Being Barbi's Bitch

After ten wasted years of foolishly trusting in love to 'cure' me of my femininity, I had only just begun to re-embrace the sissy inside me when something made me reach out to an old friend. What made me do it, I really don't know. Although I was once again revelling in even the smallest aspects of my femininity, treasuring and celebrating them in a way that only someone who has truly missed them can appreciate, I had made a conscious decision not to reach out to old friends.

It's not that I didn't miss them -- I did miss them, and terribly -- but I was afraid that they wouldn't welcome the contact. Having been away so long, and having left the community so abruptly, I was afraid they would be angry with me for abandoning them.

I know I was angry with myself.

For some reason, though, something compelled me to reach out to Barbi. Not only was she one of my oldest and dearest friends, but she was always an erotic inspiration to me. No matter how life would bring me down, or how unfeminine I might be feeling, she was always there as an example of what all sissies and shemales might aspire to. She was my shemale goddess of transformation.

As delighted as I was to discover that her Fetish Shemale site was still around, I noticed right away that it hadn't been updated for a while. I didn't really give the fact that much thought at the time, but anxiously clicked on the email link, just to say hello.

To be honest, I was very much afraid that she wouldn't remember me.

Much to my delight, she not only responded that same night, but she did remember me. We got to chatting, and she soon revealed to me that she had taken a bit of a break from her career, for personal reasons, and was planning to retire altogether.

That news left me heartbroken -- for my goddess, for her fans, and for my own missed opportunities. Years ago, we had made plans to get together for some fun and maybe even a photo shoot, but something always happened to get in the way. We never did get our chance to meet up, and now that I had rediscovered her, I realised that chance would never come again.

I knew, right then and there, that somehow I would make good on those missed opportunities. If Barbi Satin was going to retire, then I was going to find some way to ensure that she ended her career with a bang.

Literally.

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As it turned out, it was nearly six months later before I got my chance. My ex and I had just finalized our divorce and, on a whim, I decided to buy a scratch ticket to celebrate. Imagine my surprise when I won! It wasn't anything life-changing, but it was more than enough money to treat myself to a nice break, far away from the ex, the mother-in-law, and the rest of their wretched family.

I knew, instantly, what I had to do. It scared the hell out of me, but the very idea of it gave me such a thrill that I knew it was the right thing to do.

Barbi and I were still chatting on a semi-regular basis, and I had an open invitation to stop by any time I was in Pennsylvania. There were no commitments or expectations, just an invitation from one friend to another. Finally, after all this time, I planned to not only take her up on the offer, but to offer her the chance to take full advantage of the situation.

As much as I wanted to be with her, just once; as much as I desired the touch, the taste, the feel of my shemale goddess; as much as I need to place myself at her feet and have her validate my femininity; I was doing this, first and foremost, for her. If it hadn't been for the fact that she was retiring, and I wanted to say 'thanks' in the only way I could, I never would have thought to impose.

Less than a week later, I found myself deep in the heart of Pennsylvania. Even with the GPS I somehow managed to get lost, but I eventually found myself parked in front of Barbi's quaint little home just as the sun was going down.

My heart was racing. My throat was dry. My hands were shaking as I stepped up to the door and knocked. I was actually taken aback for a moment when she answered the door dressed like your average, ordinary housewife -- assuming, of course, that your average, ordinary housewife came equipped with a 42 DD chest, 27 inch waist, 38 inch hips, and the bulge of an 8 inch cock in her panties.

"Yes?" she asked.

I was trembling so hard, it took me six tries before I could get a single word out. Instead of the practiced, rehearsed, perfect speech I had prepared on the drive down, I dropped my jaw and uttered a single, "Wow."

She looked at me strangely for a moment. Forewarned by her past experiences dealing with Customs & Immigration, I'd had to be careful about how I presented myself when crossing the border. I had fully intended to stop somewhere on the US side to make myself properly presentable, but I was just too excited to waste a single moment.

As a result, I was looking very androgynous in a pair of women's sneakers (white with a few subtle pink accents), unisex shorts (black), and a woman's t-shirt (white). Even without makeup, padding, a wig, or jewellery to give me away, a woman would have noticed the fit of the clothes. Fortunately, the college-aged kid who checked my passport never looked twice.

"Heathyr?" Her eyes lit up in recognition. She reached out and crushed me to her chest. It felt so good, after all this time. "What the hell is your problem, girl? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

I smiled and returned the embrace. Her body felt incredible against me, so perfectly shaped in absolutely every aspect. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, it certainly is that." She stepped back, giving me another look at her. Even though I had never seen her in anything other than leather and latex, she looked just as stunning in a t-shirt and jeans. Her body still had the kind of curves that any woman would die for, and her face was still sexy as hell, even without makeup. Of course, it was that telltale bulge between her legs that nudged her from gorgeous to absolute perfection.

She ushered me inside, but I paused on the doorstep. If I was going to do this, I had to do it right. I'd practiced this a hundred times on the drive down but, unlike my greeting, this was something I couldn't afford to blow. I had to do it, and I had to do it right, even if all she did was laugh me off.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you coming in, or what?"

I dropped to my knees on her front porch, where any passing motorist or nosy neighbour could see -- as few, and as distant as they might be -- and leaned over to kiss the toes of her right foot. "Your humble slave hereby presents herself for your pleasure and amusement." Up until that point, I had been consumed by worry that she might reject me, but there was no longer any doubt in my mind as I continued kissing her toes. "I know you're planning to retire, Goddess, so I am offering myself, as unworthy as I am, as your retirement present."

For the longest time, she just stared at me. What might have been running through her head, I have no idea. All I could do was continue worshipping her feet.

"Your sissy slave comes all expenses paid," I explained. "Whatever you might desire this week, please consider it part of my humble gift to you."

"You do understand what you're saying, don't you?" She shoved her foot into my mouth and watched as I sucked her big toe like a tiny little cock. "If you are serious about doing this, then you will be my bitch." She began thrusting her foot in and out, fucking my mouth with her toe. "You will obey my every command, without question, and you will do it all knowing that the entire world will be watching." She pulled her foot from my mouth and took another step forward. "Do you wish to be my bitch?"

"I do." I kissed the calf to my left. "Make me your bitch." I kissed the calf to my right. "I want to be Barbi's bitch."

She chuckled softly. "Oh, you fucking little slut . . . you shall."

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It was a long drive into the city, and Barbi wasn't one for idle conversation. So, to fill the silence, she asked me questions and let me embarrass myself with the answers. When I started telling her about the sheriff who followed me through about 15 miles of empty roads, and my fantasy of having to suck his cock to get out of a ticket, she actually reached over and gave my sissy clit a squeeze.

"Don't fret," she laughed, "there's always the drive home."

That seemed to break the ice a bit. The rest of the drive was a bit more casual, although Barbi still didn't give much away about herself. She was very, very good and controlling a conversation to the point where you had no idea just how well she had manipulated you until much later. Of course, as I hoped to explore for myself soon, I knew that conversations were not the only thing she was good at controlling.

A half hour later we found ourselves entering the city. Using my credit card, she had already made reservations for the honeymoon suite in one of the swankiest hotels for a hundred miles around. With her generous offer to have me pay for the privilege, they were more than happy to hold it for a late check-in.

"Turn here, bitch, and pull over behind that dumpster."

I had no idea where we were, but it looked sketchy. It looked like one of those dirty, dimly lit alleys you see on a CSI or Law & Order type show where some innocent civilian stumbles across a grossly disfigured body. It actually scared me to be there. Hopefully, whatever she had in mind wouldn't take long, or I was virtually certain we'd come back to the car to find it on blocks, with no doors, no seats, no stereo, and a body dumped in the back.

She popped the hatchback, took out my suitcase, and dumped my clothes in the ground. With no comment other than, "Come," she led me deeper into the alley. It was a good thing neither of us had slipped into heels yet, as we had to carefully navigate two trash-strewn, rickety flights of a well-used fire escape. "Let's hope they haven't changed the locks," she told me, "or you're going to be squeezing through a window."

As Barbi worked at it, she explained to me that the key was a quick copy she'd made several years ago, just in case she ever had the opportunity to use it again. One of her stripper friend of hers had used the original to let her in after hours for a video shoot back in the heydays of her site. I was pretty sure I knew which video she was talking about, and I was looking forward to seeing where it was filmed.

The door opened into a noisy, dimly lit, somewhat sour-smelling slice of heaven. There were dresses, gowns, skirts, corsets, stockings, bras, panties, peignoirs, and babydolls everywhere you looked. Lace hung next to leather, which hung next to PVC, which hung next to satin, which lay draped over a mess of cotton and rubber. Barbi could have locked us in that room for the week, and I would have been in heaven.

While I gazed around in wonder, Barbi had me hold open the empty suitcase as she began rifling though the collection of stripper's outfits hanging along the wall to her right. I wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she seemed to pull out every fourth or fifth piece and toss it my way.

As much as in awe of the potential for beauty around me, I was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of stealing, especially from our sisters in sex. As much as I tried to hide it -- I had, after all, promised to obey my Goddess' every command -- she must have noticed my hesitation. I was nervously glancing back over my shoulder, in case somebody should come in the same way we did, when I felt her slap me across the face.

Startled, I turned around to see the loosely-held red velvet glove make a return slap across my other cheek. It smelled like cum and, judging by the wet smack, it was likely still fresh.

"Stop being such a stupid bitch," she snarled, "These are the stripper's castoffs -- they won't be needed again tonight." She tossed the glove into the suitcase, along with its partner. "And since club is closed on Tuesdays, you will have two whole days to send them down to the hotel laundry to be cleaned once we're done with them."

Perversely, that really did make me feel better. I knew I should have been humiliated by the idea of asking the hotel to wash so much dirty, kinky laundry for me -- especially since she'd booked us in under the male name on my credit card -- but I was actually looking forward to it.

"Okay, that's it for here." Barbi had me zip up the suitcase before we hurried back down to the car. "Now, I need you to watch out for an ATM so we can withdraw a few cash advances off of your MasterCard." She watched me for a reaction, but I was already fully committed to the expense of being her present. "Trust me," she whispered, "you really don't want a paper trail leading back to your male masquerade from some of the people we'll be doing business with his week."

I swallowed loudly. "Thank you."

"After that, we need to make two more quick stops, and then you can start earning your place as my bitch."

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Once we arrived at the hotel, Barbi handed me her bag of purchases from the drug store and herded me into a bathroom that was larger than my bedroom back home. "Start with the enema first. Once you're clean, get your ass in the shower and shave."

"Yes, Goddess." I was trembling in anticipation. "Do you want me to shave my sissy clit as well?"

She shook her head. With a mischievous smile, she told me, "Listen, you silly cunt, when I tell you to shave, I intend for you to shave." She backed me into the bathroom until I nearly fell into the two-person tub. "If you come out of there with so much as a single hair anywhere below the top of your head, I will be very disappointed."

I nodded meekly, even as I fingered my eyebrows. How the hell would I explain them at work next week? I had no problem shaving the rest of me -- I'd done it enough times before, but the eyebrows scared me. At the same time, I was excited by the thought of just how much properly penciled-in eyebrows would transform me.

"While you're getting yourself ready, I need to make some long-distance calls." She pulled the door shut on her way out.

I immediately stripped naked. I ripped open the box and began fumbling with the enema kit. I'd never used one before but, like any good submissive slut, I knew how to follow directions. The kit came with a small bottle of lube, so I applied a generous amount to both my ass and the end of the plastic tubing. I filled the bag with warm water from the tap, added the 'cleansing' ingredient, and managed to hang everything from the showerhead using a wire dry-cleaning hanger behind the bathroom door.

If inserting the nozzle was uncomfortable, starting the enema itself was absolute misery. It took every ounce of my sissy submission to keep the solution inside myself for the prescribed twenty minutes. Of course, having to lie on my side in the cold tub probably didn't make it any easier.

While I laid there, I could hear Barbi talking on the phone, although I couldn't make out what she was saying or who she was talking to. The door to our suite opened and closed a half dozen times, but I too distracted to notice whether it was Barbi coming and going, or somebody else.

When it was time to release, I hobbled over the toilet and silently sang out with relief as it all came pouring out. Too squeamish to look, I blindly flushed the toilet, and then hopped into the tub.

Barbi had bought me a bottle of lavender scented shaving cream and a twelve-pack of women's razors. I was determine to make the absolute best impression that I could, so I used one razor on each leg, another on my arms and chest, one on my eyebrows, and another on my pubes. The experience was actually very relaxing, and certainly helped to put me in a feminine frame of mind. By the time I was ready to shower away the residue, I could feel my fingers skimming and slipping across my soapy, naked, hairless body.

When I exited the bathroom, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the black PVC minidress, full-length gloves, and knee-high boots I remembered so well from her photos. I could see the band of her black silk stockings protruding from the tops of her boots, along with the black lace ribbons running up her glorious legs to the garter hidden beneath her dress. The dress itself was cut very low, putting her incredible breasts on display.

My outfit, it turned out, was to be the precise opposite of hers. Where she wore black, I wore white. Where she wore PVC, I wore satin. Where she wore lace, I wore cotton. Where she wore a tight dress and little more, I was bound into a corset beneath mine. Where her breasts and cock featured prominently beneath her body-hugging outfit, mine were flattened and hidden beneath my own ensemble.

By the time I was done dressing to her satisfaction, I looked like an incredibly slutty angel just fallen from heaven, cast out for only god knows what kind of sins against nature.

Barbi sat me down before the dressing table and began doing my makeup. I, of course, couldn't see what she was doing, but it felt like she was using a lot. Eyeliner, eye shadow, foundation, blush, lipstick, lip liner, powder, and a few other cosmetics I couldn't see well enough to identify were expertly painted across my eager visage. Before she would let me see, however, she placed a long, blonde wig on my head and used what smelt like glue to hold it in place.

She stepped back to take in the whole picture, but shook her head. "Something's not quite right." I wanted to look for myself but, even without being told, I knew better than to ruin her moment.

Suddenly, her entire face lit up with a smile. She opened the top drawer of the dressing table and withdrew some pink lace ribbons. She then proceeded to put my hair into pigtails, using the ribbons to tie off each tail. With that done, she paced a pink bow into my hair.

"Nope. Too much." She quickly took the ribbon away and tossed it back in the drawer. "Close your eyes."

I immediately did as I was told. I felt Barbi pull me to my feet and lead me into the room's walk-in closet. That, in itself, was a sissy's dream.

"You may open your eyes."

What I saw in the mirror was so startling, so unexpected, I had to look back over my shoulder three times to convince myself it really was a mirror, and that there was nobody else standing with us. The innocent, white, virginal slut in the mirror was . . . me. She -- or, rather, I -- was absolutely stunning. I couldn't pick out a single thing that did it, but Barbi had truly created something new with me. That single glimpse in the mirror was so amazing, the memory of that transformation would be worth whatever this whole adventure ended up costing me.

"Thank you, Goddess." I twirled in front the mirror and posed like a girl getting ready for her prom. "I never knew I could look like this."

"There's still something missing. Hold still." I heard her rummaging around in another drawer, and then watched her return in the mirror. She was the very epitome of shemale lust, a walking, talking, breathing example of the kind of perfection that was only possible with a little nudge to our natures.

"Bend over, bitch."

While bent over, I watched her draw a big pink heart on the small of my back with a glitter pen. She coloured in the heart, and then switched to a black Sharpie marker. With that, she wrote 'sissy slut' in very elegant, feminine lettering inside the heart.

"There. That's better." Barbi led me back into the main room of our suite, where she helped me into a pair of impossibly high heels. As white as the rest of my outfit, they were dull, brushed leather, designed to blend with my overall look. The heels on them were four inch stilettos -- far more daring than anything I'd ever tried on before.

"Get walking," she told me. "You have precisely ten minutes to practice before I send you on a little errand."