Marina's Regime Reprise, Part 1 free porn video

Marina's Regime by Aken Chapter 13 Perfumed Promises On Monday, I awoke to none of the confusion I had felt on Sunday morning. My alarm clock pulled me from my dreams, as I heard a soft chorus of padlocks, six yellow, one black. I had no ink to use at bedtime; no nipple-orgasms to lull me to sleep. Yet I dreamed of Mistress Marina, anyway. She was my drill-sergeant, ordering me around in a lurid bordello. But all I wanted to do was obey Her. I didn't dare hit the snooze button. I had too much to do this morning. I needed some kind of a plan to resume my life. I needed a brand-new life, if necessary, to include the intoxicating relationship I'd found with Marina S?nneberg. In a single weekend She managed to steal my heart. Yet She was determined to emasculate me in the bargain. All night, and every day, She insisted I crossdress for Her in provocative ladies' clothes. Unusual as Her demand was, I couldn't bring myself to refuse Her. I was too smitten by Her beauty, too enchanted by Her erotic praises and Her perfumed letters. I unhooked the bungee cord that immobilized my chastity cage. I unshackled my brassiere, corset and shoes. Then I slipped out of my negligee, panties, and stockings, and ran a hot bath. Mistress hadn't ordered me to bathe, rather than shower. But She never said I shouldn't. I hoped a relaxing bath would help me to organize my week. I donned my rubber bathing cap, dissolved a packet of Her bath powder, and reclined into the steaming water. I soaked for 20 minutes, soaping and massaging my bruises. My corset and bra left some tender spots on me, yet my feet still felt great, which puzzled me. They had been locked into some very tall heels for 30 of the previous 36 hours. And for several of those hours I'd performed vigorous chores. Mistress asked me to wear my heels for additional hours, and I readily complied. I couldn't escape the fact that in three days my old desires and habits had all been swept aside. It was Mistress' aims I favored, now. My thirst for Her approval meant that Her goals had to be my goals. I thought about my Monday plans. The therapist visit was at 1:45 PM. My telephone client meetings were set for 3:30 and 4:00 PM. If I held onto that schedule, it would tell me if it was possible to honor my new obligations to Mistress. If I hoped to impress Her with a voluntary bondage before noon, a three-hour lockup was certainly doable. But what about five hours in all my sissy gear? That would require eight brown locks, which was exactly the number of brown locks I had. It meant that when my bath was over, I must lock myself into every sissy item that I had, except the sissy-mask, at the stroke of 6:00 AM. The corset and chastity needed to stay on all day, of course, but the bra, collar and heels could be removed at 11:00 AM. I'd have time to make lunch, change into male outerwear, and attend my therapy session with Lorain. Her office was ten minutes away, by cab. One question still remained, though. Was I bold enough to ride my sissy- mask for one of those five hours? It would be my second time to wear the mask, but my first attempt without any help from Mistress' ink. A tiny patch of Her ink made my mask initiation go smoothly. But Mistress told me to focus on Her satisfaction. Her joy must define my hours of self- imposed darkness, from now on. "Why not just give us more ink to use?" I sighed, as I relaxed in the toasty bathwater. I recalled how turned-on the ink made me feel during my first ride. In some odd way, Her ink made me feel invincible. But it was one day ago. Today, It could become a frightening, claustrophobic experience, if I had nothing to comfort me but a vague hope of making Mistress horny. "Why must everything be so complicated with Her?" I thought. "Shouldn't I try to date a more traditional kind of girl? A normal girlfriend wouldn't be so determined to turn Her boyfriends into bound, sissy-marionettes." Then again, normal was so boring! I thought of my therapist. She would have pointed questions to ask me, provided I told her about the lady who was calling all the shots for me. Would I tell her? Or would I pretend that my girlfriend and I were doing normal types of things? Lorain liked plenty of details, and she was an expert at spotting falsehoods. It was best to be completely honest with her. "Eight to nine AM would be an ideal time to wear my mask again," came a sudden thought. "It will be the middle hour of my bondage. I can plan some simple chores to keep me busy for that long." Instinctively, I knew what the mask meant. Wearing it had to become a daily ritual, if Mistress was going to be happy with me. Instead of my face, She wanted to see the pleasant feminine colors of the mask, knowing that I was struggling with a hidden dildo as I toiled at my chores. Just knowing She had such a fetish was terrifying in a way. For in only two days, seeing me in a locked corset, bra, and heels was no longer enough for Her. And once I got to the aspirant level, there would be two higher levels to earn. "What will She want from me that is even more difficult than the mask?" "So... what if I could finish all seven of my rides in time for the reward session, tomorrow night?" It was one more random, ridiculous thought. "But what if I can do it?" My swollen nipples grew firmer in the warm bathwater, a subtle approval of that naughty idea, if it earned them a new dose of ink. I climbed out of the tub to dry myself off. I applied my two creams, as I enjoyed the last minutes of freedom in my day. I worked on my silent sissy gestures, completing five or six cycles, until they felt less awkward, although still very unnatural. "It will not be nearly this easy when I am locked up in my accessories," I reminded myself. But for a passing grade, I must perform the gestures flawlessly. I dressed quickly in my bonus sissy-gear, starting with a new pair of stockings, the shiny jet-black ones, and the ever-present heels. I laid out eight brown padlocks, plus one black one. I aligned my corset, shackle, bra and collar, and positioned locks on each one. I tried to brace myself to engage them in one fast dash. At 6 AM, I closed them all. I seemed to be getting better with each repetition. Within seconds, I heard a friendly melody from my phone. A picture of Mistress' radiantly smiling face appeared, and dissolved to reveal Her newest message: "Such perseverance, my love! You opted for five bonus hours in your brassiere, heels and collar, and You have guaranteed me a most delicious morning. I have a glorious surprise en route to you, also. Your package will arrive at 10 AM. The COD will cost much more, though. Be brave, my dear!" Many kisses, Mistress Marina Beneath the text was Her often-repeated question, "Do you cross your heart, and never lie?" Under that was one, lone checkbox, and the words, "Yes, now and always!" I clicked it, immediately. I felt a familiar warm glow inside me, or was it a blush? Mistress' congratulatory texts brought me a paradoxical kind of joy. They inspired me to work all the harder for Her, but they filled me with a sense of urgency, too. I had breakfast to make, plus plans to devise for wearing Her mask again, in two hours. Her package would arrive one hour after my mask session was complete, and that made my morning even more hectic. I felt the old anticipation start to build, as well as the dread. I couldn't wait. But deep down, I knew what the next parcel would mean for me; more burdens, fresh new rules, dipped in honey, meant to banish my maleness and rocket me toward greater femininity. I prepared a packet of instant oatmeal, and sliced up a banana in it. Despite the corset, I was finally able to sit at my dinette table, but only briefly. The steel shackle tormented my stomach, and I could barely eat one-third of the oatmeal. Downing my vitamins and coffee, I arose, and rinsed my dishes. I placed them in the dishwasher, walked to the living room, and carefully sat at my computer chair. It was far from comfortable, but I was starting to adapt somewhat to my whittled-down waistline. My collar was causing me the most difficulty. Basic office tasks were nearly impossible. Holding up my scheduling book in front of me in order to read it, I browsed my planner to confirm that I had no other obligations, beside the two client meetings, and a therapy appointment. I had seven phone-calls to make, to schedule new appointments for next month. But as long as I finished my calls by 5 PM, I had no specific times for making them. My therapy would end at 2:30. I would be back home before 3 PM. So I'd have time for one more 3-hour lockup, from 3 PM to 6 PM, if I was up for that. I would still have one hour to unwind before 7 PM. This proposal made no sense at all, until it did. I could sit still for only a few more minutes, so I fine-tuned a mask- locking schedule that might work. If my morning mask-ride went smoothly enough, I could wear the sissy-mask again, in the same time slot as I did on Sunday evening: 7:30 to 8:30. Next, I began to consider which activities to work on, right away, besides practicing on the sissy poses. At some point, I thought about the makeup collection Mistress had sent me. What She said had made me curious. She explained that the use of makeup was not mandatory, but it would help boyfriends adjust to their mask. It was as if they'd feel less 'naked' while wearing makeup. One would think that makeup's purpose was to make our skin look nicer. But Her bath powder and cream saw to that job, already. It had been three full days since I shaved, and I saw no sign of facial hair. Then it dawned on me that Mistress wasn't talking about sissies trying to look prettier in their new makeup. She was describing a kind of emotional support those products would give us - a physical support, perhaps, with or without our masks. "What could that be about?" I wondered. It was time to examine the makeup more closely. I found the zipper bag on my bathroom counter, where I'd left it on Sunday night. Next, I reread the cryptic sheet of instructions Mistress included, which described the day cream, and night cream. It said that the finishing powder should be applied each day, whether additional makeup products were used, or not. "So, the powder is meant to complete my look, either way." I opened the jar and brushed some of it on my chin and cheeks, using a small puff, inside. It was an odorless powder, but my skin felt instantly warm. And with that warmth I had a sudden flashback of the euphoria I felt on Sunday night, just after my face and throat succumbed to Her mask. I closed my eyes to focus on my memory, and my joy grew even stronger in the dark. The face powder had an unmistakeable effect. It evoked memories of my submission, and the clear knowledge that I was in Mistress' favor, once again. I applied more of the powder to my nose and forehead, smoothing it out with the puff. "What if those other products do the same thing?" I thought excitedly. I picked up the least daring of the three lipsticks that Mistress included in my kit. It was named Rose Coral Shine, a lusty medium red, with a slight hint of orange. An off-black shade, named Afterparty, looked too shocking to me. Coronation was a darker, matte red, and seemed a little too adventurous, also. I removed the cap of the Rose Coral, and was enveloped by Mistress' signature aroma. These were not garden-variety lipsticks. They contained the scent that bound my heart-strings to my Mistress. I stroked the color onto my lips, and the result was immediate. A feeling of well-being flowed into me. My face felt more flushed, as my mind basked in the delicious sensation of Mistress ink. It was not as powerful as Her cards and letters. But it comforted me to know that when I wore this makeup, I'd be more than presentable-looking. I would find all the courage I needed to lock my face back into the sissy mask. This was the moment when I assembled all my cosmetics, and got busy. I experimented for at least an hour, first with foundation and blusher, then with eye shadows, eye-liners, lip-liners, and brow pencils. Several times I wiped everything off with a towelette in the kit, and started at the beginning. I inhaled the subtle perfume, as I tried to produce an attractive and professional look with a touch of sexual mystery. I wanted my delivery driver to see an appropriately-feminine face. But I also needed a trademark of color and drama to excite Mistress with, when She looked in on my progress. My rehearsals were also preparing me for hours of masked servitude I would soon have to deal with. There was no mistaking the support Her makeup would offer me. By itself, each product had a negligible effect. But together, they could be my lifeline, a booster- shot of vital Mistress Ink. Eventually I stopped, and stared into my bathroom mirror. "I think that may be the look for me." I'd gotten just the right amount of color on my lips. The sparkling grays on my eyelids, and the gradients of green in the hollows of my eyes, did not lessen the impact of my dark stripes of intense eye-liner. My mascara was lush. My eye-brows were elegantly arched. I felt like a smoking hot model on a runway. I was miles past that forgotten lip pencil. This was the real deal, the smooth, articulated face I needed so badly. I applied a little more powder, to hold my makeup in place, then returned the products to their bag. When the time came to sign for my package, all I had to do was dress down a little, as I did on Sunday evening, and find some way to conceal my bizarre collar. I looked at the clock and saw it was 7:20; just forty minutes until I would be riding my sissy mask. I took a few selfies of my final makeup design, and looked at the result. Above the stiff collar, my face looked airbrushed, and almost surreal. Each feature stood out in a deliberate and seductive way. I went to my bedroom to review the journal notes I wrote on the previous night. Most of them were fragmentary and rambling, which was kind of how I felt about my new romance. I needed practice describing the duties Mistress was tasking me with, and the conflicting emotions I was dealing with. I reminded myself that we were only at the beginning of our affair. With some effort, and some luck, our roles may become clearer in time, I hoped. Perhaps we could make a compromise. I sought a relationship with my Mistress that would be good for us both, one that satisfied me as fully as it pleased Her. "If not," I thought, "We can always withdraw from this unconventional relationship." But one item stood out from all the others. Before retiring to bed, I had managed to write 36 lines of poetry. But this poem was unlike any of my other notes. It was dedicated to Mistress' thoughts and desires, and not my own. In my mind, I imagined Marina S?nneberg drinking in the sight of Her sissies, as they struggled to carry out Her humiliating orders. I saw Her climax wildly as She clicked through Her living poster-book of sissies-in-training, each one compelled to look as feminine as possible. She must adore seeing Her boyfriends labor in their doll-masks, their mouths packed full of rubber cock, stripped clean of their male egos, and anxious for any signs of Mistress' approval. Reading through the poem again, I discovered that each verse fell within the 40-word limit Mistress applied to weekly text messages. Perhaps when I received my permission to text Her, I could respond with one verse of this poem. Sissy Anthem by Mistress Marina S?nneberg's trainee, tommie-lyn montero (nine verses) Sissy's face must ride on a cock. No blushing or struggles are seen. A tiny click, & the veneer is locked; she serves her Mistress sightlessly. So brightly painted this covering is, baked-in pigments adorn each task; but hidden from view by crimson lips the outsized penis fills sissy's mask. Of silent sissies a Mistress dreams, their boy-parts secure in chastities. One by one, they comprise a team, secretly bound, so charming to see. Each sissy bears a delicate stress, of padlocked corsets, bras & heels. A tongue is bound to lick & caress the object a sissy's throat can feel. Only the finest sissies are trained to greet their disgrace with poise. If one cries in darkness & shame, we see no tears, & hear no noise. It rarely helps to issue complaint, when the hour comes to perform. A sissy is wise to accept her fate, and to Mistress' wishes conform. No longer may a sissy put on airs. Hard porcelain asks for no favors. A smiling mask will never despair of tasting submission's salty flavor. Forgotten now is her previous life, when sissy was only a foolish boy. As one of Mistress' multiple wives, a purpose is found; delivering joy. Perched on the most difficult heels, a mouth well-gagged, doing chores, she arches her tits to mutely reveal a happier person than ever before. It was nearly time to begin my second mask-ride. I tossed some clothes into a laundry basket, and I included the panties and thigh-highs I had worn over the weekend. I placed the basket in front of my washing machine, and pre-measured the laundry soap and fabric softener needed for one load. My intention was to pour those clothes into the washer and start a regular cycle, after I was masked-up. Then, while the clothes were washing, I would attempt to make my bed and straighten my bedroom. A washer-load on regular setting lasted 30 minutes. So I would be able to return and put the clothes into the dryer, then proceed with more dusting and vacuuming, as I rode my mask. I hoped that it would be no more difficult than the dish-washing and table-polishing I performed Sunday evening. A single, sharp knock came to my entry door, and it startled me. I peered through the peep-hole, but no one was there. Instead, a yellow envelope marked 'courier express' had been slipped under my door. I opened the envelope to find myself swathed in the tantalizing fragrance of Mistress Marina. My precious new servitor-to-be, Thank you for following my orders so dutifully! I can barely count up the orgasms your efforts have provided Me. There is no need to tell Me how difficult this process has been. Boyfriends tend to use the same old words, after all, when they object to the tedious hours they must spend, bound to my strict standards for femininity. Yet words of protest will not keep Me from tasking them all the harder. Nor am I any less eager to enjoy the final result. Listening to a sissy ask Me for lenience is not to my liking. Complaints in general bore Me to tears. I love a sissy who can make quiet progress. And when a sissy works hard, she is more likely to gain my attention, and to earn herself a slutty reward. Remember one thing, lover: I will never ask you to retreat from your prior life. Yes, for this love affair to grow, you will need to maintain most if not all of your activities and hobbies from before. To the extent that you can continue your work and daily routines, you must. The relationships you currently enjoy should continue as well. By now, you must see that my plan for you is to live almost all your waking hours as every sissy should; feminized to the nines, just as you are when you sleep. It is a matter of scarce time, sweetheart, until you reveal your girlish charms to the world. You may begin tentatively and anonymously, as my quieter sissies do; or boldly, without apology, like sissies with a true sense of adventure. How or when will be your choice, but you will absolutely decide to do it. In their hour of truth, boyfriends may call- in, sick. But they always manage to show up in a day or two, properly attired in darling dresses and heels, and fully passable in beautifully- applied makeup. This news must be a shock to you, my dearest one. I have never tried to explain so much, so early, as I trained my submissives. A boyfriend will often require weeks, if not months, for his mind to adapt to his feminization. But you changed all that, by being the first trainee to reach the sixth level of lockup, in only two days. To be riding your sissy-mask in a mere 48 hours is remarkable! So you deserve to know the truth of where your training will take you. You deserve to freely choose Me as your Queen, and to find yourself all the quicker in a blissful condition of being fully Mistress-owned. Do I want to completely erase your being a male? No. But maleness is best when repurposed for a Mistress' joy. Ours will not only be a marriage, your see, but a fully-consensual, inescapable bond. I could never manage without my intimate boyfriends-turned-servitors, nor could they have existed without my tutelage. I want you to consider these matters deeply, tommie. Dwell on the delights that await you. You must never be frightened. I will not ask anything of you but what your heart chooses, and what your trust in Me allows. Nor would I try to shame you to other people. The trainees I told you about earlier, the cowards who gave up their sissy training, were never punished by Me. Nor will they be. Their only sorrows have been self-imposed, by losing their chance to remain with Me. But now for a happier topic: I have sent you an assortment of garments today, lovely ladies' wear, of course! I describe them to you now, in advance of arrival, because today starts a more collaborative period of training that only a higher-echelon sissy receives. Your dresses will not have locking schedules. No more mandatory-wear requirements, and detailed rules for you to follow. You could throw them into the bottom drawer of your dresser, if you liked. But, lovely as they are, I suspect you will be aching to wear your delicious new things frequently. I enclosed a piercing tool, also, for whichever piercings you envy, or desire, when the mood strikes you to have them. I enjoy all styles of piercings on sissies' ears and nipples, and other places. But what matters now is how you will decide to express your femininity, through the styles you alone will choose. An instructional video is included, to teach you how to make top-quality piercings, and how to keep them healthy. There are features built right into your clothes, that work together with certain piercings. Those valuable topics, and others, are included on your video. There are templates and markers to use, some even for your tongue. You could become a piercing expert in no time! The boots I sent you are exceptional, as well as expensive. In addition to being extremely sexy and fashionable, these boots include a new locking-tech built right into their zipper-pulls. A regular soft zipper closes them in the back, from the achilles to the boot-top. Then a heavier-style zip joins up over that one, from the boot-top down to the boot-heel. The "top-zip" hides the lower zipper, and the pull-tab it uses locks the boot shut at the bottom. You simply push the round tab into a recess, near the back of each boot-heel, to make it click. One click secures the boot for three hours, exactly. Two clicks make it five hours. Three clicks is ten hours. And four keeps you booted for 23 full hours. Each click must be made within two seconds of the prior click to register additional hours. And of course I can monitor boot-locks remotely, just as I do your colored padlocks. How tremendous is that? These boots are prototypes, and you are the first one of my boyfriends to be allowed to field-test them. In time, this concept may be added to a variety of other products. It is less confusing than keeping track of multiple colors of padlocks. But your old-fashioned locks are not going away any time soon. The reason we Mistresses enjoy padlocks on our trainees is because they are not easy. Padlocks require planning, and organization. We adore how padlocks focus new sissies on the essential arts of feminine patience and compliance. It is remarkable how rapidly those padlocks teach trainees to efficiently manage multiple obligations, and discomforts. One more advantage of your new boots is that you are able to wear them to any public setting you choose, and no one would dream they are locked on your feet, for hours at a time. And if you want to substitute the new boots for the pumps you currently wear, either for mandatory nightly use, or during voluntary daytime schedules, you have my permission to begin that, at any time. Just be careful to lock both boots at the same time, or your re-locking timetables could get fouled up. That covers it for now, dearest. It can be therapeutic to keep track of your thoughts and feelings. Try writing them down, if you are able to. Profound change is rarely easy, but I already see such terrific strides in you! Try to extend your boundaries a bit farther for Me, every day. If you are ready to use a more feminine-sounding voice, begin practicing one right away. If the idea of an individual makeup style excites you, practice on that, also. Dearest, when you wear ladies' clothes in public, no one will make fun of you. You will be rewarded for it, both by the doting attentions of men, and by the approval of all the women you meet, especially Me! Your adventures, up to now, will be nothing compared to the sexual thrills, and the new-found confidence that public femininity will afford you! Your one and only, Mistress Marina I stood, in a near-trance, reading Mistress' notes for a second time. I absorbed Her heady perfume, hoping it would bring me to a clearer understanding. Yes, hadn't Her goals been obvious from the very beginning? How could I not admire Marina's confidence? Her unblinking gaze held me in Her crosshairs. And I certainly wasn't alone. Her system for urging new boyfriends into abject girlhood seemed to be well-tested. If what She was doing seemed wrong on many levels, did my knowing that help me? No - not when Her packages arrived. Her new orders would be issued, and those laws would govern me. I appeared to be the teacher's pet. But that fact didn't grant me an easier way. I was exempted of nothing. I had to work even harder, because Mistress wanted a record-setting performance from me. And I wanted Mistress to be proud of me. I hoped to deliver all Her desires. Why would such a self-reliant guy need to please a new girlfriend so badly? Lorain used to say that I was a decent "catch," if I wasn't so insecure around women. Yet what I did, or didn't, offer, paled in comparison to my two underlying desires: acceptance and admiration. Those cravings were what my therapist was teaching me to manage. Validation and happiness are not quantifiable things, she said. But they could develop through relationships with trusted lovers and peers, who recognize our strengths and weaknesses - yet accept us, in our completeness, anyway. My therapist had frequently reminded me that nobody gets everything in one package. Each of us is a tradeoff of lovable qualities, versus not- so-lovable ones. What if I loved the exhilarating praises of my Mistress, but the tradeoff meant that I must play-act for Her, and become Her part-time sissy? I wasn't sure if I could pull off such a performance. But to find out, I had goals to reach. I had to finish my first series of tasks, on time. Strange as it sounded, that was the only way I could be sure. Marina's Regime Chapter 14 __ Delicate Decisions My second mask-ride went much easier than I guessed. I was afraid that the magic sensations of my first ride would evaporate, and my struggles to accommodate a cock in my throat would cause terror, and choking. But panic never occurred. Instead, the combination of my new makeup, plus the layer of finishing powder, worked like a charm. Once my mind relaxed, my tongue behaved, and I tolerated the dildo's penetration for a full hour. The minutes seemed to fly by, while I did my laundry, tidied-up my bedroom, and vacuumed my rooms and hallways. My body and mind seemed to compensate for my lack of vision, as well. I was able to slowly, but steadily, navigate my rooms and corridors without tripping over any of my furnishings. I received only a few minor bumps on my knees, and no falling down. I was hopeful that Mistress would dial up Her phone app, and visit with me, as on the previous night. Yet She was true to Her word, in telling me such chats would be rare. She never spoke. But I placed my phone in my living-room charging stand, to be sure She could spot me, easily enough. And I felt certain She was there, monitoring my work, watching to see if I did my sissy-responses properly - and masturbating. Imagining Her presence was tremendously arousing for me. In some baffling way, I felt intimate with Her, in spite of being preoccupied with my housework, and being denied the luxuries of sight and speech. After the gentle chime sounded from the pink lock, I removed my mask and cleaned it up carefully. I went to the clothes dryer to find my drawstring pants were dry. I planned to wear them again, along with my ankle warmers, as a package-signing outfit in the coming hour. For a top, I found an old cable-knit sweater I owned. It had a turtle-neck, generous enough to conceal my posture collar. I checked my makeup, to see if I needed any repairs, but it still looked freshly-applied. After I was dressed, I began my appointment-scheduling phone calls, to clear that task from my to-do list. It is ordinarily routine work, but my stiff clothing made it difficult to enter new data in my computer. While switching my database fields, or dialing up a new client, I had to look down, to review my written notes, and then over to my keyboard - motions that my collar made fairly impossible. So I came up with a workaround. I adjusted my desk chair to its shortest position, making it easier to see the flatscreen with my upturned chin, and rigidly-corseted body. Next, I scooted my chair back from the desk a little farther than normal. My fingers could still reach the keyboard and mouse, but just barely. Whenever I needed to write something with my pencil, or look down and read things, I was able to pivot my back forward a tiny bit. My corset didn't allow me to flex more than a fractional amount, but that was enough of an angle to check my journal, or glance at my keyboard, if I needed to. I must have looked cute, perched on the front edge of that tiny office chair, and shaped like an hourglass by my unyielding corset. I leaned into my work, with my ankles tucked demurely to one side, and my cruel collar hidden from view. When the phone-calls were done, I took my headset off, and hung it up. But I continued to type. I was busily copying my journal notes from last night's writing efforts into a text file that could be transferred to my phone. I wanted verses of the Sissy Anthem poem to be on tap, for me to share with Mistress at a moment's notice. My first access notification might arrive at any time. When Mistress gave me permission to communicate with Her, I didn't want to miss my time-window to respond. As I finished with my typing, I heard three gentle knocks at my door. This time, I wasn't startled by the sounds. I felt confident about the way I looked, and the corset cream I had applied to my wrists gave off a nice scent. I peeked through the door, and saw a brand-new delivery man. I had gotten three men in as many days. This one looked more grown-up than the others, perhaps thirtyish. "Good morning, Ma'am. I have a COD shipment here, for a Miss Tommie Lyn Montero." "That's me," I said, as he handed me his tablet. I felt a surge of sticker-shock when I saw that the cost was $1,481.00. 'She warned me that the boots were going to be expensive.' I signed for the charges, as I did the math in my head. I had spent $2,800 so far, but my heart only said: "worth it." "Is anything wrong Ma'am?" the courier asked. He must have seen me freeze, for a moment. "No, I guess not. The total cost was more than I expected. But I did order some expensive boots." "No kidding? Well, they should be some pretty nice boots, then." "I am thinking they will be. I might be wearing them the next time you deliver me something." "I'll be looking forward to that," he said, smiling, "May I take this inside for you?" "Yes, please," I replied. He walked inside, and placed the box on my coffee table. I watched him closely, curious to know if he would become chatty and nervous, like the other driver was. But this one had steady nerves. Other than his obvious interest in me, he showed no signs of stress. "My back is out of whack, today, so that was very kind of you. Will you accept a tip?" "No thanks, Ma'am," he said, glancing all around my apartment, "Against company policy. But thank you, all the same." He looked around a few more times. Then he touched his cap, smiling enigmatically, "Enjoy the boots, Ma'am!" Our interaction left me smiling. But as he left, I realized that his looking around had been a cover-up. His purpose in turning away from me was to take in the vista on his return look, of my breasts in the figure-hugging sweater, and bra. Rather than stare at my tits, he divided his glances, from my eyes, to my room, then back to my amply- stacked torso. It's what we men frequently do, instinctively trying not to stare too obviously. Yet Mistress caught me red-handed doing that very thing, when I marveled at Her exquisite caramel pumps, last Friday. It was oddly reassuring to me that my bustline would do a similar thing for this man. Even though he wasn't as dazzled by my appearance as the last driver was, it pleased me immensely that he gave no sign of questioning my gender. I opened the box quickly, as Mistress' perfume had its usual exciting effect on me. Inside, I located several more pairs of silky lingerie, matching lace teddy-panty combos in peach, mocha, aqua, and cherry. They were identical to the pair I received Sunday, except for the new colors. Next, I came to a box holding a chrome pistol-shaped tool, with a variety of steel tips arranged next to it. The box held several tubs, filled with studs and rings in various styles, and sizes. It appeared to be a highly professional piercing system. Mistress was upping the ante, once again, in Her steadfast efforts to feminize me. I wondered which parts of me She desired to see pierced, and further eroticized. Under a froth of tissue surrounding the lingerie, and the piercing device, I uncovered two sleeveless tunic-style dresses in a lustrous blue silk, and two ladies' suit jackets in black silk. The two dresses were made identically, except one was a royal blue, while the other was powder blue. The black suit-jackets were alike, also, except for the color of lapels. One jacket had royal blue lapels, and the other featured powder blue ones. Both jackets had exaggeratedly-narrow fitted waists, with rows of faux buttons along each cuff. The dresses were conservatively-styled, with mid-thigh hemlines, and completely covered- up torsos. They had vertical nehru-style collars with silver stitching on the edge. They zipped up in back, from the tailbone to the neck. As promised, the dresses required no locks, but each was fitted with small, seemingly-decorative steel slots, on the nape of the neck. Underneath the clothes were more layers of tissue. Then, I found the box that contained my boots, knee-length ladies' boots in a sumptuously-soft black leather. They featured narrower toes than my pumps, and decidedly taller, spikier heels. Like the dresses, these boots radiated prestige, and had a certain corporate feel. The towering height of the heels gave me pause, however. I couldn't decide if the arresting look of the stilettos went to the boundary of sluttiness, or just a little beyond it. Beneath the boot box, I saw a pricey-looking black leather purse. It was a medium-size flat-bottom envelope design, with a thin shoulder strap, a magnetic top-closure, and pouches, for holding keys, phones, and pens. On a closer examination, I noticed that it had a concealed camera, inside the silver "M", that was monogrammed on its side. Mistress planned to monitor me, wirelessly, and view my progress, as I ventured into the world. I wondered if She would spy on me at other times, too, like in my apartment, when I did my masked-chores for Her. Inside the purse, I saw a black velvet bag filled with jewelry. I counted out five rings, and four sets of matching bracelets, and necklaces. Two bracelet sets were a braided golden-rope design. The other two sets looked like dark, thick pewter. All of the rings were silver. Each held a turquoise, jade, or onyx gemstone. It was a nice-looking starter collection, that didn't appear too cheap, or too expensive. A plastic zipper-bag was in the bottom of the purse. It contained a hand cream, a few nail files, and five bottles of nail polish. It was as if Mistress mapped out each one of my needs, and Hers as well, since persuading men to look like women made Her so happy. A clear avenue of success, for a man assuming the illusion of womanhood, lay in front of me. The lady She wanted to see was more chic and elegant than I would have thought. But a question still vexed me: did I have a willingness or a desire to be a lady? As far as desire was concerned, my answer had to be no. I liked myself fine the way I was. Why should I be someone else? The only desire that could serve would be another person's, and not my own. But saying no about the desire did not settle the question. It only made the willingness part of it more important. With Mistress' ink and perfume toying with my libido, I knew that I was putty in Mistress' hands, happy to grant nearly all of Her whims. Perhaps persuading boyfriends to be sissies didn't require too much personal desire. If Her sub was a guy who hated to tell his Mistress "no", he remained agreeable to Her terms. She could be applying that loophole in male-logic to get us to a place where we took the leap into sissyland, all by ourselves. Even if I couldn't see myself wanting to do that, hadn't I already surrendered? This very instant, I was wearing a chastity belt, and a locking corset. I was planning my day around half-a-dozen locking ladies' garments. Her claim that I would soon be a full-time female wasn't as absurd as it sounded. It was strange! I'd laughed at TV actors for years, at men doing drag scenes in lipstick, dresses, and heels. Yet I was dressed like them now. Had the joke been on me, all along? Did I want to look silly? No. But these clothes proved Mistress never intended that I appear sloppy or satirical. I was to be a classically-feminine lady. The truth was becoming clear at last. I'd never refused Mistress' COD shipments. That sole fact meant Her agenda would go forward without delay. I'd been on- board from the beginning. I would be a willing participant to any outcome She envisioned, whether I desired the result, or not. Marina's Regime Chapter 15 __ Sympathetic Ears I entered Lorain's clinic, doing my best to act like things were natural, and simple. But they weren't. Even though I looked nice, I felt utterly foreign. I even sounded odd. The heels of my boots clattered on Lorain's tile floors, no matter how carefully I walked. A cruel friction, generated by my bra as it moved beneath the snug bodice of my dress, created an electrical sensation, as unpredictable as it was disconcerting. My one area of confidence was in the makeup that I wore. I applied it just before my mask-ride earlier that day, and it still looked perfect, hours later, due to the finishing powder, I suppose. My lipstick needed only a single touch-up, after I finished eating a few bites of my lunch. Although I removed my posture collar at 11:00 AM, I left my brassiere on. At noon, I locked the bra again, for five additional hours, as well as my extravagant new boots for their first five-hour outing. At 1:15, I slipped into my royal blue dress, put on the jacket with royal blue lapels, carefully loaded my purse, and hailed a taxi. The trip to Lorain's office had been a breathless adventure. I couldn't stop being amazed that no one doubted my gender. The lingering looks I saw just appeared to be friendly interest, or at most, man's reflexive lust - those quick-as-a-wink feelings which appear and disappear in one moment, like when a deliveryman feels a certain urge, but is far too courteous to ask for a date. I guess this was true of my taxi driver, also. He was calm and professional. He smiled almost continuously. But he averted my eyes when I saw him looking at me in his mirror. Tucked into my purse were the essentials, at least as I saw them: my wallet, house keys and a cell phone, along with a travel-size mirror and hairbrush. I tossed in the business card Mistress gave me. It held a residue of perfume, which acted as a sachet in my purse. It would boost my spirits a little, each time I opened the magnetic catch. Plus, it would be something physical, if Lorain needed any proof that went beyond my new taste in clothing. Though fully-expired, those paper remnants were real. They marked the beginnings of the nearly-impossible story between Mistress and I. She could otherwise be a phantom. I had no evidence to offer. I had no photographs, addresses, or phone numbers. There were Her letters of course, but to a skeptic anyone might have written them. I included a nail file in my purse, a small tube of hand cream, and the Rose Coral lipstick, which I had become particularly fond of. I wore the dark pewter bracelet and necklace set, plus an onyx ring. I also wore a nail polish that matched my lipstick. It was named Rose Shine. During the cab-ride, I watched lights reflecting from my jewelry and nail polish. I noticed the way those lights drew attention to the slim hands extending from my three-quarter-length jacket sleeves. My newly-pierced earlobes felt the steady pressure of the red-garnet studs I wore. They barely hurt at all. It was more of a soft itching sensation, and it felt kind of nice. It was similar to the warm feelings my makeup gave me. If I must enter the world en-femme I had to rely on any advantage Mistress offered me, which meant putting all my elegant armor to work. After decorating my nails, I spent a good portion of the remaining minutes after lunch, watching the first chapter of my video tutorial. It seemed to be tailored for men transitioning to women. Kayla was my video host, and she offered a mountain of advice. She said earlobe piercings are a great start. So that was what I did. Yes, I was committed to visiting Lorain, dressed as a female. "Why not now? Why not today?" I asked myself. With every fiber of my being, I knew I needed to obey my lovely Mistress. I knew it, and so did my Mistress. Should I keep myself cooped-up? Did I want time to slip by, as I pretended to think things over? Of course not. I wanted to make my Mistress proud of me, and set bold new records for Her. How many boyfriends will be able to say they have gone out in public, as women, with two sissy-mask rides to their credit, only 64 hours after beginning Mistress Marina's program? I could see no good in delaying my appointment with Dr. Lorain, either. I couldn't hide from all of the changes I was dealing with, nor should I attempt to lie. She wouldn't accept that, and neither could I. Lorain had knowledge to give me. So why play silly games? If I needed her insight, and advice, what faster start could there be, than to show up dressed in all of the feminine finery my dominant Mistress expected me to wear for Her? This was clearly the most direct way I could explain my new predicament. And it would prevent any evasion or euphemism on my part. Lorain would know all the quicker, which questions to ask me about my relationship, and which things to look out for. On the other hand, Lorain might think I was cracking up, and recommend I begin seeing a different therapist. But one way or another, our meeting would shed some important light on my situation. Holding the thin strap of my purse tightly to my side, I walked noisily to the reception desk. Lorain's secretary Tori was sitting there. She smiled warmly up at me, as I signed in. "Good afternoon, Ms Montero," she said, "You may go straight in, if you like." I blinked, surprised by her breezy greeting. I was afraid Tori would be surprised by my look, and ask for identification. But there was no problem at all, just a sense of her welcome and courtesy, as if she had seen me in makeup and ladies' wear a hundred times. "Thank you," I replied softly. 'Tissues,' I thought, as I turned, 'I should have brought some tissues.' A moment later, I pushed open the door with the words: "Dr. Lorain Davies, MD, PHD, Psychiatry & Counseling", stenciled onto translucent glass. I walked cautiously inside. "Hello, Ms. Montero," came the bright voice from behind an executive desk. I saw Dr. Lorain rise from her chair and begin walking around her desk to me. "Tori just sent me word of your new gender designation," she said excitedly. She reached out to me with both her hands to clasp my hands firmly. "And what a beautiful, lovely woman you have become!" I started to thank her, but my voice refused to cooperate. I simply couldn't get any words out. But before I could make another attempt, Lorain pulled me toward her for a nice long hug. Before she released me, she whispered into my ear, "I am so envious of those boots!" I slid into Lorain's leather armchair, my knees together, smoothing my dress in one fluid motion, as Kayla explained in my video tutorial. I took a tissue from a box on Lorain's desk. "I forgot to bring any of these," I said, recovering my voice at last. I held the tissue to my cheek, trying to quiet my emotions. Lorain wore her iconic white blouse, rustic brown leather skirt, and matching pumps. She sat in her favorite way, crossways at her desk, tucking a few strands of blond hair behind her ears. Then, she waited for me to begin talking. "This is kind of sudden, isn't it?" I managed to ask. "For some of my clients, it might be," she said slowly, "But for others, no. When anyone transitions, there is always a valid reason. The timing is right for them. The decision is theirs, alone. I must admit, though, I'm surprised - but only because you had not shared your true nature with me yet. And right now, I have got to say this makes glorious sense. I see a perfectly natural woman sitting in front of me. The 'you' that I see is wonderful. And I am not saying this to help you feel better. I am simply saying that you were born to be the person I am looking at, right now. Why didn't I see it before? Not only do I want to hear your story, I'm dying to know how you got so lovely, so fast. You were here just last week as a man. Then, bam! Did you fly to Thailand, dear, for extreme surgery?" I smiled at her, realizing I'd never known so much approval. It floored me. Yet in a way, this made what I had to explain more difficult. I was just as surprised as my therapist must have been feeling. "That's just it, Doctor. I'm not exactly sure. All of the changes you see in me took about three days - or a little less than three days, really, since I went to that singles get-together on Friday night." "Yes, I wanted to ask you about Friday," Lorain said. Her brows crinkled, slightly. It must have been a lot to process, with all the questions looming. "What does that party have to do with this?" "Well..." I was unable to avoid a smile. It was probably a lovesick grin, "I have met someone. She is unlike any woman I've ever known. I honestly don't know how to explain the effect She has on me. It's like love, except a whole lot stronger. She gave me her card, and we've been in communication ever since. She sends me intimate letters, and packages with feminine garments inside them. She asks me to wear them, just for Her. She gives me timetables; so many hours in one garment, and so many in the next. Some times are firm, mandatory. Others are voluntary. It must sound crazy, but this is what turns Her on. So I've been agreeable to all this, because She excites me like no woman ever has. Since Friday, I've gotten used to obeying all of Her rules, and looking this way. My sexual identity seems to be changing also, just like my new wardrobe is. It all seems a little fast to me." "Fast?" Lorain blinked, "Tom, if you were anyone else, I'd swear you were pranking me. But you are a sincere, honest person. So I have to tell you, I've never seen anyone transition on a timeline like this. One weekend? The gender clients I've had invest months, and years, yearning and planning. Each decision takes time. Hormones take time. Finding an outfit as cute as yours can take ages." "I have thought about that, too. I never wished for a new gender before. The guys who want that must need time to decide on it, to soul-search and so on. In my case, I wonder if doing it out of love is making it happen faster for me. If this is what She wants for me, I want to make Her happy." Lorain straightened her back a little. Her expression appeared to darken as she spoke. "Tom? No, I am sorry. I meant to ask you about this before. What female name do you choose to go by, now?" "I haven't actually chosen one. But Mistress calls me tommie, in Her love-letters. Her packages are addressed to tommie-lyn. So, I could be tommie, or tommie-lyn. Not much of a change, really." Lorain touched her fingers to her temples briefly, then took a breath, "Tommie, I have an important couple of questions to ask you, now." I nodded, and I blinked my eyes. I felt honored to know that my doctor had such concerns for me. With her support, and the love of my Mistress, I was certain I had nothing to fear. Paradoxical as it seems, I felt a wellspring of confidence bloom inside me. "Question one," she continued, "Are you telling me that being dressed as a woman, and ipso facto becoming a woman in daily life, was not your plan at all at the beginning, but your lady-friend's?" "Yes. That is correct," I replied, "At first, it was Hers, alone. But I am ok with it, now. I've warmed up to the idea. I don't think I ever felt so much acceptance before. Here in your office, even on my way down here, everyone has been so lovely. It's like I'm being seen for the first time in my life." We sat quietly, for a moment. Lorain offered me another tissue, and took one for herself. "Okay. Question number two. Are you telling me this woman, who you met last Friday night, made these changes to you, by talking with you over the telephone, and sending you some packages?" "Yes, that's basically it," I replied, "But Mistress has a special way of communicating with, um... Her boyfriends. She is very controlling. She warned me about that in our first conversation. She calls all the shots. She doesn't do regular phone calls. She sends out text commands, which we obey. She puts all Her boyfriends through a training program. And She tells me I'm Her fastest trainee, ever." "Oh, Tommie. I'm seeing red flags all over your relationship, but not because what she is doing for you isn't amazing. One look in the mirror will tell you that. I would kill to look as good as you do. It's just because experience tells us that when one partner in a relationship is making large sacrifices, and changing themselves all around to meet the other partner's needs, things rarely work out. It is human nature to eventually resent a lover whose words or actions take advantage of us. For even if the giving partner feels free and generous at the beginning, they secretly believe that the taker, the controller of their exchange, will magically come around to give back in equal measure. And when they don't do that, hearts can get broken. I am not positive that this is what will happen to you, but a taker will generally keep taking. So we must be careful with the risks of unidirectional love. I think I heard you call your lady-friend Mistress, just now. You described her as a very controlling person, a woman who is aroused by feminizing her boyfriends. And you appear to be one of many. Those are all signs of a sadomasochistic, or a BDSM, relationship. It can be an exciting idea for role-play, or for fantasies. But the more we try to make such a relationship real, the more risky it can become." "Thank you, Doctor," I said, "Your warning is well-intended. I've thought many of these things, too. I've had some doubts, and fears. But I considered what the worst outcome of this might be. And I am certain the worst thing would be a break-up. I may be a giver, but I've gotten gifts from Her, all the way through. Each day, She gives me vibrant new feelings I could never imagine before. It's like discovering two new senses we never even heard of, but both of them bring pure joy. One of those senses is service, simply me serving Her. Yes, She's my Mistress, my dominatrix, I suppose. But She doesn't hit me, or hurt me. She gives me pleasure. I feel special and loved each time I read one of Her letters, or open one of Her boxes, or complete one of Her tasks. She makes the rules. I know that. I accept it. I even love it. I never realized I was wired this way, Doctor, not till I saw Her, and smelled Her perfume. If we hadn't met, how could I know I was always meant to look like this?" "Thank you, Tommie," Lorain smiled, "What a dear subbie you are. You spoke from your heart just now, and I respect that - your last point most of all. You are in the right body now, and in the correct clothes. You mentioned your mistress' perfume. But I was noticing how nice your perfume is. You are new to being a woman, so let me offer you a tip. A woman never reveals what her scent is. No matter how much someone begs her to tell, even a dear friend. That is a keeper of a rule, ok?" "Ok," I said, lifting my wrists, "It's just a nameless lotion She gave me. I never heard of that rule." "But I didn't tell you the next rule, yet, Tommie. If a woman wants to know where you buy your sensational boots, it's ok to say where, or even how much they cost. That would definitely be ok." "But what if they are your trademark boots, and you don't want anyone else to wear them?" We shared a laugh. Then, just in case, I claimed another tissue. "Actually, I don't know where She ordered my boots," I admitted, "Mistress shipped them to me this morning, COD. They must have cost me at least $500, but I'm glad you like them. I love them, too. I just don't think you would want boots like these. They are locked onto my feet, until 5 o'clock." "She keeps you in boots that stay locked on? I think I'm starting to like your girl-friend!" "Yes. They have little buttons that lock them on for 3 hours, 5 hours, or all the way up to 23 hours." "Oh... my!" Lorain exhaled slowly, "Do you get to choose the number of hours, or does she?" "Both of us get to decide. Mistress requires her trainees to wear high- heels all night, every night. But wearing high heels in daytime is each trainee's personal choice. She'll bonus us for locking them on during the day. But there is no such incentive with corsets. Those must be worn, and locked, around the clock. There are other items too, like a posture collar that locks around the neck. It's tight, and very uncomfortable." "Has she indicated her plans to meet with you again, Tommie?" "Yes. Last Friday, She said we would meet on a weekly basis. She wanted to review my progress, and reward me each week. It was going to be on Thursday night. But on Sunday, She said we were moving it up to Tuesday night. I was happy to hear that, because I was feeling pretty discouraged. "Why discouraged?" "Mistress was piling on more clothes with locking timetables. It was getting complicated, and I was feeling isolated. Being someone's sissy, night and day, is frustrating. It was starting to get to me." "I'll bet it was," Lorain replied, "Do you suppose as a dominatrix, that's kind of her main thing?" "Well, yes, I suppose that is true." "How long do those night-time lockups last?" "Ten hours a night, 7 PM to 5 AM. From 5 AM to 6 AM is the only time I'm allowed to remove the corset. It gives me time to take a shower. Then at 6, the corset is relocked for the next 23 hours. "That is a lot of structure," Lorain admitted, "I can see why you were feeling overwhelmed. But, I have another question. And it concerns hormones. Your transformation looks very hormonal to me. I sense it in the shape of your body, your voice, and the texture of your skin. Even the air around you seems charged with hormones. As a doctor, and as your doctor, I think the realignment of hormones can be a wonderful thing. I often prescribe it for patients in transition, and with some clients, a mood elevator, or a mild sedative. I can even order those for you. But as I said before, I have never seen a gender transition occur as quickly as yours has been happening. I suspect you may be receiving all three of those medicines, already. If your lady-friend is giving you any vitamins or creams in the packages you receive, or anything to ingest or rub on the skin, I will say there is a strong likelihood they are laced with hormones, and very strong ones, too. Someone like me has to follow a lot of laws and restrictions when hormones are prescribed, but she doesn't. And I am ok with that, in a general way. I've never tried to report anybody for things like that. But I am very protective of my friends, Tommie, friends like you. I don't want to see them hurt by a reckless use of hormone therapy. I want you to be careful, and have a talk with your Mistress in the near future, about the items she has been using on you. Try to find out which family of drugs you've taken, so far. Then I can supplement them for you, if it becomes necessary. If, god-forbid something goes wrong, and you break up, call me right away. You do not want to suddenly stop using a transitional medication. Once that process begins, it's better to see it through. Are we agreed on that?" I thought of showing Lorain my business cards, but I decided to wait. She believed my story, and didn't need to see proof. If I described the effect of Mistress' ink, it might confirm Lorain's worries, or even increase them. And she had already dialed up a major discovery for me. The lovely ink, corset cream, and bath powder, as well as all of my makeup, were dripping in hormones, And who knows what else? Each dose of that ink left me higher than a kite, as well as hands-free multi- orgasmic. Did it frighten me? No. I knew how much I loved that feeling. I was determined to stay in the game. "Yes, certainly," I said. "I'm so glad I came in today. I thought of postponing, and laying low. But you have explained so much already, and I believe it will help. I hope I can find a way forward. I want to serve my Mistress well, even when She goes against my monogamous, patriarchal upbringing." "You're a courageous girl, Tommie. Mistress makes you feel good, doesn't she?" "Yes. There's something about the way She talks to me. She encourages me. Then She challenges me, humiliates me. She loves to do that. But my desire for Her remains constant, underneath it all." "Have you had sex with her yet, Tommie?" Lorain asked, abruptly. "No. We haven't been in the same room together since we talked in the bar last Friday night. But in a way it feels like we've had sex. I, um... orgasmed during our phone-call later that night. And She tells me She is climaxing to me all the time. I don't know if that's sex in any official way, though." "Yes, that is cyber-sex. It's considered a form of real sex. So, no physical-contact sex, then?" "No, nothing up until now." "Do you think about having physical sex with her, when you meet up again?" "I think about that all the time." "How do you picture physical sex with her taking place?" "Different ways. As dominating as She is, I think She'll want me to pleasure Her orally. I would love to do that - eat Her pussy and Her ass - whatever She needs me to do to get Her off. I picture Her having as many orgasms as She likes, from my lips and tongue. I also picture sex in a standard way, with my penis, and Her vagina. But She would have to unlock my chastity cage first." "A chastity cage?" Lorain beamed, "I probably should have guessed! How long must you wear it?" "I'm still trying to figure that part out. The padlock is keyless. It uses a timer control that is preset to unlock on Thursday night, when She originally planned to meet with me. But then She moved our meeting date up to Tuesday, and didn't say whether the cage was coming off early, or not. I am worried about that, because I really want it to come off. Then we can be free for sex at my review." "So you are worried because you're not actually in control of that decision?" "Yes, exactly." "She's in control, keeping you on edge. You realize, don't you, this is exactly how she planned it?" "Yes, I guess so. But what's making me nuts is I have no way to talk to Her directly about any of this. I'm only allowed to ask Her three questions each week, and only during my review. She relies entirely on a custom phone-app where She can text a trainee, but the trainee can't text Her back." "I see. So there is physical control, the restrictions she locks on your body. Plus, she governs, or curtails rather, any of the means you may have to communicate your needs and concerns to her." "Yes, That's exactly it," I felt a deepening sense of sadness. "Again, let me ask you. Do you understand this is precisely what your Mistress is going for?" I laughed grimly, "Doctor, it seems you have the intentions of my Mistress very well figured out." "Yes, Tommie. And so do you," she said with a tight smile. "I don't mean to insult you about this, but this is clearly an adult game you two are playing. And you must agree to the rules of that game, if you intend to play it. Rule number one is that none of the terms are about you, or your wants. Those belong to her; her wants, her desires. If you keep playing, you must know that sympathy is not your card to play. No one except her has recourse. However she likes to treat you, your love and loyalty for her is your only currency. You do not get leverage. That's what a real-life BDSM relationship is." "I see," I sighed, "I guess I am new to a challenge like this. I'm not used to feeling powerless." "Few of us are," Lorain agreed, "Even people who crave to be in your position must be reminded at frequent turns to ask, "Is this what my Mistress wants? And, if it pleases her, can I accept all of it?" "Yes," I said, impulsively nodding my head, "I can. I am... resigned to Her," I felt my body relax. "What a lovely way to say it," she replied, "A good subbie way to put it. Now I am interested in the locking items you have been wearing, Tommie. But first I need to explain that my curiosity goes slightly beyond the professional zone. I've considered for a long time the prospect of dominating my husband Dale. He has a submissive streak that begs for exploitation. He has hinted around for ages about me giving him sexy spankings, and paddlings. But that doesn't interest me at all. What he doesn't know is that I've long held cravings to dominate my man in extensive ways, both inside and outside the bedroom. I suspect my fantasies for controlling a husband are vastly stronger than his wishes are to be controlled. If I took him on, I certainly wouldn't indulge in those vanilla scenarios he masturbates to. I would set frequent, humiliating tasks for him, and he'd pay for any mistakes with additional constraints and servitude. My preferences may even include what your romantic partner likes doing; purging the maleness from him, altogether. I've never given that part much thought. But I'm considering it now. I'm taking notes to formulate my plans for Dale. There you have it, Tommie, full disclosure. I am here to counsel and assist you, and to warn you if I believe something goes out of bounds, like any doctor should. But I'm intrigued by the training process your Mistress has been using on you. I am eager to pick up as many particulars about those methods as possible, for the reason I explained. If you feel this would create a conflict of interest, please let me know now." I must have looked surprised, but I responded quickly, "No, not at all. Your curiosity is fine with me. I think if you have a dominant streak, then you can offer me even more help. As a person who seeks a lifestyle like my Mistress' someday, you can see Her perspective on things. That will give me a chance to gain deeper insight. For instance, you just told me what my choices were, if I wanted to follow my Mistress, and serve her in a sincere way. That would not create a conflict at all, for me." "That's wonderful to hear, Tommie. Now, about the items you are currently locked-up in, I would like to take a quick inventory. There is the chastity cage; it stays on until Thursday. Is that correct?" "Yes," I said. "And the boots, of course. God, just knowing they are locked-on excites me. Now, what else?" "Right now, there is the corset, which stays locked until 5 AM, tomorrow. Then there is the bra." "How would a bra even lock?" She asked. She scooted her chair forward, to begin taking notes. "Mine uses two padlocks in the back. They earn me a 5-hour daytime- bonus, same as the boots." "What kind of a bonus do you receive for the extra hours in your boots and bra, Tommie?" "I'm not really sure," I replied, "Mistress tells me that all daywear bonuses will be figured into the rewards I receive, and how frequently I receive them. The bonuses also have an affect on how fast we can advance from the trainee rank to servitor rank. That is the highest level for all boyfriends." "That sounds smart," she smiled, as she added these details to her notes. "So bonuses are based on trusting Mistress to keep track of the details. And it does no good to argue the matter with her." "That's correct," I said, "Between weekly reviews, She keeps me in a listen-only mode. If I only get three questions to ask each week, I don't want to waste one of them on something divisive." "True, true," Lorain said, as she continued writing in her notebook, "It's impressive how well those conditions would work. Which day did the Mistress begin locking you in chastity, Tommie?" "Saturday afternoon. I actually locked it on myself, following Her written instructions. The chastity arrived by courier, the same day my corset and high-heeled shoes were delivered." "Since then, has your chastity been removed at any time?" "No." "Was that the same day Mistress initiated your all-night corset and shoe-wear schedules?" "Yes. Sunday evening, She added the bra to my nightly-wear package, plus the posture collar for three hours before bedtime." "So a corset, chastity, heels and a brassiere, all locking while you slept. Wasn't that unpleasant?" "Yes, it was difficult at first. But Mistress has shown me some techniques that help me to relax. "I see. Do you have plans to earn additional bonus-hours for today, Tommie?" "Yes," I replied, "I thought of doing three bonus hours in my collar when I get back to my apartment, and supplementing that with one hour in something that my Mistress calls the sissy-mask." "The sissy-mask?" Lorain's eyebrows instantly arched. "Do explain." "It's a very feminine-looking porcelain mask, with ruby-red lips. It locks on my face for one hour. She likes Her boyfriends to wear the mask while they tidy up, and do chores. It's for daytime use only." "And the collar?" Lorain's eyes were shining, "Weren't you having a little trouble with that collar?" "Yes. But the collar is less hard for me now. It's like the corset, I guess. I'm getting used to them." "Well, that is promising news," Lorain said, while she put away her notebooks, "'We're out of time, for today. But I will have many more questions to ask you at your next visit. At the rate you are going, I think you may soon make a delightful submissive sissy for your Mistress. And if feminizing boyfriends is her thing, it is doing you no harm, as you are well on the way to your transgendered destiny, anyway. Whatever bonuses she offers you for your hard work, or extra-girlish activities, it will be smart to earn those. And I believe you should continue your Monday appointments with me. Therapy tends to be more important than ever during a gender transition. Do you agree, Tommie?" "Yes," I said, "I can't tell you how much better I feel talking this over. Thank you so much." "You are most welcome," Lorain said, as she stood to see me out. "I'm always available if you are having a crisis. Just phone me a message, and we'll get you in quickly if you need anything special. Remember to use good judgement, young lady. And keep taking such great care of yourself." "Yes, Doctor. I'll do my best." "I know you will. It seems like all we had time for today was to debrief you. Next Monday, I want you to stay for an extra 30 minutes, so I can do a full examination. We need to assess what stage of transition you are in, in case you experience any hormonal side-effects. Will that be ok, Tommie?" "Certainly," I replied, as she escorted me to her office doorway. When we entered the hall, I turned to shake hands, but Lorain wasn't having it. She gave me an extra-tight hug, instead. "One minute," she said, turning to some cabinets next to her office door, "There is a little item that my transitioning clients often forget to plan for at the beginning. I love to take care of that with a small gift; some stylish ladies' sunglasses. All new girls need to have a pair!" She handed me a flowered silk sleeve, that held the sunglasses. The glasses had oversized, round lenses with a brown tint that graduated from opaque at the top, to clear at the bottom. I immediately put the glasses on, and waited for her evaluation. "They look perfect on you," she said, "But you will want to use a darker shade of lipstick when you wear these. It's part of the mystique." "I don't have any words," I said to her, gratefully. "Words can be overrated, dear," she said, cupping my cheek. "Just follow your heart. You'll be fine." "Tori will have some items for you," she added, when I turned to go, "Helpful information all ladies in transition can use. She will also take a blood sample and a urine sample from you. Be well, now." "Thank you, Doctor," I said, once again. I click-clacked my way down the hallway to the front desk. Tori stood there, with papers in hand. "Can I give you a hug too, Ms Montero?" she asked me, sweetly. "Yes," I said, trying not to weep. "Of course."