyes is more unnerving than I expected. Some part of me knew that I'd see his arousal. I'd see my friend Zeke looking at me as something sexually pleasing. But that was the undercurrent of Zeke's expression. His primary emotion seemed to be possessiveness and need. He was in need of pleasure and he was in possession of something that could satisfy that need. He was in possession of me. A feared whimper escaped my lips as his hand gripped my hair more possessively, holding me still and looking up at him, while his cock started moving over my lips. My eyes barely dipped down enough to see his thick cock being directed over my warm skin before he jerks me and commands me to keep my eyes on his. My whimper is repeated as I follow his order and lock my eyes on his. I see a growing pleasure there but am unsure if it's coming from his cock rubbing over my plump lips and smooth skin, or if it's from his total ownership of me. When he tells me huskily to stick out my tongue, it's out of my mouth before I can even consider what he wants. I hear my mewling whine get punctuated by Zeke slapping his cock repeatedly on my tongue and it strikes me that while this is an act I'd seen plenty of times in porn, it was one that I'd never heard of people actually practicing. Zeke was living out a porn fantasy with me as his woman. Feeling at least a little more confident and wanting something more romantic for my first time with a man I pull my tongue in and tell him. Or start to tell him. All I get out is "Zeke, I..." before he roughly tilts my head to the side and starts slapping my cheek with his hardness. I'm sure the pain is more emotional than physical, but this act, this treatment, still hurts and I cry out. My cry is rewarded with Zeke stopping, but as my eyes return up to his I'm pulled in closer. Much closer. Zeke's hairy heavy balls press against my lips and I hear his low guttural assertive tone say "Suck". While his pubic hairs tickle my nose, I extend my tongue out and guide one of his balls into my mouth. His moan tells me I'm doing a good job while his ever-present grip of my hair has me doubting that assertion. When he jerks me back again, tilting my head up, and orders my tongue out once more, I immediately comply and am rewarded with a repeat performance. As Zeke seems entirely taken by watching his cock head slap off my wet tongue I look around and find Darla, seeking her help. Only Zeke's strong hand holding me in position stops me from slumping, however, as I don't see anything in Darla's eyes that says she's in a position to help. What I see in Darla is a woman mesmerized with her own arousal. She's biting her bottom lip as her hand has lifted her skirt and plays over her panties. Did she want Zeke to take command to help me? To make my step from sexy woman to sexual partner as gentle as possible. Or did she do it because she thought it would be hot to watch? Or worse, is she getting off on seeing me descend into a forced feminine submission that I'm not sure I'll escape? Whatever her motivations are, I clearly see that there's no help coming from her. At least not any help designed with me in mind. As if on cue her lusty voice calls out to Zeke "She's had enough teasing, feed It to her!" Any chance I had to voice my concerns are taken away as Zeke deftly slaps my tongue for the last time and pushes his hips forward. He slides home past my lips and I have to pull my tongue back as my lips stretch around his girth. Zeke again groans with pleasure as he holds me still and slides his cock back and forth, letting my stretched lips massage the edge of his cockhead. Even now, fully knowing that Zeke and Darla are truly using me for their individual pleasures instead of helping me gently move past a stubborn barrier, I'm still quick to do as he says. My tongue starts gliding over his cock head as soon as he tells me to do it. I find my hand cupping his balls moments after he orders the action. By the time Zeke is sliding just over half of his length in between my gripping lips, I realize it's useless to try and find a way out. He's lost into his own pleasure and has me at such an advantage that he can do anything he wants. She's lost into her own power trip and has positioned me in such a way that I can't do anything I want. So instead of struggling or trying to convince him with my eyes alone that I want him to stop, I let the tear fall down my cheek as I start to actively participate. I begin varying just how much pressure my lips apply to his spongy flesh. I swallow what remains of my pride and start fake moaning like the best porn stars do. I even look up into his eyes with a new message. A message that says I'm not only enjoying myself, but that like Darla said, I'm receiving pleasure from this act. My engagement seems to have been the missing part as I feel Zeke's manhood swell in my mouth. I internally prepare to feel him shoot his load into the back of my mouth, willing myself to not gag, but my preparations are in vain. Instead of cuming in my warm and welcoming mouth, Zeke pulls out, holds me very close, and cums all over my face. I see the look in his eyes and know that he's not even seeing me. He's imagining himself with some unknown starlet receiving a facial. I'm briefly thankful he doesn't directly aim his spunk into my hair or over my eyes. The fact that it all ends up around my nose, lips, chin, and neck isn't much better though. Evidently exhausted from living his blowjob fantasy, Zeke steps back breathlessly and plops into a chair. I see a smile come over his face until he looks between my legs. "Jesus Darla, can you help her with that. It's a total turn off!" Afraid to move as I feel his hot cum running down my face, I'm more than a little lost as Darla laughs and comes to kneel in front of me. I'm shocked as she leans in and gives me a deep probing kiss, smearing Zeke's cum all over both of our faces, until I feel her hand slip my dress up and her grab my own hardness. It takes me a moment to get past the fact that I'm hard at all as I can't imagine finding anything from the last ten minutes or so arousing, but then my eyes flash open wide and I cry into Darla's mouth. Her eyes say that she understood what I was trying to convey, even as I can only hear a sexy sounding moan coming from our kiss. I'm not sure how a memory can come so quickly and so clearly after what I've just experienced but I clearly remember being in the library while logged onto the specific research computer. The article wasn't relevant to our study, but it was beyond interesting and made you wonder how exactly the research worked for it. It turns out in a large study abroad it was found that orgasming after a traumatic sexual experience would not only help cement the memory of said traumatic experience, but it would also start or increase the subjects arousal when approached with similar experiences. And as I cum into her hand, crying out my soft sweet cry of release, I fall back in a heap and sob. I try my best to contain my tears and stop my sobs, knowing that Zeke is still there watching me, but I just can't get myself back in control. Especially when I realize that until Zeke noticed my hardon, I wasn't feeling anything masculine at all. As much as the experience was horrible, leaving me feeling used and alone, it was the most effective thing I'd yet gone through to make me feel womanly. By the time Darla came back and cleaned my groin with a warm wet cloth, I couldn't even look at her. Anger, betrayal, and fear were all mixed together with thoughts of her. So, when she clicked the chastity cage in place it was a complete surprise. Turning, I locked eyes on her, unsure if I was feeling surprise, betrayal, or just more hurt. Her smirk was cocky and arrogant as she told Zeke "Look at her. She's complete. Keep her in this state and not only will you get to have the best months of your life, you'll get us through the rest of the research project." And with that she left, leaving me with Zeke. I'm fairly certain that in his post coital state he was just trying to be funny and break the tension but Zeke's joke about me now having a real 'pearl necklace' to go with my fake one almost made me cry again. The next week was tough to negotiate. Zeke realized he had taken our coupling too far and was honestly and truly apologetic. At the same time, he maintained that he'd never seen me more feminine as I was the next day. And as much as I was giving him the silent treatment, and denying him any physical contact with me, I couldn't deny his assertion. I could barely think of myself as a man after he used me, but therein lied the problem. I not only felt like a woman on the inside, I felt like a used woman. When I finally did open up and talk with Zeke, he assured me he'd had sex like that before with his women. He told me that when it was a good match, when he was attracted to the right woman and he was the right man for the woman, it was a mutually enjoyable experience. I had to stop myself from using the word rape as not even I thought the experience went that far. But I did think I was an unwilling subject to his sexual desires instead of him helping me explore my feminine desires. Our next nugget of contention came when I asked him for the key to the chastity cage and he simply replied with "no". I was dumbfounded. As strange as it sounds, even to me, my penis was never something in the way of me feeling feminine and having it locked away was only becoming sexually frustrating. I tried to assure him that he wouldn't see me hard again and even tried to convince him that tucking let me be smoother for him. But he continued to deny me release and eventually told me that he and Darla agreed my frustration was perfect as it would direct my sexual energies toward Zeke and those sexual acts would make me even more feminine both to myself and to the research groups. I hadn't masturbated all that much during this research, but I'd never gone more than four days without release as it made getting hard more likely. Now, without that relief valve I kept feeling me growing painfully hard against the cage. I tried explaining to Zeke that keeping me locked up like this was its own form of pavlovian training. That any time I saw a beautiful woman I was being punished with pain, and that that was doubly difficult as I saw a beautiful woman any time I saw myself in the mirror. Zeke's response was only that he liked his girlfriends to be straight rather than bisexual or lesbian and maybe this would help me be straighter. More attracted to him. By the time the next week rolled around and we were prepping for the first group to see me with my breasts, Zeke and I were hardly talking. We still maintained our routines to help me feel as feminine as possible, but me wearing 50's dresses and making dinner was becoming habit and not necessarily feminine. It seemed to make a big difference that I was no longer trying to make Zeke happy even if he kept treating me as 'his girl'. The photo shoot took forever as I just couldn't seem to get the right pose without direct instruction from the photographer. The less than ideal photos compounded my movements and actions in the video group where even our group described me as angry and hostile. And instead of more of them checking off the feminine choices for me, the number selecting masculine descriptors went up. It was our first reversal. As everybody got together to decide what changes to make to me I was escorted out as these decisions were no longer in my wheelhouse. When they broke four hours later Zeke quietly drove me home. I could see that he was out of sorts, but it wasn't his normal over the top caring manner nor even his strong arousal for me. It was frustration. Once home I slipped into a sleeveless plaid dress, put my apron on, and started dinner while he explained what they'd discussed. It was clear to the whole group that it wasn't my physical self that was more masculine, it was my attitude, movements, and actions. Some of the group wanted to chalk it up to me just having a frustrating week, but more of the group thought it was something more. Some of the more extreme ideas included me being hypnotized so that they could figure out what changed. My shocked expression was relieved by Zeke saying he talked them out of it and said we should just try again next week, and that if I wasn't more responsive at that session they'd have to look into the hypnosis. Obviously, hypnosis couldn't happen. The university had several professors that were professional therapists specializing in hypnosis and I have no doubt that they could tickle out what happened between Zeke and me. At best, Zeke would be thrown off the team just like Valentina was. At worst, the whole project could be shut down because of me having inappropriate sex with two of my research project mates. I'm fairly sure Zeke knew what the answer to our problem was, but he calmly let me finish dinner and clean up to give me time to see that it was the only option. A couple hours later I looked up into Zeke's eyes and reminded him again of our agreement. It was nerve wracking to be practically scolding him in this position but I needed it said before we went down the wrong path again. First, he would not touch me in any way. Not his fingers on my cheek, not his hand on my chin, and certainly not his hand in my hair. Second, he would sit quietly while I got my bearings and proceeded at my own pace. No sexy talk, no dirty talk, no encouragement. Not even any pointers. This was my action and he was only a prop for it. Third, he was to give me ample warning of his orgasm so that I could get out of the way. His cum was not to end up in my mouth, on my face, and most certainly and expressly not on my neck. And finally, no matter how much I aroused him, if I needed to stop, he would let me stop. With a sigh, I rested my hands on his naked thighs and asked him if he was okay with that. Those rules were the only way I was going to feel comfortable giving Zeke another blow job. And with as feminine as I felt after the last time, giving him oral sex may well be the only way to get my mind back into its feminine set. Zeke, to his credit, was willing to sit naked on the couch and let me kneel between his legs and let me take my time. This was for me and my mindset and not for his pleasure, although if done correctly both would be attained. Zeke made an extra show of putting his hands under his thighs and leaning back so that he wasn't looking down at me. Even with the rules in place and Zeke living up to both the spirit and the word of our agreement, I still found it difficult. It was made even more difficult as he wasn't even hard. That probably came from our long discussion and the fact that I still refused to let him kiss me or even see me wear something sexy. So as I reached out, I had to focus on physically arousing him for several minutes. His manhood felt heavy in my hands at first and it just felt awkward to touch a penis from this angle. But like any man, getting felt up by soft feminine hands no matter how inexperienced lead to him growing hard and long. I tried licking along his length, but the first time I felt him twitch against my tongue I had to fight the urge to back away. I tried wetting my palms and rubbing him for a hand job, but just looking at the opening of his cock face me reminded me to strongly of him coming all over my face last time. When I finally stopped beating around the bush and took him inside my mouth I had to fight off the urge to gag and he was nowhere near the entrance to my throat. It wasn't even having him inside my mouth I found revolting, it was my participation. After 40 minutes... 40 minutes that I'm sure were pure frustration to Zeke... I moved away and sat in a chair. When Zeke silently nodded and moved toward the bathroom, I knew he was thinking the night was over and that he was going to jerk off. I couldn't blame him as I'd obviously aroused him, just not enough to finish the job, and certainly not enough to get me that same feeling. While not a physical sensation, I was just as frustrated. This HAD to work. So, when I called him quietly back and prevented him from finishing the job I couldn't do myself I saw his glare and his almost refusal to not just to and get it done. Thankfully he did sit down and I started stammering and stuttering over my words, not really sure how to get them out. When Zeke interrupted, pointed at his still hard cock, and told me to either spit it out or he'd have to go do something about it, I just let go and told him something that felt so wrong coming off of my tongue and out of my mouth. I told him that I couldn't do it, that I couldn't finish him off, and that I needed him to take control like he did the other night. I must have blushed brighter than I'd ever blushed before as my face felt hot while looking down at my crossed legs. Zeke, probably not believing his ears, made me say it again and I said it more succinctly this time. "I need you to be forceful. I need you to use me for your pleasure." I recognized how Zeke must have felt as he made me say that over and over while laying out similar rules, but this time they were more like promises. I promised not to fight against him. At least not to much as he "liked girls with spirit". I promised to let him finish however he wanted, whenever he wanted, and wherever he wanted. I promised to try and deepthroat him if he so desired. I promised to do as he said, when he said it, no matter how demeaning or demoralizing it might be. And finally, I promised him that he could use me twice that night if he came to quickly the first time. That one was particularly hard to agree too as after 'teasing' him for 40 minutes, he was practically guaranteed to get off quickly. His only concession to me was that if I truly, honestly needed him to stop I was to signal that by clawing painfully at his legs. His suggestion of using a safeword showed just how aroused he was and how little he was thinking this through. For the foreseeable future my mouth wasn't going to be for speaking. My suggestion of my safeaction being simply pushing against his legs was thrown out because he thought of that simply as spice. He explained that me struggling against him was arousing and expected, that only something truly desperate would pull him out of his arousal. It made me feel a little smaller, a little less in control, that he actually wanted me to pull away, turn my head away, or otherwise try to avoid him. All so he could be stronger in his eyes and force his will over mine. Once everything was understood between us, Zeke wasted little time and stepped up in front of me. He didn't even let me get off the chair before he was gathering my hair up into another ponytail. I tried my best to not move away or stop him from doing it as I didn't want to seem bossy so soon, but the memory of just how much control he had over my head and therefore me, when his hand was gripping my ponytail last time was too much. Pulling my head back and my hair out of his grip I looked up at him and tried to force a little smile as way of apology. What I saw in his eyes was the same arousal and possessiveness that I saw last time. So when he reached out and slapped my face with his hand I wasn't too surprised. Shocked? Pained? Offended? Angered? All of those, but not surprised. My moment of recovering from the sudden pain in my cheek was plenty enough time for Zeke to gather up my hair again and have his new handle. There was far less 'foreplay' this time and I soon enough found his cock sliding between my lips. I honestly wish something had changed between the last time Zeke was taking oral pleasure from me and now, but this was still making me feel small, weak, and used. His command to look up into his eyes just reinforced that feeling. Within a couple minutes, I could feel him swell again and recognized the way his breathing became more strained as the signs of his impending orgasm. I readied myself this time knowing he was going to give me another facial and pearl necklace, if for no other reason than I expressly denied it under my rules. I was wrong. Instead of pulling out, he pulled me forward while pushing his hips toward me at the same time his cock rammed against the entrance to my throat. It was never a surprise when Valentina slid her toy into my throat and it gave me the time to ready myself. This time it was beyond unexpected and my whole body convulsed as I gagged and tried to pull away. My gorge started to rise as I felt him start to throb and spurt right down my throat. Struggling against overpowering nausea and the overwhelming need to breath, I slapped and pushed against Zeke's thighs. But the only response I got was Zeke's louder grunt and groan and him pulling my head even further forward for another two spurts of cum right into my belly. When he finally let go of me and stepped back, plopping loudly from in between my lips, I fell to the floor coughing and using all my will to not retch. I barely heard Zeke's appreciative and demeaning comment as he sat back comfortably in the chair. "God Damn Taylor, that was so fucking hot! You were kind of a dead fish there at first, but you finished off like a real pro!" It took me a full 45 minutes to get myself together. Every time I recalled the feeling of Zeke forcing himself into my throat or thought of his cum sloshing around in my belly, I would almost dry retch. But even as I was calming down from the ordeal, I was also coming to terms that it was a success. Just like last time I felt used, abused, and hurt, but I also felt feminine and womanly. Zeke never moved from the couch or got dressed and when he saw that I was as ready as I was going to get, he commanded me to go "pretty myself up" for him. After cleaning my face up and while applying some fresh cosmetics, I saw and felt something at my reflection that I'd never felt. I recognized why I was feeling it but didn't think it was something I could bring up to Zeke as I would just have to live with this feeling and it may well be the reason I feel so much like a woman after these events. Looking into the mirror the only word that seemed appropriate for my reflection was whore. I was allowing Zeke to make me into his whore. When I came out of the bathroom I tried to put on a smile as I figured we'd talk over what happened, but Zeke didn't even look over at me as he tapped the floor in front of him with his bare foot. Once I was standing in front of him, he reached out quickly, took my wrist in his strong hand, spun me around, and dropped me to sit in his lap. The squeaky surprised "eek" that spilled past my lips was indeed feminine and bordering on girly. Zeke wasted no time in positioning me as he wanted. He spread my knees wide and placed them on the outside of his own legs. When he spread his legs, mine went with them spreading me lewdly wide. My skirt was still covered my caged penis but just barely. Zeke made quick work of the rest of my clothes. When I felt his hands on the bottom my teeshirt I only had a split second to raise up my arms before he was pulling it up and over my head. With it tossed across the room he pushed me forward enough to unhook my bra and it soon joined my tee. I couldn't stop the low moan from spilling past my lips as Zeke reached up and cupped both of my breasts. His forefingers and thumbs quickly found and started pinching my nipples making them harden and making me gasp from the combined shock, pain, and undeniable pleasure. With one hand remaining focused on my breasts, Zeke slowly brought his hand up my chest and neck. The tips of his fingers barely dragged across my skin but still felt amazingly sexy. When they came up to slowly circle and draw over my lips I couldn't help but let out a low long moan. And as soon as my mouth was open, two of his fingers slid easily in. I wanted to leave my mouth hanging open and not close my lips around his invading fingers but his command of "suck" took that option away. As unsexy as I found being in this position and sucking on Zeke's fingers, my body just couldn't deny the pleasure coming from my breasts. My locked penis started to grow and was soon filling up all the space it could take. Soon enough, as it continued to engorge with no room to grow, that pleasure would turn to pain and at least it would be like looking at my own reflection... teaching me to NOT be aroused by conditions like this. I found myself wiggling around in his lap knowing full well what my ass over his naked groin must feel like but unable to stop. My movement, however, stopped as soon as I felt Zeke's hand leave my breast and flip up my skirt. I tried to ask what he was doing as I felt his hand fumbling around with my cage but his fingers remained pressed against my tongue, muffling my speech. The unintelligible sounds coming from my mouth took on a far more urgent tone when I felt the lock open and the cage fall apart over my growing penis. When Zeke flipped my skirt back over my groin I let out a frustrated groan as I now didn't have that pavlovian block. And knowing that training as well as any grad student would, I recognized that being painfully denied arousal when seeing sexy women and being free to arouse when getting sexually used and abused AS a woman would only further 'train' my instincts to like this stimulus. Being free to arouse was vastly different than encouraging or even edging my arousal. With my legs splayed open like this I couldn't try and capture my cock between my thighs to get me over the edge and any time my hands moved toward my groin Zeke would order me to not touch myself. The touch on my penis was the flimsy skirt slipping and sliding around it, leaving me craving and starved for direct stimulation. It seemed, however, that Zeke had plenty of other stimulus for me. Zeke's fingers never left my mouth. Most of the time they were pulsing in and out while I sucked on them as ordered, but occasionally they would slide out and draw over my lips, just like he did with his cock. His cock grew as expected under my dancing bouncing ministrations. Sometimes his hand would grip my hip and guide my arousing motions to be more overt. At one point he actually got his cock to line up with my ass cheeks and then any twitch or twerk from me was translated along his entire sizable length. I tried to keep the movements of my skirted ass as little as possible, but when Zeke wasn't guiding me into a grinding raunchy lap dance, he was pinching and pulling on my nipples. And no matter how much I mentally prepared myself for that stimuli, I couldn't help but jump and bounce from his finger's actions. The action of my ass on Zeke's cock wasn't enough to get him off, but I learned that the little bit of stimulation from my skirt and the massive overpowering stimulation of my breasts and lips were enough for me to cum. My orgasm was frustratingly weak and left me just as aroused as before. He must have been guiding me like his puppet for 20 minutes before he changed to the main show. With only a minor grunt of effort, Zeke gripped my waist, lifted me as he stood, and plopped me lying down on the floor. When I saw him step over me with one leg on either side of me I tried to scootch away, imagining, knowing, what was coming next. My fears were made into realty as Zeke quickly lowered himself over my chest. He captured my arms and with little effort and slid them alongside my body where could hold me straight using just his lower legs. When he lifted himself up off my breasts and made his cock loom directly over my face, I started to shake and tremble and try to break free even knowing I had no chance to buck him with his weight and leverage advantage. He just smiled as he took his cock in hand and started drawing it over my lips. No matter where I turned my head, his cock followed, reminding me what my lips were for. When he ordered my tongue out like before I did so quickly while also letting out a sob. I'm sure Zeke thought that my sob was from the thought of him slapping my tongue again with his manhood. And yes, that was demoralizing and humiliating all over again without losing any of its original sting. But the sob specifically came from a memory that was about to be destroyed. The image of him looking down at me, with contempt and ownership was covering up the memory of her looking down at me with love and compassion. My boyfriend slapping my tongue while I mewled with humiliation was dimming the memory of my girlfriend caressing my cheek as I moaned with adoration. Zeke sliding his cock in between my lips and ordering me to suck was eclipsing Valentina lowering her pussy to my lips and requesting me to lick. When I couldn't lie still under Valentina, it was from my own overpowering passions, but me being unable to lie still under Zeke was simply from my overpowering desire to stop this fantasy destroying act. I'd willingly do so much more degrading things just to save this romantic memory but even stopping him was denied me. With his legs gripping me tightly I couldn't move my arms to scratch at him at all. All I could do was lie there and drive myself mad trying to escape this horror show. When Zeke finally finished, he surprised me again. Instead of diving into my throat while he had me in the perfect position or sitting back and spraying all over my breasts, neck, face, and hair, he took another new route for me. When he slid almost all the way out of me it wasn't anything new. He did that often and I'd learned quickly that he wanted me to lavish the underside of his cock head with my tongue while gripping him tightly with my lips. I'd probably done it seven times that night alone so I simply repeated my actions. Instead of being met with his happy grunt and the continued fucking of my mouth I was met with his loud roar of ecstasy as he came in my mouth. The very actions he had me doing before seemed perfectly designed for this as when I felt the first hot spurt of cum hit my mouth my lips gripped harder, my tongue flicked more fervently, and I instinctually swallowed. I may have only swallowed his first spurt, letting him fill my mouth with his musky spunk, but I was still awestruck that I'd done so with such abandon. When Zeke slid out of my mouth, I started turning my head to the side so I could spit out his deposited goo but his voice stopped me, commanding me to look up into his eyes. With his cock in hand he started tapping my lips as he casually told me not to waste any of his 'prize' and to swallow it all down. I didn't think I had any more pride left until I had to swallow it down along with a mouth full of Zeke's cum. Thankfully Zeke didn't even want to talk when we were done. He simply stood up, told me to put my cage back on and go straight to bed, and went into the bathroom. When I laid down, I let out another frustrated sigh, unsure if Zeke was doing this on purpose or if he was accidently training my subconscious. Without the chance to brush my teeth or use some mouthwash, I was going to taste his cum all night and probably wake up to its flavor. I really do wish that the nights activities didn't work. That I woke up feeling hurt and abused and angry and not the least bit feminine, but that just wasn't true. I woke up feeling small and weak and sorrowful and as feminine as I ever have. I quickly got the coffee going for Zeke before getting into the bathroom and cleaning myself up. I turns out I was right about Zeke's flavor and even though I brushed my teeth the entire time I was showering, I still had the slight flavor of him on the back of my tongue. I could barely look at Zeke the entire day but as we sat down to dinner, I shared with him that it was working. That I felt I could do a good job with the group again. I spent the rest of the night nervous that he was going to get started again, but we surprisingly just watched a movie while cuddled up on the couch. His arm was around me and my head rested on his shoulder, but that was fine. The rest of the week, as we set up a repeat presentation of my breasts to a study group went fine. Zeke kept us to a friendly sexless relationship as we both focused on my performance with our group. I had the same flirty repertoire with the photographer, I was all smiles and feminine grace with the video conference, and even squealed in joy when we saw the raw data. 98% acceptance. We were close. We were so close! On Saturday, after dinner, Zeke pulled me into a kiss. I tried to pull away but he grabbed my arms and pulled them both behind me while he continued to have his way with me. When he backed away from the kiss and said this was my one opportunity to back out I immediately told him that I didn't want, nor need this. I was left alone with my shock a moment later as Zeke let go of my arms, gave a mumbled apology for going too far, and went into his bedroom. I realized later, when I heard Zeke masturbating, that this has to be frustrating for him. In the past week he moved from living with a beautiful woman who was open with him and shared in his fantasy of how a housewife should act to having mind-blowing sex with her at the drop of a hat. Mind- blowing at least for him. As much as I didn't want to go down that path again, I could freely understand how that would make him feel. Knowing I was to blame for him feeling this way, I went and quietly entered his room. I had to let out a quiet shudder when I saw that he wasn't just masturbating, he was sitting in his chair masturbating to pictures of me on his computer screen. I had a moment of doubt but pushed it aside as now I just wanted to help him out. I helped by cooking, by cleaning, by presenting myself pretty for his pleasure, and by complying with his idea of submissive femininity. If I was going to deny him using me directly for sexual gratification, I could at least help him with the venting of those frustrations. When I kneeled next to his computer chair and reached over to cup his balls, he recoiled so fast I swear I thought he was going to fly through the roof. I just smiled up at him and said in my softest, most pleasant feminine voice "Here... Let me take care you." Maybe it was my own sexual frustration building up. I mean, I had been wearing the cage ever since last weekend and hadn't orgasmed since riding Zeke's lap. But something about seeing my well manicured hand wrapped around Zeke's lubricated cock felt good. It was still wrong on so many levels, but it felt good to help Zeke out like this. I could feel myself grow painfully hard in my cage but I wasn't sure if that was from seeing nearly nude pictures of me on Zeke's big screen or from holding his big cock. Zeke cumming while I gave him a hand job was the same as him cumming while I sucked him off. It was loud, practically violent, and got a mess everywhere. I could see the desire in his eyes as soon as I looked up from my hand covered in "his prize" but ignored the silent request there. I wasn't going to lick his cum from my hand. Instead I stood up, went into the bathroom, cleaned my hand up, and returned to clean up Zeke's manhood. Sunday, while we were cuddled up in our favorite position on the couch watching some movie on Netflix, Zeke gently grabbed my hand and laid it on his crotch. I could feel him hard under his pants and knew immediately what he wanted. I also knew that I'd set a precedent the night before by "taking care of him". So, while resting my head on Zeke's shoulder and with his arm holding me close I undid his pants, pulled him out, and gave him a casual hand job. He was thankfully quieter this time but still loud enough to drown out the movie for a few moments. Afterward I repeated my actions and cleaned myself and then him up. It didn't really seem to matter what we were doing for the rest of the week. Watching television, having a late dinner, crunching data, playing X-Box... at some point Zeke would silently let me know he was horny and I would "take care of him". On Saturday he was particularly randy and I got him off once in the morning and once at our normal evening timeframe. Sunday I jerked him off three times. We continued into the next week as we started prepping for what we hoped to be our final study group, letting them hear my voice, but half way through something happened. I tried to blame it on just knowing that those people would be hearing my name, but after a couple days of less than normal behavior I had to admit it was happening again. I was losing that femininity again. A quiet part of me had hoped that giving all those hand jobs would serve as booster shots, but by Wednesday night, I had to admit that it was either approach Zeke and ask for sex, or possibly block the research again. Zeke was happy to comply but before we got into it he said that we should look at my behavior over the past days. He started listing acts I'd done that were less than my normal feminine self ranging from burning dinner one night to not wanting to dress up in my home 50's style dresses one late night. I tried to correct Zeke's perception but even I had to admit that it wasn't a sudden change in the last couple days. It was a slide that stared a day after having sex. Zeke said he would be happy to have a single night of sex like we did last time but thought it would be better if we made it a regular event. That I submit myself to him sexually whenever he wants and that through those repeated sex acts, I could remain my normal feminine self as we finished the research. I took my time considering what he was offering. At the rate of feminine decay Zeke's sex had on me, one night wouldn't even get us through this round, let alone any last-minute changes or reversing course and removing the feminine bits one by one. But if he could retain his stamina, and all the cum he shot on my hands said he could indeed retain it, a nightly sucking of him would keep me in the right mindset as long as I needed. And while I knew it would be difficult tonight and for the next few nights, I also knew that no repeating task could have that horror level effect continue on. I'd get used to it. What eventually made up my mind was Zeke's second offer. That maybe oral sex could only take me so far and that he'd be willing to try anal sex in the right position if I thought it might be more helpful. Agreeing to getting orally used nightly seemed far more pleasant than agreeing to getting fucked at all. And so, our new pattern started. I no longer gave Zeke hand jobs and instead submitted to his desire for a blow job whenever he wanted. By week's end, Zeke showed me that he didn't lack one bit for creativity, and that his stamina was bigger than I could have ever imagined. Our normal routine was a blow job sometime before we left for school, and another sometime in the evening. While the frequency was regular, the place, position, and pace of the oral sex was as varied as could be. By the time we were doing our next photo shoot I'd already sucked Zeke off on the couch, in his bed, in the shower, in my bed, under the kitchen table, and even in his car one late night after class. There were times that he made it last for over an hour while other times he'd cum within a few minutes of starting. Our normal routine also included the removal of my cage. I was truly conflicted on that as I was always happy to get some physical freedom from its confinement but I knew that getting aroused and cumming myself while sucking off Zeke was really getting to me. By the next weekend I would feel myself get aroused, both my caged penis and my nipples growing hard, when Zeke mentioned it was time for some fun. My mind knew it was time for a humiliating experience of being used as sexual relief, but my body knew it was time for its own released and was looking forward to it. Zeke occasionally came on my face and neck. He came once on my breasts and another time into my held-out hands. But his absolute favorite way to cum was in my mouth. It only took a few times to get down exactly what he wanted of me during these orgasms. He wanted me to suck him hard while licking him furiously, and not swallow a drop until he directly told me to. While the exact times he had me hold his cum in my mouth varied, it was on a distinctly upward trend. And our 'treatment' worked exactly as we wanted, especially once I got used to it and didn't feel so down afterward. I was in my full feminine glory all the time now. The only thing that unnerved me or put me on edge was Zeke's teasing that he would still eventually have to fuck me. I tried to just tack this up as some fairly intense dirty talk, but his talk became more and more real. First came the butt plugs. During one of my sucking sessions while I was on my hands and knees, he reached over me, lubed up my ass, and slid a plug into it. It was our longest oral session to date so I felt that full feeling for over 45 minutes before he let me swallow his "prize" and take out the anal invader. It became clear that he wanted me to wear it all the time as he started checking to see if I was "stretching for him" before most of our oral sessions. When it felt like wearing a plug was becoming normal, he gave me a long thin dildo and told me to masturbate with it each night for at least 15 minutes. I thought he was joking so I meekly told him I'd do it with no thought of actually going through it, but that night he checked on me and when he realized I had no intent of going through with his command he pulled me over his knee and gave me a spanking. I've seen Zeke work out. He's not a body builder by any stretch of the imagination, but he keeps himself fit. If he wanted to physically hurt me by slapping his hand against my ass, he could do it. This wasn't that. This was him demonstrating to me in a far more humiliating way than we'd done before, that he was in command and that there were consequences to me not complying with his orders. The physical pain was gone within an hour, but the emotional pain lasted much longer. He hasn't had to spank me again as now the mere threat is all he needs to bring up. He also hasn't had to ask me to masturbate with "little Zeke" again as I dutifully laid back, lifted my legs up, and slid the dildo in and out of my ass for at least 20 minutes each and every night. It took a couple extra trials with minor differences, but when we finally reached 100% of our audience believing I was female, our entire group went out to celebrate. Zeke was in a particularly celebratory mood and had me deepthroating him on the way to the hotel ball room. It was the first time I'd taken Zeke deep enough to tickle my nose with his pubic hair so when we arrived, I wasn't too surprised that my voice was a bit rough. And without a toothbrush or mouthwash handy our big champagne toast for our glorious accomplishment of course tasted like Zeke's prize. Halfway through the party Zeke told everybody that he was going to take me home as my throat was still bothering me. I thought it was sweet as my throat really was bothering me. When we got to the coat check room, we found out that the attendant was only there until eight o'clock and that we'd have to get our own coats. When we stepped behind the little half door Zeke got a crazy grin on his face and pulled me in for a very long sensual kiss. I could feel my arousal rise as this was often how Zeke would signal his desire and knew that he would be very randy by the time we got home. My mistake was assuming he could wait until we got home. When I felt his hands move to my shoulders I only had time to whisper out "Here? Now?" Here. Now. Zeke pressed me down behind the half door and locked it from the inside. Then, while looking out into the hotel hallway, unzipped himself, pulled out his growing cock, and started rubbing it over my face. I tried another quiet protest but then heard someone approaching the door. Zeke started pressing at my lips until I opened up and let him slide in. I had to keep my head pressed against the backing of the door as Zeke's first thrust pushed me into it making a noticeable knock. So with my head immobilized not physically but with the threat of discovery, Zeke was free to start leisurely sliding in and out between my lips. I wasn't sure if Zeke was trying to make this last longer or just being careful, but every time I heard someone approaching the coat room he'd slow down. When the steps were receding away, he'd pick up his pace again. At one point, when I'm assuming no one was near, Zeke quickly knelt down next to me. My renewed protest was quickly hushed away as he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked my cage. He let it simply fall to the floor as he pawed at my blouse then my bra. I'm fairly sure he tore my blouse in opening it so quickly and he didn't remove my bra as much as pull it down and exposing my breasts that way. I barely had time to give him a questioning look when we heard someone coming closer. Zeke stood up quickly and thrust his cock at me. He was nowhere near my mouth and slid his precum across my nose and cheek, almost poking me in the eye. When he pulled back, evidently readying for another attempt I reached up and guided him home. But instead of moving he simply stood still. I couldn't figure out why and was about to try and push him away when I heard her voice. The highest ranked person on our research team was the Dean of Practical Research, Dr Hemingworth. Dr Hemingworth wasn't around us all that often but she oversaw all of the thesis research projects. She was aware of our recent success and had even spoken at the party. Now she was inches behind me with only a thin layer of wood separating us. If she saw what Zeke and I were doing, we'd be done. They'd already pushed Valentina out for far less. I listened to their conversation for several moments, cringing any time Zeke said something that kept the conversation moving instead of bringing it to a quick close. I was afraid to move but surprised to note that even though Zeke was face to face with someone that could ruin our academic and professional careers, he was staying hard in between my lips. When I felt Zeke's hand snake down to the back of my head, it became clear. Zeke wasn't scared like me... he was getting off on this. I didn't dare protest or try to make any noise at all. And as pushing back against his hand might make Zeke grimace or otherwise look strange enough to warrant a closer look, I let him glide my encompassing lips further down his length. After so much time sucking Zeke off both of us knew exactly how far he could go into my mouth before there was a distinct threat of me gagging, and he stopped just before that point. Then, just as slowly as he pulled me forward, he started guiding me back. The little pat on my head humiliatingly, but clearly, told me that he wanted me to retain that depth and rhythm. Still fearing discovery, I didn't balk and just started slowly giving Zeke his first 'public' blow job. Sucking him like this kept me on edge. Every single thing seemed distracting or noisy. Zeke also seemed to take great relish in making this hard for me. First was just letting my penis free. It was hard within a few moments and I felt it trying to tent out my panties to the breaking point. It gave me pressure, but not enough to reach orgasm. I didn't think it would be possible for me to cum like this anyway as the anxiety was almost too much to bear. But then Zeke added another layer. After talking to some random couple at a nearby wedding reception he pulled out of me, pulled his belt free, and then slid back into my mouth as his pants slid down his legs. With an audible chuckle he re-positioned his legs. I thought, at first, it was just to keep me closer to the door but then I felt his legs brush over my exposed breasts. Over my exposed, hard, nipples. The shock of his hairy legs brushing over that sensitive part of my body sent my arousal skyrocketing. Eventually I was able to push past my nerves and start participating more actively. Sucking him more forcefully, licking more aggressively, even sliding back far enough to free him of my mouth and slap his cock onto my outstretched tongue. Thankfully that had him close enough that he came only a few moments later. I swallowed his seed down quickly and pulled my clothes back together. I had to frustratingly remain crouched down for several more minutes as I hadn't been pushed far enough to cum myself and therefore had to wait for my hardon to go down on its own. Finally, with fresh lipstick on, a spritz of perfume to cover up the musky post coital smell, and my coat draped over my shoulders, Zeke drove me home. Once we were settled in, I saw Zeke pull my cage from his pocket and approach me. I wasn't surprised by the decision drop to my knees and suck Zeke off again. I knew that if I wanted any chance to cum it would only come with him in my mouth, and after that ordeal I was incredibly aroused, incredibly frustrated, and desperately wanted to get some relief. I even took the extra step of slipping out of my blouse and bra so that I could rub my breasts over Zeke's legs just for the extra stimulation. No, what surprised me was that there was no internal dialog against giving a blow job in exchange for the chance to cum. There was no part of me speaking up that the humiliation of going down on a man again wasn't worth the few seconds of bliss. No mental part of me tried to rationalize that my arousal would go away soon enough and I would have another chance the next night. Nothing. Just the willing trade of sucking off Zeke for the chance... the mere CHANCE... at cumming myself! After another feeding of Zeke's cum, it took us fifteen minutes and eventually a bag of ice pressed between my legs to get my hard-on down and the cage back in place. As I lie in my bed, curled up in a fetal position and try not to let the angry tears roll down my cheeks, I believe I finally understand the tales of women frustrated by having sex with their boyfriend, husband, or even a stranger and not orgasming themselves. While Zeke gets to lie back peacefully and drift off into slumber, his balls drained twice within an hour, I can't even approach sleep as my sexual frustration and arousal just won't come down. While he gets the knowledge, no matter how wrong, that I love him and enjoy going down on him with enthusiasm, I get to wallow in the fact that I was too good at sucking him off and didn't give myself time to cum myself. While his dreams will probably be filled with pleasant but nonsexual imagery, my mind will constantly be replaying giving him his blowjobs while my hands rub over my breasts, still seeking a release that this chastity device will never allow. AND my dreams will likely be filled with the same; sucking off my man without any release for me. We may have taken a few extra days to process the data we had, but soon enough we started planning out the reverse course. We wanted to project what reversing my feminizing enhancements would do to our numbers and see if we could predict what every step would bring. If everything went according to our roadmap, I'd be getting my breasts removed in three months and start to reduce my feminine mannerisms within a year. Everybody looked at the plan and was happy with its trajectory, while I could only look at it and think of the personal toll that it required. Wearing the clothes, applying my cosmetics, styling my hair, these would all be easy as they were truly second nature now. They'd have to last until almost the end, nearly 18 months away. But walking, talking, and BEING feminine required my sexual relationship with Zeke to continue. Not for the entire year and a half but being a whore for Zeke during the past month has changed me in ways I'm not sure will pass once I stop giving him head. I now think about that and get as aroused as I did before when I thought of having sex with women. And now very few thoughts of having sex with women entered my head. In the month since I started regularly giving Zeke his oral pleasures, I'd moved from horrified, to humiliated, to embarrassed, to ambivalent, and was now turning the corner toward desire. I wanted almost anything else to be true, but I couldn't deny my own feelings and as evening approached, I found myself wondering how Zeke would take me. I found myself growing aroused at the thought of going down on him. And he still teased and hinted at taking me from behind all the time. Could I continue to deny him that pleasure for a whole year? Could I continue to deny that the thought of being taken that way wasn't arousing me too? Our research may very well reach a new problem as they try to give me my masculinity back. By the time I need to stop acting female, it might not be an act. I entered into this research as the transformation subject a I was comfortable in my sexuality, but I had severe doubts I'd ever get back to the man I was. Or that I'd want to return to being that person from my past. Unfortunately, I didn't feel that I could share these thoughts with anybody. Certainly not Zeke, but not Darla or my therapist or the group either. So, for the next two months life went on. We started our project back up and I did my photo and video shoots. I got progressively more and more into sucking Zeke off, going so far as to suggest it when he didn't seem as interested. And my anal training continued with larger and larger dildos to practice with and a larger remotely controlled vibrating anal plug that Zeke could tease me with any time of the day. And he did tease me with it a lot. The sexiest photo of me was taken the week he gave it to me. Everybody just thought it was a particularly fun photo shoot for me and that it shown through the lens. They didn't know that Zeke had turned it on full blast making my eyes open wide in shock and my smile increase in size as I tried to hide my surprise. After our first successful down playing of my femininity and a weekend of reflection and relaxation, Monday started out normally. I awoke at my normal five thirty with plenty of time to pretty myself up for Zeke. Once I had the coffee going, I went into the bathroom and slipped my night plug from my rear. After cleaning it fully and giving it it's required thankful kiss, I set it on my nightstand and made sure my day plug was fully charged for the day ahead. After the shower I took my time on the newest addition to my routine. A little research showed that daily enemas weren't the best thing for people, so Zeke said I could reduce them to just Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Once my rear's cleaning is done I move into my bedroom, slide my day plug in with it's green jewel shining pretty between my cheeks and sit down to put on my makeup while it buzzes away on it's lowest setting. It doesn't seem like this affect is going to wear off, as even though I'm soon painfully hard against my cage, I'm still fully and amazingly aroused. I guess Darla was right that night she came over and we discussed moving on to anal sex. My only complaint that night was that with Zeke's size, I was afraid it would just hurt to much. Her response that anal stimulation, especially when combined with prostate stimulation, could quickly overcome most types of pain. With it constantly edging me on, I get my makeup and hair perfect before slipping into my pink poodle skirt and my tight off the shoulder blouse. While fringed bobby socks and mary janes would be more appropriate to this outfit, I know that Zeke loves my stockings and garters so I have those on underneath with a matching pair of pink heels. When Zeke gets up, he seems particularly distracted so I let him have his time without disturbing him with my concerns. When breakfast is done and Zeke's finished his second cup of coffee, I'm starting to feel uncomfortable. I adore Zeke's creativity and the way he always keeps me guessing, but he's never gone this long without acknowledging me. Without pulling me into a deep soul-searching kiss or pulling me into his lap to feed him. Without having me stand next to him so he can fondle and pat my ass or having me kneel before him so I can nuzzle and kiss between his legs. At the very least, I'm used to him either turning my day plug off by now or turning it up to it's highest setting which leaves me whining and squirming with desire. I bite at my lip and look at the empty table as I wonder how to ask what's wrong. It's not like we don't talk regularly and it's not like I don't start conversations with him, but it's just been engrained in me that it's not my place to question him. Asking why he isn't paying attention to me seems like it would be to close to me questioning his motives. When Zeke finally moves, it's obvious he's made up his mind about something. I'm not sure what exactly and any concern about it is blown away when he comes over and gives me the long wet good morning kiss that I'd been needing. He tells me to get ready for a day out and then steps into the shower to get himself ready. It takes me longer than normal to pick out an outfit as it occurs to me that we've never been out during the day. I've been out alone plenty of times for shopping, getting our dry cleaning, and running a dozen other errands but I dressed comfortable for those trips. Generally, a peasant skirt and a sweater top that showed off my belly button or a pleated skirt with a crop top. We'd been out together plenty of times, but those were at night. Dressed down for a night at the bar or dressed up for a night at the club. I finally settled on a floral cocktail dress that was nice but not too fancy. I matched it with some nude seamed Cuban heeled stockings and a pair of fun strappy heeled sandals. I styled my hair down so that if Zeke wanted to pull it up into a ponytail and use it as a handle he could, but otherwise it would be fun and breezy. Last, I finally washed off my slutty morning makeup and applied something elegant and graceful. At the last minute though, I re-applied my bright red lipstick hoping that Zeke would get the hint. He didn't. He barely seemed to notice my outfit as he guided me out to his car and we drove off. I slipped on my sunglasses and had to pull a silk scarf from the glovebox as Zeke put the top down. With my hair contained I refocused on Zeke. He still seemed distracted and at this point I know he needed some help. I really only have one great skill to relax him so I take the initiative and unbuckle my seat belt. Zeke turns to face me when I lean over and start unzipping him, but I see whatever he was concerned with leave his eyes and get replaced with one of joy and happiness. Excited that I can make him feel this way I pull his hardening cock out, lean further over, and take it in my mouth. He fumbles with my cage for a bit and can't get it off until we're at a stop light. Thankfully he pulls my dress back down before someone pulls up next to us. I blush while bobbing up and down in Zeke's lap as I hear the hoot and hollers from the car next to us but keep going as I know that Zeke's smile must be a mile wide. I also get a thrill knowing that I'm showing these jokers that Zeke is a real man, and by extension, I'm a real woman. Once we're on the freeway and Zeke is able to sit back a bit and really enjoy himself, I start focusing on my technique. Simply bobbing up and down on him would be fine, but I really want to show him that I'm here for him so I glide my tongue around his girth and clamp my lips tightly around him. I suck at him like I'm trying to get a golf ball through a garden hose. And of course, I add the moaning and humming that I've found out he really loves. It doesn't take long before he's shooting in my mouth. I swallow down all of his prize as he gives it to me knowing that it's just not a good idea to try and save it, show it to him, and then swallow it in the car. Too much chance for a mess. As if his loud groan of ecstasy wasn't enough to tell me I did a good job, Zeke awards me while I'm cleaning him up. I feel the plug start ramping up while his hand comes down to play with my breasts. At the last minute as I'm writhing and moaning, I pull my scarf off and slip it under my dress so that it catches all of my girly emissions. I leave the scarf there for a moment as I give Zeke's amazing manhood a final kiss before slipping him back into his pants, soft and fully satisfied by my efforts. I get him to laugh and giggle as I come up, my hair starting to fly wild, as I toss the scarf up into the air and let it fly away. I happily get my self cleaned back up by slipping my cage back into place and giving Zeke the key back before gathering another scarf from the glovebox and getting my hair under control. The last step is to use the mirror to apply another coat of lipstick as I'd left most of my previous application on Zeke's cock. Feeling pretty and happy that I'd helped Zeke, I sit back and enjoy our ride together. He doesn't seem to have a location in mind and in fact just travels around in lazy circles. When we finally stop it's at a small grocer where we pick up some premade sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, a tiny pie made just for two, a bottle of wine, and all the accessories we'd need for a romantic picnic lunch including an adorable wicker picnic basket. With our basket put together Zeke takes us across town to a small but private and charming park. Zeke pulls out his phone and makes a few calls while I go about setting up our outing. Throughout our meal I try to keep our conversation light and breezy, simply wanting Zeke to enjoy our day date out as much as I am, but I see the hint of unease around his eyes even as he laughs at my jokes and sneaks quick lovely kisses in. By the time I start cleaning up, I can see that Zeke just isn't relaxing. I consider looking for a private spot where I can let my lips do their magic on him again, but finally decide on a more direct path. The choice of actively offering my help isn't an easy one as our relationship just doesn't work that way as of late. Zeke leads. I follow. In fact, the only thing I've taken an active role in this past month or so has been initiating sex. And even then, that wasn't often as Zeke was very attentive and knew when he wanted to receive pleasure from me. But it was clear Zeke was having difficulty with something and if I had any chance of helping him, I needed to be there for him. Just like he's been there for me, keeping me feeling lovely and sexy and feminine. When everything is put away I guide Zeke over to the private side of a large oak tree, have him sit comfortably, then lower myself into his lap. It doesn't take too much to get him to open up and at first I think he must be joking. But the more casual details he adds, the more the chance diminishes of this being a prank. Our research group has been under investigation for the past ten days. It seems some of the girls in the group have noticed the difference in me as of late. While Zeke and I had been careful to keep our relationship away from the group, they still suspected us of having sex. They'd gone beyond our research coordinator and even the research advisors that had thrown Valentina out of our group. This investigation was from the board of regents and was being taken very seriously. Terms like sexual harassment, sexual misconduct, sexual assault, and even sexual abuse were being thrown around. And while this was bad for Zeke, the investigation didn't simply focus on him. It was focusing on everybody. I wasn't being looked upon as merely a victim in this investigation as they weren't sure if I were the abused or the abuser. They were investigating Leilani and making allegations that she was abusing me way back in the beginning. They were investigating Darla saying she was manipulating me psychologically as well as physically. No one is the group was safe as they were even looking into our research itself, looking to see if we were following our original thesis or if we were manipulating the data to get the results we wanted. I felt myself begin to shiver even as Zeke pulled me close and kissed the top of my head lovingly. I may have been removed from the day to day decision making of the group, but I knew all too well the difficulties in establishing a research trust and getting grants to support our expensive experimentation. We had to be as professional and as thorough as any other research group and even the accusation of academic impropriety could have devastating consequences. None of us were na?ve in thinking that we were getting funding merely to improve our knowledge of the human mind. Our research got funding because it had commercial appeal. If corporations knew better how men looked at women, they could better select models and spokespeople to represent themselves. They could target their advertising both to men and women better. But if our research was looked upon as tainted, then the results would be junk science at best. Worthless at worst. And more devastating than the thought of our academic and professional careers going up in smoke was what would happen to me. Our plan had always been to fund the research as we were going and that stream of funding would pay for all the photographers, the video groups, the study groups, the cosmetics and clothes.... and my surgeries. No academic standing meant no research. No research meant no grants. No grants meant no surgeries. And no surgeries meant I'd be stuck in this body. I'd already been concerned what being in this body and this mindset for another year would do to me personally, but looking beyond that, what would happen to me if I had to remain in this body with little to no hope of returning to my masculine self. It's not as though I could personally afford the hundreds of thousands of dollars in surgical costs. Maybe if my family were to help? They could get a second mortgage on their house or sell off their mountain cabin, but would they? They'd already made it clear that they didn't like the idea of me studying anything sexually related. Their conservative views were deep and wide and had no place for a man changing into a woman or a woman changing into a man, regardless if it was for science or a true desire to change genders. Would they even want to acknowledge that their son had willingly and even eagerly gone through dozens of procedures to look, move, sound, and BE a woman? Would they even consider me their son if they got any indication of what I'd been doing with Zeke? I didn't have to think on that for too long as the obvious answer was no. I could see my father now, closing the door on me and telling me to come back only when I was his son again. I took comfort from Zeke's soft touch as he stroked my hair and murmured reassuringly in my ear. At the same time, I tried to hold myself together. Zeke was just as scared as me and needed my support. By the time the sun started to set, we gathered everything up and returned home. It's often said that remaining in a familiar pattern can keep you centered and calm, so I was happy that Zeke didn't waste any time. The picnic basket wasn't out of my hand for more than five seconds before I was spun around and being kissed by Zeke. My plug ramped its vibrations up to almost full intensity making me writhe and moan into Zeke's mouth. Our rising passions washed away the doubts and concerns and I fell slave to my feelings toward my man. I let Zeke lift me up into his arms and carry me into my room. I blushed and squirmed as I saw him readying my nightly masturbatory task by lubing up my second largest dildo. When he sat down on the edge of my bed and patted his lap I slipped out of my panties, pulled my dress up, and laid down over his legs, exposing my rear to him. The first time Zeke insisted on helping me directly was awful. I had only recently got my head around lying back and guiding a lubricated dildo into my rear, and most of the prescribed 20 minutes was teasing myself into relaxation so that I could get the beasts into me. So, when Zeke joined me, he didn't see me relaxed and able to slide it in with or without pleasure. But I felt embarrassed for more than being watched as I tried to screw myself, I felt embarrassed because this position put my caged cock on full display. I could actually watch Zeke's eyes flit around that part of my body, avoiding it. The next time he suggested I try laying with my head in the pillows and my ass high in the air. It made it a little better, but I could still feel that bit of me swinging around in full view of Zeke, making me feel less than worthy of his care and concern. That's how we came to this position. With me laid over his lap I could reach back and play with toy and my rear for his viewing pleasure. It was an awkward position though and stretched my shoulders out something awful to reach around like that. Zeke, being commandingly comforting took the toy out of my hands, bade me to rest down, and started toying the soon to be invader around my tightly puckered hole. Like calming a jittery horse, Zeke was able to get me to relax. A hand running through my hair. Smooth words whispered and felt more than heard. A light loving pat on my fully exposed cheek.... Both face and rear cheeks. And when he was finally able to slide the toy inside of me I was able to truly focus on the feelings it inspired in me and not on position or grip or pressure. My legs wiggled in the air on one side of Zeke while my back arched to better let my long low soulful groan come out. And where I would be afraid to take the toy deeper, instead just working an inch or two inside of me, Zeke was strong enough to push past my feeble scared barriers. On that first night my eyes must have been popping out of my head as he had the full 7 inches inside of me. The next night, without the wasted time of me trying to accomplish what Zeke was so easily able to do, Zeke had me writhing and bucking in pleasure as the toy repeatedly hit my prostate sending some of the most pleasurable bursts through my body that I've ever experienced. Zeke had said once I could comfortably accommodate the last size, he'd take me himself as he was only slightly wider and longer than the toy. I'd doubted him on the size comparison until one night I'd held and examined the final training toy. It was incredibly realistically shaped with a flared crown of a head and thick veins running its entire length. It felt large and heavy in my petit hands, but it was hard to compare to Zeke as I never held his cock like this, being able to move and spin it around. So, the only real test I could think of, to confirm that this toy was neither as thick nor as long as Zeke was to take it in my mouth. I wrapped my lips around the plastic fake cock and was shocked by two things. First, that indeed it wasn't as large as Zeke, but the more surprising revelation was that having this monster in my mouth was calming. I closed my eyes and let out a moan of pleasure just from having the beast in between my lips, pressing my tongue down, and tapping at my throat like Zeke would. The realization that I enjoyed giving head and not specifically enjoyed giving head to Zeke was one of those watershed moments. So, here and now, laying over Zeke's knees, he calmed me in the way that only he can. Gently, he reached around me and took my cage off, letting me swell and grow as I felt his fingers slip and slide around my puckered rear. As always, I tried to hold still for him but my desires got the best of me and I soon found myself writhing and wiggling under his attentions. My member wiggled freely in the air, unseen between Zeke's legs getting no attention but growing and growing none the less. And when he finally slid the toy inside of me my wiggling and writhing turned into pushing and bucking. I'd learned with enough of Zeke's lessons that the more enthusiastic I was at him helping me to masturbate like this, the faster he'd get the toy deep enough to hit my prostate. Zeke obliged my screamed desires to continue and let me play under his hand for a full 30 minutes. And while the world blurred and faded away, I simply focused on the pleasure my man was giving me. His idea of what I would enjoy always turned out right and this evening proved it again as my member jerked and leaked out my girly emissions onto the floor between his shoes. As I fell limp and panted, Zeke continued his thrusts, slowing them down and giving me time to decompress. When he finally pulled the toy free, I was all to eager to follow his lead as he guided me off of his lap and onto my back on the bedspread. One his clothes were in a pile on the floor he climbed over me and lowered his body over my chest into what had slowly become my favorite position, with his cock looming over my face and his thighs surrounding my head. Lying under him like this I was better able to give him full control, to let him use me however he needed. When Zeke finished feeding me his prize I was beyond satisfied and happy to let him undress me, put my cage back on, and tuck me under the covers. I was a little stunned when I felt him join me but once his arm laid over me and his hand was cupping my breast I fell into a blissful slumber, all problems of the day forgotten. Or at least pushed off for a short time. The next morning felt far more normal. Coffee, prettying myself up, serving Zeke breakfast, sucking him under the table, and cleaning everything up while he showered, showed me that his worry and concern the past few days had been the investigation and not me. While I was still overwhelmed with what the investigation would bring, I felt far better knowing that my boyfriend hadn't lost interest in me. With our research cancelled until the investigation completed, Zeke invited Darla and Leilani over so we could talk about our upcoming interviews. As Darla was already aware of and approving of Zeke's and my relationship, we all took turns explaining it to Leilani. We accommodated her need to talk to me in private as she quizzed and questioned me on how I went from the man that was scared about losing his masculinity to the woman who was willing to suck off another man dozens, hundreds, of times. I could only go over the progression and tell her that like any relationship it started out as something simply for the research but eventually my feelings changed and that I'd honestly fell in love with Zeke. She did provide some questions that left me quiet, concerned, and less than certain. Did I want to stay this way? Did I want to give up my old life to remain in this body and possibly remain with Zeke for my entire life. What about Valentina? Did I still have feelings for her? Did I still want to be with her? I didn't have any good answers for those questions and admitted it. So, when we came back and talked as a group again, we fell into three different opinions. Darla felt we should lie. We should establish a story that would explain any of their concerns with an innocent, sexless, loveless, story. That if we all stuck to the same story, their investigation wouldn't find anything untoward and would eventually free us to finish the research. Leilani felt that my goals of finishing the research and therefore returning to my male body were incongruent with the idea of loving Zeke and wanting to remain his woman. She suggested we all tell the truth, that Zeke, Darla, and I admit that we'd made some mistakes and assumed that while they'd finish the research project they'd let our first half results stand and finish our progress toward our doctorates. Zeke was torn between the two. He didn't want to lie about our relationship as he said we had nothing to hide, but he admitted that from the outside it could too easily look like lies, sexual abuse, and academic misconduct. Telling the truth would keep us together but risk our careers. Lying would break us apart but save our careers. When they all turned their eyes to me, I was at a true loss for words. I'd think I had something to say only to open my mouth and realize I didn't believe in what I was about to state. I repeated those thoughts and motions several times before lowering my gaze and shaking my head, telling them I just didn't know. Without a consensus, Leilani and Darla tried convincing Zeke and/or me to their view. Truth. Lie. Love. Sacrifice. Male. Female. It all just washed over me, leaving me more confused as they both made sense. Whomever was speaking seemed to have the advantage and was worthy of support, until the other one spoke and my mind and opinion would follow along. After hours, Zeke finally threw up his hands and said he agreed with Darla, if for no other reason it was the only solution that offered any chance of full success. If we all lied together and convincingly, we'd get to continue on. At that point we could decide how to proceed with finishing the research and returning me to my male self only being one of the options. With the truth, the best we could hope for was an academic reprimand and finishing the research under a cloud of suspicion. With two voices in agreement, one of them being my man, I fell behind their decision. And with the three of us together, Leilani reluctantly agreed to go along, if for no other reason than she didn't want to damn us with the truth. For the next several days my mind was in a constant state of flux. Zeke, at first, said that it might be best if I didn't focus my attentions on him. If I didn't attend to his needs. That I'd be more convincing if I didn't think or focus on pleasing him. Our mornings felt oddly empty without being able to look forward to sucking him off. Every afternoon Darla and Leilani would come by and we'd go over our fictionalized version that we'd tell the investigatory panel. Leilani's lies were the easiest as they were simply an omission. According to our timeline, nothing about Leilani's and my time together changed except for her spanking me. She'd tell them that she taught me and disciplined me when I didn't live up to her emasculating techniques, but the harshest disciplinary action she'd tell the panel was her taking my cell phone and credit cards away. Darla's story needed more embellishment, both from her and me. We'd heard through the grapevine that others noticed my diminishing femininity when I'd gotten my breast implants. No one made the connection that that was the same time that Valentina exited my life, but they did make the connection that I'd become more feminine following Darla's visit with Zeke and me. Worse, they were focused on my continued feminine presence following Darla's visit after Zeke's and my first date. Darla even admitted that she'd shared a bit about what she'd talked us through after the date. She'd even used those words to others... Zeke's and my first date. What we eventually came up with is that she used her expertise in trans men and women going through their physical transformation to help me the first time and then followed that by counseling both Zeke and I to not take our relationship further. More or less, while Leilani had to change one detail, Darla had to almost completely reverse her interactions with us. She didn't convince me to submit to Zeke's idea of femininity, she convinces me to just accept myself on my own. She didn't convince me to start sexually servicing Zeke, she convinces us both to remain physically and emotionally apart. But my story, and by extension Zeke's story, were a mix of truth, fiction, and reversals. We came together after Valentina left and everything was fine until my breast surgery. After that I started having problems being feminine, which Darla would back up. Then when I did start feeling feminine again, Zeke and I started falling for each other, going so far as to go on a date with each other. We'd even have to admit to sleeping in the same hotel room as Zeke's credit card would show only the one room. Then we talked it over with Darla who convinced me specifically that I shouldn't continue my relationship with Zeke and we all just continued on like that. We considered altering what my idea of femininity was, especially since that originally came from Zeke and not me, but at the end it was so much a cornerstone of my femininity that it would be hard to insert any sort of lie here. Much like the research project itself, I was left out of these decisions. Instead Leilani, Zeke, and Darla would take turns quizzing me on what I'd say, playing the part of the investigatory panel. Whenever I'd stray from our fictionalized tale they'd calmly back up, explain what my response should be, then continue on. After three days of this, it was clear I was the weakest link. Neither Darla, Zeke, nor Leilani needed any more help as they had their stories down straight. While I was cleaning up from dinner that third night, I overheard the three of them talking about me. It seemed that the topic of conversation was my mixed view on myself and my future. I couldn't deny it, even if I were part of the conversation. I still thought of myself as a man, even though I thoroughly and completely enjoyed being Zeke's woman. I couldn't think of a future where I didn't go through the reversal process, but I saw a future with Zeke and I together. I didn't hear their solution until that night, when Zeke told me we'd be starting up my masturbatory regimen again. As I was laid out over Zeke's knees, hanging freely while his well lubed fingers opened me up, he explained that they wanted my arousal to be at a normal level. That if I came into the interviews as being too easily aroused as they made me talk about things I'd look more and more complicit. And if Zeke looked more aroused, it would just show that he wasn't taking advantage of me. I wanted to protest their conclusion but the only thing to exit my mouth at that moment was a long frustrated grunt that slowly mellowed into a moan as Zeke worked the largest dildo into me. He went on calmly and academically as though he didn't have an exposed woman over his knees whose ass he was filling with a dildo for her sexual pleasure. He said that it was clear I couldn't hold onto the lie, that the truth was too important to me and too much at the core of my identity. So, they'd take the blame. It wouldn't be Leilani and I agreeing upon the spankings. It was her idea alone. It would be Darla demanding that I submit my sexual identity to Zeke's and him forcing his idea of femininity onto me. It would be Darla and Zeke together convincing me to have sexual relations with him, and then Zeke forcing that on me day after day and night after night. In short, they were setting themselves up for actual crimes all just to keep me innocent. When Zeke bottomed the dildo into me and started his regular and slow thrusts in and out, I was finally able to get my mind together enough to speak, but when my mouth opened, it was quickly filled with two of Zeke's fingers. My reaction was so well ingrained that I couldn't stop from clamping my lips down and sucking on his fingers like a pacifier. And like a pacifier, they did calm me and let the sensations coming from the dildo fucking me take over. After I had my stifled orgasm and went practically limp, Zeke did something he'd never done before. After laying me out on the bed, comfortably on my back, he went to the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet, washcloth and cleaned me up. He'd never shown any interest or even tolerance for touching my last little boy bit, but now he calmly and meticulously got me ready for bed including cleaning me up and putting my cage back on. When he lifted my legs up I was completely ready for him to take me himself. No more dildo, just his flesh and mine coming together in harmony. But when I felt pressure at my rear it was simply my large night plug, ready to keep me company during my dreams. Zeke removed all of my clothes except for my panties and tucked me in, giving me a soft kiss to my forehead. It broke my heart when he said he'd love to sleep with me again as it was truly something, he looked forward too all day, but we'd have to get used to sleeping apart. After he flicked off the lights, exited my room, and shut the door, I cried myself asleep. While tears running down my cheeks and sobbing my emotions out was a common enough way for me to go to sleep, this is the first time that I wasn't crying over myself or my current condition. I was crying over Zeke sacrificing himself for me. His version of the truth, especially when combined with a false innocence in me, wouldn't just lead to the end of his academic and professional career, it could lead to jail time. It could lead to a prison term. My tears just came harder when I realized that's what he was talking about. That we'd have to get used to being apart. When we were all together the next day, Leilani, Darla, and Zeke were working over their stories, practicing how they'd say what they intended without coming across as complete monsters. When I mentioned that no matter how they spun their tale, if I corroborated it and came out squeaky clean, they would be looked at that way, they would just shoo me away saying that the decision was made. That it was no longer my concern how they'd get treated so long as I came out all right in the end. I could tell that Zeke was getting aroused while talking about what he supposedly forced me to do and I wanted desperately to comfort him and at least take away his sexual frustration, but even after the girl's left he denied my offer to satisfy him, saying that that part of my life was over. My own orgasming wasn't over though and he treated me so kindly and lovingly as he stroked my hair and played with my lips while pulling and pushing the toy in and out of me until I got that satisfaction myself. We repeated days like that for nearly a week. Them working on their story, me trying feebly to change their mind, and me getting sexually satisfied every night. Finally, on the night before all our interviews, I couldn't take it any longer. Long after Zeke tucked me in, I tossed the covers aside and padded quietly out of my room and into Zeke's. Without a word I lifted his covers, slipped under, and snuggled up against my man. If this might be our last night together, I wanted to sleep with him. To be with him. I could feel his hardness grow against my rear and couldn't stop myself from wiggling against him, encouraging him. I could tell by his breathing that he was awake, but he didn't move either to take me as I so desperately wanted him to take me as he'd promised over these months, or to push me out of his bed. Biting my lower lip, I reached back and gripped his hardness. I felt more than heard his growl of pleasure as I started rubbing him up and down the crack of my ass making it beyond clear what I wanted from him. What I wanted FOR him. But even with me fully opening myself to him, he sacrificed himself and denied his own pleasure and needs. He gently took my hand in his, pulled it around and held it up to my heart as he kissed the back of my neck and bade me to go to sleep. The next day Zeke and I didn't speak as we readied ourselves for the interviews. Leilani and Darla were already there when we arrived and we hadn't sat down for more than a couple minutes before they called Leilani in. They had her for nearly 45 minutes before she left in tears and they called Darla back. I was so nervous that I sat next to Zeke on the bench in the hall and pulled his arm around me for comfort. I fell asleep, my head on his shoulder, and when I woke up to Darla's exit, I saw they'd been interrogating her for almost 3 hours. Zeke was next, leaving me alone in the hall. While they talked to my boyfriend and he fell on a grenade for me, I couldn't help but imagine and relive all that had happened. I slowly, alone for the first time in forever, realized that even if these investigators heard the truth, they'd still blame my friends and my lover. That in this #metoo climate, I was a victim no matter how much I agreed. No matter how much I participated and willingly gave myself up. I realized that this school, with its academic standing in jeopardy, would send my friends and lover to the prosecutor and suggest harsh crimes. I might have gone with what everyone was sacrificing for me if their names ended up sullied and mine remained clean, but I just couldn't justify them sacrificing their lives for mine. Not when I was so much a part of this, when it was my thesis we were researching. So when I went in to the panel and saw their sympathetic eyes, heard their soft apologizing voices telling me it was okay now and they just needed to hear my side of the story to end all of this nightmare for me, I did the only thing I could. I told them the truth. I didn't hide or obscure anything that would damn me in their eyes. I told them how I designed the research from the beginning. How I volunteered to be the test model and even set the steps up for my own transformation. How Leilani and I talked one night through before she'd agree to spank me. How Darla helped me separate my diminishing masculine and growing feminine feelings. How Zeke teased and commanded me, but only did so once I agreed to giving him control of my sexuality. I told them in great graphic detail that when he first entered my mouth, it was only done after I asked him to. I even spent quite a bit of time explaining how I now enjoyed sexually pleasing him as it was a sign of my love for him. How my friends were all working to now save me and protect me from any punishments. I ended with last night, how I crawled into Zeke's bed and physically begged him to take me as a woman and how he denied taking advantage of the offer or of me. By the time I finished and took a drink of water, I saw the clock telling me that I'd been speaking for a full hour and a half. The panel took a quick break while I stayed in the room, my heart beating a million times per minute. When they returned, they only had a handful of questions, asking me how I felt about my body, how I felt about myself, and what I wanted to ultimately happen. I was so emotionally spent from laying myself bare to these strangers that my answers were brief and to the point. I told them I liked my body, that I felt I was both a man and a woman, and that I didn't know what I wanted to happen, only that I didn't want my friends to suffer for what I'd willingly participated in. I could tell, as I gathered up my purse and exited the room, that the panel's whole idea of what was going on had changed with my interview. They'd seemed confident and thought that interviewing me was going to be dotting the i's and crossing the t's in this endeavor. Now, neither they nor I had any idea of what was going to happen. I walked through the nearly empty building and saw that Zeke was parked right out front, waiting for me. I didn't want to torture either him or me, so I told him right away what I'd done. I could see the reaction in his face echoing some of my own thoughts, that I'd betrayed their sacrifice. But Zeke took care of me and didn't belittle my choices or actions. When we got home, I saw Darla and Leilani sitting in the living room but saw another vision of beauty there. A person who took my breath away with just a curious glance over her shoulder. Valentina. I could sense her hesitation matching my own as she approached and gave me a hug. The hug itself was tame and friendly and not passionate in the least, but just touching her body and hearing the soft sigh of her breath in my ear had me quaking in my heels. All of the emotions I'd tried to remove from her and re-establish with Zeke came rushing back, stronger than before and completely overwhelming. This is the woman whom I loved. Loved not because she made me feel a certain way. Love that didn't require a sacrifice or a change in my personal view. Love whose physical manifestation didn't require me to go through embarrassment and horror just to achieve a semblance of intimacy. Love that I'd been longing for without conscious thought but with my full heart. As I sat next to Valentina, desperately keeping our hands clasped together, and told my friends what I'd done I could see their surprise and disappointment. It went without saying that I'd just tanked any chance of any of us coming out of this with any of our reputations intact. Their actions, while not as bad as they reported to the inquiry, were still going to be seen through the lens of lying. Darla, Leilani, and Zeke all went through a round of emotions at their own pace so someone was always angry, someone was always sad, and someone was always confused. I just sat silently, trying not to notice Valentina's gaze on me. I swear, it felt like sunshine and love personified, but I just couldn't catch her eyes as I knew I'd drown there. I'd never be able to look away and right now, as much as I wanted to let her know how good of a girl I'd been, I had to focus on my friends. On Zeke. On my lover. After hours of going round and round, Darla, Leilani, and Zeke all agreed that the best thing to do was wait as there was nothing more we could do to affect the outcome. As Zeke showed the two of them out Valentina tried to get my attention. First with a squeeze of my hand. Then by brushing my hair off my shoulder. Finally, by gently pulling at my chin until I was looking into the deep pools of her eyes. I felt myself gasp just looking at this beauty before me, wondering if I could ever be worthy of her love again. I'd become exactly what she never wanted.... I'd become a woman who subjected herself to a man's will. And I did so not by force or blackmail or trickery. I did it willingly. Valentina moving in to kiss me was the last thing I expected and while it was the simple soft pressing of our lips together, it felt like so much more. It felt like she was charging me up, filling me with love and desire and want. Only Zeke returning broke our kiss and prevented it from growing more amorous. Zeke, needing comfort of his own sat and just casually nodded at me. As much as it pained me to turn my back on Valentina, I knew that Zeke had sacrificed everything for me and that if he needed me close to him, he deserved that attention. I gave Valentina's hand a parting squeeze before moving to my man and sitting in his lap with my arms wrapped around his shoulders. While leaning in and kissing Zeke gently on the neck I let him and Valentina speak. I was more than a little surprised that I wasn't the topic of conversation. Neither Zeke, with me in his lap nor Valentina watching me dote over him, mentioned me. Instead they caught up like long lost friends. Zeke explained everything that had happened since Valentina moved on and Valentina told him about how she got her head together, finished her research and had just turned in her thesis. Unless something out of the ordinary happened, she'd earn her degree soon and likely start teaching. Eventually Zeke rose, lifting me up in his arms, and I sighed with my head resting on his shoulder. I thought that he'd take me into my room and tuck me in, help me masturbate, have me give him oral pleasure, or a number of other things. So when he sat me down next to Valentina and walked alone into my bedroom I was lost for a moment. Valentina again gently turned me to face her and gave me another soft kiss. I could only sit in wonder and listen as she laid out her plans for me. She told me that the strongest willed and coldest hearted people couldn't go through what I'd gone through and not be confused, lost, or needing of help. She said between the physical changes to my body, the terrible permanent change to my voice, accidental public records switch to a Mrs Taylor Anderson married to and living with a Mr Zeke Anderson, my emotional attachment to and loss of her, to my emotional and physical attachment to Zeke, that it was natural for me to be confused and lost. And as icing on the cake, she'd noticed how my emotions seemed intractably tied to Leilani, Darla, and Zeke's current emotional state, leaving me lost, confused, angry, and betrayed by my own heartfelt actions. Valentina stopped me from hugging her or even touching her, returning my hands to my lap and continued on. She told me that Zeke and her had discussed how she could best help before I'd told the panel my story. Now that'd I'd thrown that monkey wrench into the works, their initial idea was even more relevant as they agreed I needed to get away from everything. From the research that was almost surely over with. From my fellow research partners and friends. From my lover, Zeke. They agreed that I needed time without someone making any demands on me at all and decide what my future would hold. I barely had time to ask what my future could hold before my lovely girl friend hushed me with a commanding finger on my lips and told me that my future options weren't my first issue, and that I'd have to settle down and decide who I was. What I was. And only after that was settled firmly in my mind, could I move on and decide how to move forward. At that moment Zeke returned to the living room, pulling two suitcases out of my room. My last question of if Zeke was really ready for me to leave was answered by his quiet willingness to pack me up. I saw the pained look in his eyes and knew what kind of sacrifice he was making, giving me the chance to step away and possible never return as his perfect girl. I stood and rushed into his arms, giving him a long warm loving thankful hug that simultaneously lasted far to long and lasted almost no time at all. We left that night. It took us two days to drive up into the mountains to Valentina's family camp property. During that time Valentina explained what she wanted to happen and we argued as I couldn't imagine going through it. But by the time I walked into the one room guest cabin with its bed, small kitchenette, couch, closet, and complete lack of anything else, I understood her reasoning enough to give it a try. She had convinced me that I needed the one thing that scared me the most. Time to be alone. What finally convinced me was her describing what she saw that last night with Zeke and her. She saw that whenever I looked at her, I was her girl. I was loving and devoted to her and was obviously needing and wanting of her attention. And she also saw that whenever I looked at Zeke, I was his girl. I was loving and devoted to him and was obviously needing and wanting of his attention. She convinced me that it was important to find out if either of those girls were truly me. Or even to find out if I was truly a girl at all. That after all these long months of convincing myself to be feminine and womanly for the project hadn't just been imprinted on my conscious self, leaving my old former masculine true self hidden underneath. And unless I knew those things without any influence from her, I might be lost to myself forever. While the camp site was primitive, it was still set up with everything we needed. The main cabin had indoor plumbing, but no bathroom had been set up in any of the guest cabins. I was left with an outdoor open shower and an outhouse for those needs. There was no way I was going to keep up with my beauty regimen, but as there were only handheld mirrors, it wasn't important that I keep myself beautiful. Valentina, living in the main cabin, delivered food to my doorstep daily but never let me see her presence directly. She'd often leave notes with her deliveries, but they were informative only and not a letter between her and I. A week after arriving one of her notes simply informed me the inquiry was done. All of the research partners, including four tenured professors that were directly helping us, were permanently removed from the university. A few days later I found out that the remaining data and grant money was returned to the university and that we would be barred from even inferring to our research. The following week I learned that the board of Regents had specifically stated that the university would make no attempt at returning me to my original physical form, and that their decision was heavily influenced by my own testimony. I had told them on the record that I liked my body so they therefore saw no reason to pay the exorbitant costs of return. Over that period, with no one to talk to, with no one to help me decide what to do or how to act, I had plenty of opportunities to think through what I wanted. How I internally and truly saw and defined myself. I wrote a series of letters to my former self, figuring if I could describe what was going on in this addled mind of mine to him, that I could find my true feelings. By the time I had my 20th letter written to the person I was no longer, I had come to almost all the conclusions I'd needed. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Dozens of surgeries and their resulting pain and recovery were easy in comparison. Being punished for being myself was emotionally easy in comparison. Learning how to sexually please both a woman and a man AS a woman was easy in comparison. Learning and accepting that my physical body as it was now wasn't how I defined myself but instead simply a path of learning who I truly had always been was difficult. I wasn't a man. I never really had been. I'd just gone on and accepted what my parents had taught me and later demanded of me. I'd just gone on and accepted what society expected of me and taught me and later demanded of me. Now with all of those things gone, getting a body that first removed those parental and societal expectations and later getting a body that forced me to experience the opposite of those parental and societal expectations... I found me. I found out that even if my body was returned, if my voice came back, I'd still see what I'd always been. I was and would now forever be a woman. When I went to share my thoughts and writings with Valentina, she welcomed me with open arms. She made it clear that this first revelation was important, but not the only thing I would have to think through. It was just the most important and would color all other decisions. Most importantly, she told me that while this question had to be answered before I could ever continue on, all the rest of her following questions only needed to be heard and thought about. The answers may come, but they also may never be answered. That night I returned to my cabin with her next question. Now that I had a sexual identity, what was my sexual preference. It only took me a week to realize that there was never going to be an answer in the classic sense. I was neither heterosexual nor homosexual. I liked having sex with men. I was attracted to them. I liked having sex with women. I was attracted to them. Bisexual? That was the closest I could come and Valentina was satisfied with the answer. Next was that same question, but in a more focused and personal manner. Was I attracted to her? Was I attracted to Zeke? Was I interested in a long term, monogamous relationship with one of them? Was I interested in a polyamorous relationship to both of them? I had my answer the first night but fought it for another 5 days. Finally, I admitted to Valentina that I was interested in a relationship with her, but not Zeke. I hated saying it and it opened up another whole crying jag to say out loud that I didn't want to have a relationship with the man I'd fallen in love with, but Valentina's next question helped me see why. The answer only took a couple nights. While I certainly had submissive tendencies, especially sexually, I wasn't submissive in all areas of my life. Just living out on my own like this for weeks on end showed me how much I enjoyed controlling things in my life again. Living with Zeke would never be like that as he deeply needed a submissive partner. I could act like that and might even find some temporary happiness being that for him, but it was never going to be my source of self. After making those revelations about myself, Valentina finally agreed that I was ready to move in with her. While I was desperate to make love to her that first night, we both agreed that we should take this slow. We'd have plenty of time to partake in each other's bodies later. We snuggled and cuddled and hugged and kissed. But that's all. While finding out about myself was difficult, deciding what to do with that information was even harder. First, my parent's response was heart breaking and let me know there would be no help ever from them. The letter I sent them was ten pages long as I tried to explain everything I'd been through and who I was now, who I'd always been even though I hadn't known it. Their response was to send me back the envelope, filled with the burned remains of my letter. Next was Zeke. He came up to visit with Valentina and me. I could see that he was heartbroken and had been holding out hope that I'd return to be his girl. I promised him that he would always have a special place in my heart, but that I would never be the girl he deserved and he was never going to be the man I'd be able to give myself to. He stayed for several days and we all enjoyed each other's company and when he finally left, we promised to stay in touch. Valentina's next set of questions were all about my future and these I had to give up on as there just weren't answers to what I wanted to be professionally, academically, or personally. The only thing I was sure about was wanting to stay with the woman I loved. To my great relief Valentina accepted my waffling decision and my love. That night, the first time in almost a year, we made love. It wasn't necessary for us to be as sexually aggressive as we'd been in the past. Most of the night was spent with Valentina lying on her back and me comfortably licking and kissing her sweet luscious pussy. It wasn't until I'd made her orgasm four times that I realized I hadn't cum myself. And even then it was only brought to my attention when Valentina pulled me up to lie on top of her and ask shyly if I wanted her to orally please me. I hadn't realized or ever questioned that Valentina loved me. It just never occurred to me. But then and there I knew her heart was mine. I know she has no interest in male genetalia and as much as my mind and soul were feminine, as much as most of my body was feminine, between my legs was still a penis and scrotum. I answered my love's hesitant and sacrificing question by kissing my way back down to her love nest and giving her another two orgasms before we fell asleep in each other's arms. One aspect of Zeke's training of me was sexual denial. I didn't need to have a physical orgasm to achieve that affect and while nothing touched my penis and it barely got hard the entire time I was making love to Valentina, I still had my orgasms. Her cries of ecstasy and her thighs clamping around my head were all I needed. The next night Valentina did find a way to give me more direct sexual relief. It made me wonder if Zeke were right and that I was ready for him to take me as feeling Valentina's strap on push its way past my sphincter was amazing erotic to me, and unlike before she could now enjoy more of my body as she thrust in and out of me. While one of her hands stayed on my waist, keeping me from bucking too wildly, her other found my breasts and gave me that tingling loving feeling throughout my body. Later, when we changed positions with me lying down on my back and her taking me missionary style, she could lie down and press our bodies together, kissing me and telling me I was her good girl. Through out the next few nights as we packed up and readied to return home, Valentina and I found many ways to make love. Valentina even eventually tried to lick and suck me to orgasm and I loved her for the attempt. But the look on her face as I came, first in her mouth then on her face as she pulled back, was enough to tell me it would never happen again. Driving back we made a lot of phone calls to get our apartments ready. Zeke was incredibly helpful as he now took advantage of our 'married' status with my permission to finish off my lease, pack up my apartment, and hire the moves to get all of my stuff. Valentina had her sister and several of her friends do the same with her apartment. While we'd love to stay in her cute apartment, it was just going to be too expensive. Valentina had found a job as a part time professor in a nearby college, but it wasn't nearly as prestigious as the university she'd just graduated from and paid a lot less. Without financial aid paying much of my own bills and not having had a job for two years made me next to penniless. Over the year things slowly improved. Valentina got first a raise, then a promotion to full time. She was now on a tenure track and likely to become a full-time professor able to lead her own research within the next six months. I was so proud of her. I, unfortunately, had to overcome a lot of hurdles to even gain employment. While I kept the drivers license that declared me female, I still showed up as male in federal ID checks required for employment. That fight took nearly two months where I couldn't get legitimate work. Valentina and I always giggled about me becoming her stay at home wife, and I'd have loved to devote my life to taking care of her like that, but our money was just too short. I eventually found a job as a waitress for a greasy spoon style diner, and like the undocumented immigrants working there, I kept my job only by the good graces of the owner. He didn't require any direct sexual favors, but his hands always found ways to caress my ass and he even found ways to stand behind me and feel up my breasts whenever he could. And of course as the regulars saw me accepting such treatment, they joined in too. On the one hand it was nice to know that these truckers and mill workers found me attractive, but on more than one late night I'd end up crying in Valentina's arms as they took things too far and just made me feel degraded rather than attractive. Eventually, when Valentina got insurance through her work, I was able to start up therapy again which was required to get a gender identity dysphoria diagnosis. With that in hand, I was able to get my identity secured as a woman even if physically I remained as I was. Sadly, that didn't help my work history. None of the jobs I had before were anything that approached a career and while in school I mainly had part time work as a tutor to line my pocket. My academic career was all designed to get me on the job track Valentina was on and with the black mark left from our scandal, I couldn't pursue that any longer. Eventually I had to rely on my more recent work history. I remained a waitress, just at a place that respected my body. I also found part time work modeling, but while that had a high ceiling for a career, especially with my looks, it didn't pay much and didn't offer regular work. By the time Valentina entered the tenure track and I got a good job waitressing at a fancy restaurant, our money situation was improving and we considered moving into a nicer place. But Valentina's insurance afforded us another way to spend that extra money. I started on hormones. My therapist promised that I could qualify for sexual reassignment surgery now but even the best insurance would leave it as an option too expensive for us to consider in the next few years. For now, the hormones were my best option. Valentina and I were both surprised at the affects. Sure, it would probably be more pronounced in someone starting with a non-surgically altered body, but my face still grew more feminine, my fat redistributed itself giving me a more feminine body shape, and even my voice grew more feminine. Best of all, as far as I was concerned, was my penis no longer growing hard. It was still there, but whenever it poked Valentina it reminded us both that I wasn't perfect for her. Now with that one change, I was so much closer to what I wanted to be. And although Valentina liked that part of me being always soft for her, she did accept that I was still attracted to men and missed orally pleasing them. She even occasionally let me explore that side of myself, so long as the man was safe and let her participate. We both knew my heart was only for her. That was proved almost every night but was legalized in front of a judge and most of her family and our friends one summer night as we became woman and wife. And as I'm here on our bed, I realize our future may never be perfect. We may never be able to afford a complete sexual reassignment for me. Even when my lovely wife becomes tenured and gets more money, it will likely mean I quit my job and truly become a housewife, doting on her as much as I can. But here and now tells me that it will be a wonderful ride as our love will always carry us through anything that ever comes our way. You see, Zeke is kneeling on the bed, my lovely lips wrapped around his cock while my wife is standing at the edge of the bed, leisurely stroking her strap-on in and out of my quivering gripping ass. -- The End --