Adjusting My Attitude Pt. 06

(WARNING! This story is a FANTASY; in real life, human beings are never property or sex objects and informed consent is always MANDATORY. This story is set in the legalized enslavement world of Joe_Doe_Stories. However, as readers of previous episodes are aware, this story involves a male slave whose experience varies somewhat from that of most female slaves.)

The Samson Clinic was the largest slave medical facility in Dallas, complete with its own 24/7 emergency room and surgery facilities. Yet, when Laura Simmons finally located the office she was looking for, it was probably the smallest office in the entire building, with space for only a desk and three chairs. The name next to the open door matched the one she had been given—Nicola Sheldon, MD, Ph.D. When Laura knocked on the door, a beautiful young woman with shoulder-length honey blond hair and a classically cute face smiled up at her from the desk.

"Hi! I'm Nikki Sheldon. Are you Ms. Simmons?"

"Please, call me Laura. Thank you for seeing me so quickly."

"Well, you come highly recommended—I owe Pamela Williams a lot. Please sit down. I'm not sure how I can help you, though. You do realize that I've only just finished my residency in slave psychiatry, right?"

"Yes, but Ms. Williams was convinced you were the one person who could advise me. Before we begin, I must compliment you on that beautiful ring—did you just get engaged?"

Nikki giggled. "Yeah, I finally wore Paul down."

"May I ask how you met him? Is he another doctor?"

This time the young shrink laughed out loud, almost hooting. "No, Paul's not a doctor! OK, since Pamela said you had some kind of issue with a slave's emotions, this may be relevant. In order to qualify in slave psychiatry, I was required to spend six months wearing a collar. I know—it was as horrible as you might imagine! Truth being stranger than fiction, Paul bought me at a slave market, and we fell in love. He runs a BDSM club in Fort Worth. But he didn't want to take advantage of his ownership, so it took him years to acknowledge that we belonged together on a permanent basis."

Laura: "I think I can see why Ms. Williams thought you were the person I needed to talk to. But, let me stop wasting your time and get to the problem: To begin with, do you know who Dan Martinson is?"

Nikki: "Actually, I do. I once worked briefly in IT, and the Martinson improvement on search engines was a masterpiece. I don't know what he's doing now, though."

Laura smirked: "Well, at the moment Dan Martinson is probably doing my laundry. He's my slave."

The psychiatrist burst out laughing. "Sorry, that was unprofessional—slavery is never a laughing matter. But, I mean-I thought that I had a strange experience in bondage, but this___! How in the heck did a successful guy like Martinson end up wearing your collar? Did he lose a bet or something?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Dan and I dated for several years, but I refused to marry him because he was so spoiled, so entitled that it grated on my nerves. So he came up with a crazy idea—and I do mean it was HIS idea, even though I tried to talk him out of it. About two months ago he put all his assets into a blind trust, sent his driver and other servants on vacation, and voluntarily enslaved himself to me for one year. His idea was that he would surrender all his advantages in life so I could retrain him to serve others rather than his own convenience. I sent him through the Long Horn Slave Market for processing, because he was so rich he'd never even been slave graded. The slave handlers had to shock and spank his butt several times, which I think was a good start to adjusting his outlook on life. Then I brought him to my home and set him up to do housework and cooking for me; one day a week I lend him to the wife of HIS best friend to clean her house (and incidentally, if you must know, perform cunnilingus on her!) I also had the slave market install a chastity cage on him, and I've only removed the cage a few times as a special reward. Lately, I've been trying to feminize him because I want him to pass as a woman, or perhaps I should say a trans-woman, when I put him to work in various service jobs that are usually held by females."

Nikki: "Well, it sounds like a radical approach, but I'm impressed by both his devotion and your ingenuity. How's it working out?"

Laura: "I think I've broken him." The light-hearted conversation came to a sudden stop.

"Umm—what do you mean by 'broken'?"

"Two weeks ago, I had to get tough with him to make him do something that he considered emasculating. So I used a crop on his butt for only the second time. Up to that point, I had occasionally had sex with him as a reward for good behavior, but I couldn't do that again right after punishing him. I was horny and—I'm not proud of this, but I was frustrated by the entire situation, which was mostly his fault—I had a few drinks, brought a young guy home from my office, and slept with a co-worker while Dan was in the next room. Dan never said a word of reproach—he rarely breaks discipline as a slave—but since then he just goes through the motions, doing whatever I want with a blank expression on his face. I can't get him to open up to me. My girlfriend who has 'Danielle' [she hooked her fingers in the air to show quotation marks] clean her home once a week says he/she's very lonely, but never complains about how I treat him/her."

After a painful pause, Laura blurted out, "The longer he's been my slave, the more aware I am of how much he really loves me, and I think I love him as well. But I'm stuck—if I stop disciplining him, he'll never learn, which will defeat the whole purpose of this crazy stunt. Right now, I'm afraid that once his year is up he'll walk away forever."

Nikki replied, cautiously, "it sounds to me like you already have an idea what's bothering him. If you want, I can talk with him about the situation, but I have to be careful about violating confidences. How much of what you just said can I repeat? We're not in middle school anymore, so I'm sure you don't want me to tell the cute boy in English class that you really like him and ask if he likes you."

Laura sighed. "I know that. I can't ask you to solve my problem, but I at least need to know what he's thinking and how badly he's hurting. I thought using a crop on him was the hardest thing I'd ever done but it may be worse for me to worry about how he's feeling inside."

"All right, I'll be glad to talk to him, once you tell him that you authorized an interview—if he's as disciplined as you say, he'll refuse to talk to anyone without your permission. It sounds like you both care deeply about this, so I hope I can help you. Before we get to that stage, though, it might be useful if I could see how "Danielle" interacts with you and other people."

Laura: "Pamela Williams already anticipated that. She's having a sort of coffee or tea for what she calls her 'service girls' at her house this Saturday at 2. She said you would know what she meant by 'service girls,' which apparently includes you." Nikki nodded with a smile but didn't explain what the term "service girls" meant. Laura continued: "I'll bring 'Maid Danielle' along to serve the food and drinks, which is what I planned as the next stage in her training. Of course, I expect you to bill me for today, Saturday, and any other time you spend on this matter."

*****

(Dan Martinson's account, continued)

One of the few advantages to being feminized was that my Mistress no longer tied me up and locked me in her car trunk when she transported me somewhere. It wasn't kindness, but rather a wish to avoid getting my dress dirty. That Saturday, she had told me to wear one of the French maid costumes so that I could assist another slave in serving at an informal women's meeting, held at the magnificent home of someone I did not recall ever encountering before, bank President Pamela Williams.

It was daunting to act as a female (or perhaps shemale?) maid while serving a group of remarkably beautiful and confident cis-women. I'm biased enough to think that Laura is the most beautiful lady in the world, but this room was full of strong competitors for that title. Working with Cindy, a gorgeous, svelte blonde whose collar proclaimed her indenture, I did my best to attend to all these women in an unobtrusive way while they talked loudly and laughed frequently. They were all current or former employees of Ms. Williams' bank, but the racy stories they recounted about providing sexual services to investors and government officials made me blush. Judges penetrating all three openings, agricultural department officials getting blowjobs in return for registering slave documents, investors ravaging women bent over their desks—the list seemed endless. I silently apologized for the arrogance of the men who had imposed on them in this manner. Some of these women, like Cindy, had apparently been slaves at the time, but in my book, not even slaves—perhaps I should say ESPECIALLY not slaves, who can't resist—should be treated in such a crass manner. (Before becoming a slave, I had always felt sorry for their plight, but now I knew first-hand how horrible it could be. If you've read the previous portions of my foolish history, you know that I had come to enjoy the intimacy of oral service to Laura and Terri, and even, although it's embarrassing to confess, the sensations of Laura pegging me. However, both those women were kind and gentle in using me; my limited experience at the Long Horn Slave Market had equipped me to empathize with Cindy and others being casually raped by callous strangers.)

Fortunately, no one seemed to take offense at either my appearance or my performance as a servant, even though I'm sure that they were in no doubt concerning my gender. They were amused when my Mistress demonstrated how she could summon me with the remote-control vibrator in my butt, but no one tried to humiliate me about it. Eventually, my Mistress and the hostess dismissed Cindy and me to the kitchen until called. There, I was still on edge until one of the women, identified only as Beth, tried to reassure me as she passed through the kitchen after using the bathroom.

"Welcome to our group Danielle. I hope we haven't intimidated you; except for your mistress, we've all been slave sluts for Ms. Williams, so we can hardly claim any superiority over you. Heck, I used to work with Cindy over there when we were in-processing new acquisitions at a slave market—and then Cindy got to lead me around naked and collared; I couldn't repay my college loans and Ms. Williams processed me through the same market!"

Washing glasses in the sink, Cindy turned around and giggled. "Yeah, and when I defaulted on my mortgage, Beth got to return the favor, leading ME around nude in cuffs and collar in front of all my co-workers. And Beth had always been a perfect, submissive little slut when she was enslaved, whereas I kept getting shocked and spanked because I forgot I was no longer free. If Beth hadn't been there, the backroom boys would have had a field day with me; as it was, my rear end stung for days."

Their casual stories of indenture for debt once again reinforced how fortunate I had been to grow up in affluent circumstances. At the moment, however, I was more concerned with engaging them in conversation. After their confessions, I smiled slightly and ventured a reply in the same vein. "I know what you mean, Cindy—when I was processed at the Long Horn Slave Market, the slave handler shocked and strapped me because I was so fascinated by what I saw that I forgot to stay still. And then—this is really embarrassing—the female handlers in the showers pretended they were screwing my rear end with the enema nozzle! They were teasing and joking with me the whole time."

"When it comes to slave handlers playing with our bodies, we've all been there," Beth replied. "Your mistress seems a little bit strait-laced, but nobody else here will look down at you because of your collar. I hope you can come back and visit us sometime."

I had to defend Laura, "I'd never say anything bad about my Mistress. She's had to discipline me a few times, but I deserved it! Anyway, thanks to both of you for just talking to me; I hope I do get to see you again."

(Nikki Sheldon's observations)

Hi! Nikki here, again—I intended to write up some of my cases as a slave psychiatrist for you, but as you've already seen, very early in my career I got involved in the strange case of Dan Martinson.

That day at Ms. Williams' coffee meeting, "Danielle" acted and looked almost like a robot—(s)he performed every female step and gesture with well-drilled perfection, but the movements didn't look real any more than (beyond the first glance) (s)he looked like a "normal" (whatever that is) woman. Danielle was obviously trying to fulfil what his mistress wanted, but the act wasn't quite convincing. I sort of understood Laura's rationale for feminizing him, but as far as he could tell, all that had done was make him appear contemptible in her eyes.

I also noticed that he was constantly sneaking glances at his mistress, Laura, who had asked me to advise her. Dan wasn't afraid of her in any physical way, even though she could have abused him as a slave, but he seemed desperate to please and in despair about his ability to ever win her. Good lord, I thought—is that what I looked like when I was mooning around, helpless with slave love for my master, Paul? Probably. How embarrassing even to watch, let alone be in that situation. I mean, here was a mature, successful guy who had truly given up everything to please the woman he loved, but he thought it was all slipping away after she flaunted a young stud in his face.

Beth had helped me a great deal when I was a slave slut at the bank, so after the meeting I asked her opinion, and she recounted the conversation in the kitchen. She was convinced that the guy was not only lovesick but terribly lonely. Thinking about what Laura said, he had few if any outlets for conversation or human contact. It sounded as if he spent four days a week alone doing housework, then two weekend days tip-toing around, waiting for his mistress to find fault, and the only socialization he got was dressed up as a slave maid in the home of his own best friend! I'm a psychiatrist, not some fairy godmother or matchmaker, but I've got to help "Danielle" and her owner out of their misery.

First, I had to get him talking to me. I had other patients on Monday and Tuesday, so it was Wednesday morning before I appeared at Laura's house, by appointment, about 9 a.m. "Danielle" was wearing a skirt, blouse and nylons rather than that ridiculous maid's costume but (s)he was very ill at ease. (S)he insisted she was not allowed to sit on any of the living room furniture, so we finally used two straight chairs in the kitchen.

I began with my usual explanation about the dual responsibility of slave psychiatrists. We all try to help the slaves cope with the challenges in their lives, but the state requires us to (a) report severe abuse of slaves and (b) help the slave perform according to the owner's wishes. Neither limitation seemed to apply in this case, but I try to be honest with my patients about the limits of patient-doctor confidentiality.

I knew that Laura had imposed feminization on her slave but thought I had better begin by trying to determine the gender effects of that imposition. When I asked with whom I was speaking, (s)he looked confused, so I finally asked "Danielle or Dan?"

"Oh!" He replied, his confusion disappearing. "I'm Dan—Danielle is my Mistress' idea, although the ways things are going I may lose my identity in the process. For all I know, I'm about to get estrogen shots and breast implants."

I told him that, since he wasn't enslaved for life, no slave veterinarian would support such extreme measures. "Your mistress could get androgen blockers—drugs that temporarily inhibit either the production or the effects of testosterone and related male hormones. Since you'll be free in less than ten months, that shouldn't have any long-term effect. But surgical implants and estrogen? No way."

The relief on his face was so clear that for the first time Dan stopped trying to address me as "Mistress" and finally used my first name, as I had urged him to do. "Nikki, I'm really trying to do what my Mistress wants me to do, but nothing seems to satisfy her. She wants me to be oriented towards serving others, but so far she's only had me clean house for our friend Terri and serve at Ms. Williams' party last Saturday. Instead, she keeps coming up with new ideas that she says will feminize me so I get into a servant mindset. Did she tell you why she had to punish me three weeks ago?"

"She mentioned it in general, but why don't you tell me."

"It would be easier to show you." As Dan led me through the house, walking remarkably gracefully with a slight shimmy of the hips, I noticed closed-circuit cameras everywhere. Then, he showed me a large, anatomically-correct rubber dildo attached by a suction cup near the bottom of a glass sliding door that led to the back yard. A mirror and camera were pointed at the dildo.

"Whenever Mistress decides that my deportment needs motivation, or just that I need to focus more on her needs, she has me kneel down here and suck this dildo for 30 minutes or an hour. As you can see, she's set it up so that both she and I can see me doing this, not to mention the possibility of neighbors noticing me through the back fence. She says this sucking is to encourage me to think like a woman serving a guy, but I can't help but conclude this makes her see me as a sissy loser on his knees with a cock in his mouth, someone she could never love even after I regain my freedom. That's why I refused the first time she told me to suck on this. But, she was so determined that I gave in as always to please her, which AGAIN makes me a wimp whose only use is as a perverted servant."

I wasn't going to criticize Laura in front of him, but he did seem to have a point. We talked for another hour, and I decided that my first impression was correct—he was desperately in love, trying to do what she had asked, but afraid that the situation was hopeless. He reluctantly confessed that he got some satisfaction even when she just used him to lick her or when she pegged him—he was particularly uncomfortable admitting the latter but said he could understand how THAT would make him think like a passive person serving others. But, wasn't sucking a dildo once enough to make the same point? Again, he didn't mind doing all this to make his love happy but feared she would never respect him again.

I did tell him just a little of my own slave crush on my owner, if only to convince him that his experience wasn't unique, even if the reason for his self-indenture was. As is often the case, he seemed a little happier just for having confided his worries to another person.

Laura was eager to talk to me, and so she met me at my office the next day, a Thursday. I wasn't sure how to approach her, so I began with the easiest recommendation.

"You told me you were feminizing 'Danielle' in preparation for farming him out to various service jobs. I agree with you that he still isn't entirely 'passable' as a female, but I think what he's missing is more examples, greater interaction with other women. I mean, right now what women does he encounter other than your friend Terri?"

"Well, I spend a lot of time with him, but—all right, you got me: I'm probably so critical of his performance that he doesn't learn anything from me. So, you're saying I should rent him out right now?"

"Absolutely—it will give him role models, experience interacting with males and females, and also help take care of his loneliness."