Body Image

Looking at her feminized ex-lover, Kathleen knew there was only one thing left to do to complete his transformation. There was only one way to punish Michael for what he had done and to make sure that she never lost him to another woman. It might seem cruel, but Kathleen knew that it was both inevitable and necessary. Michael would be happier this way, whether he would have thought so or not. Kathleen was convinced of that. He already seemed so much happier, so much calmer, so much more at ease. Kathleen knew she could make him happy. She had known that from the start. Too bad he couldn't have seen it for himself.

"Do you like being a girl, Mona?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What do you like about it, sweetheart. Tell me."

Michael stiffened slightly.

"I like looking pretty," he said automatically. "I like wearing pretty things. I like my pretty painted nails and my pretty made-up face. I like my pretty hair and my pretty shoes. I like my pretty life."

Kathleen smiled tenderly. "That's very nice, Mona. And do you know why it's important to look pretty?"

Michael looked confused for a moment. He wasn't used to being asked to think for himself. His expression, Kathleen thought, was extremely cute.

"Think Mona."

Kathleen waited until the befuddled look on Michael's face turned to one of panic. This was the look she always waited for during their sessions. The look that told her that Michael had given up trying to think and that he was ready to be told what to think.

"Mona why do girls want to look pretty?"

Michael shook his head slowly, either to indicate that he didn't know, or to ward off the idea that was about to recondition his mind.

"Go deeper, Mona. Go deeper."

Michael's body relaxed and the panic left his face to be replaced by a totally blank look. He was ready to receive her suggestion.

"Mona, girls look pretty to attract boys. You are a girl, Mona. You want to attract boys."

Michael nodded dully. He seemed to accept this new information with total complacency. Kathleen wanted to make sure he understood. She prompted him to reconstruct the logic, however flawed, in his own mind.

"What are you, Mona?"

"A girl."

"What do girls do?"

"Try to look pretty."

"Why do girls try to look pretty?"

Michael didn't even hesitate.

"Boys," he said simply.

Kathleen was delighted. This was working out even better than she could have hoped.

"You're doing fine, Mona. Just a little more and you'll be finished. You want to be finished, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very good," Kathleen said. She knew that this last part was going to be the trickiest of all. In order for him to fully and truly accept what was to become of him, he had to come to the conclusion on his own. "Now I want you to think, Mona. This is very important."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you thinking?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Michael leaned a little forward on the chair, as if that might help him to understand. His hands, still folded over his bare knee, tightened slightly.

"What is it," Kathleen said very slowly, "that girls don't have?"

Michael sat still for a very long time. Kathleen stared deeply and steadily into his wide green eyes, refusing to let him avert his gaze. She saw the fear, confusion, and uncertainty there and then a slight dilation of his pupils as if to let in the truth he'd been trying to avoid. Kathleen could almost detect a small shudder in his pretty eyes at that moment, a surrender, and then a calm and peaceful softness came over her ex-lover.

"What is it, Mona?"

Michael bit his chubby bottom lip, looking shy.

"Go ahead Mona," Kathleen said softly. "It's alright."

"My penis," Michael whispered.

"Yes Mona."

Kathleen let her affirmation sink in for a moment. She wanted him to feel good about his revelation. She wanted him to fully absorb and accept this startling new information about himself. And she wanted him to be ready for what came next. Michael looked up at her. He was flushed, bright-eyed, expectant. He looked so innocent that, for a moment, Kathleen wondered if she could go through with it. Then she remembered what Michael had done to her and what he would still do if returned to his old self and she knew that there was no turning back.

"Repeat after me Mona," she said. "I am impotent."

"I am impotent," Michael said.

Kathleen felt the power of the moment. She was taking a woman's ultimate revenge on the man who had wronged her. She was castrating Michael with a slow and deliberate mercilessness. And Michael was participating. He knew what he'd done was wrong. Deep down, he wanted to make amends. He was not a bad person. He no longer knew whether the words he heard were coming out of mouth or the mouth of his mistress. It didn't matter anymore.

"I am soft between my legs. I am a girl. I get warm and wet."

Kathleen listened to him repeat her words back. God, it was touching. She had done it; she had changed him. She felt tears in her eyes. Michael was absolutely adorable.

"I am pretty," Michael said, without any hesitation at all anymore. His voice was flat and emotionless. "I like to be pretty for boys. My penis is gone. I like making boys hard. I cannot get hard. I am soft between my legs."

What he said was no longer a revelation to him; it was a simple statement of fact.

I get warm and wet when I give pleasure. I am impotent. I am a girl. I am pretty. I give pleasure. I like making boys hard. My penis is gone..."

Kathleen continued the deep conditioning for nearly twenty minutes. She knew that one session would not be enough to effect a permanent change. She would have to repeat the procedure over and over in the weeks to come in order to complete Michael's psychological castration. But there was still one last new connection to make. For she didn't want him truly neutered. Not even Kathleen knew herself if what she was about to do next was merciful or whether it was the ultimate in cruel revenge. She was going to allow Michael to experience sexual pleasure, but in a way that, in his former life, he would have rather been castrated than experience.

"Mona darling, I want you to show me your panties."

Kathleen had programmed her former lover to be extremely shy and to feel an intense embarrassment over any kind of exhibitionism. Still he could not refuse her command. Kathleen enjoyed the conflicting emotions that played across his face as Michael picked up the edge of his dress. With his daintily painted fingers, he pulled the hem up over his smooth thighs and revealed his green silk panties.

"Open your legs, Mona."

Unable to disobey, he complied. Kathleen was pleased to note that there was no bulge in his panties and virtually no sign of his genitals whatsoever, in spite of the fact that she had reinforced his conditioning to be sexually aroused while wearing women's clothes. If she didn't know better, Kathleen could almost believe the hypnotic suggestion she had give him and that Michael didn't have a penis.

"Very good Mona. Now I want you to slip your hand inside your panties..."

Still holding his dress up with one hand, Michael reluctantly slid the other beneath the waistband of his panties.

"...and I want you to masturbate yourself for me."

Michael closed his eyes in shame but he could not stop himself. He began stroking himself with a slow circular motion more appropriate for clitoral stimulation than for a man with a dick. Kathleen hadn't taught him that. It must have been something he'd seen or read about the way women masturbated. Believing now that he had no penis, it must have seemed to be the logical way to stimulate himself. Kathleen couldn't help but feel that this was all working out even better than she could have planned.

"Very good Mona. I want you to come for me."

He had pulled his panties down low enough in front that Kathleen could see his hopelessly limp penis as he rubbed it with silver-painted fingers. It was useless—both his organ and his efforts. There was no way Michael could get hard. His penis looked like little more than a loose hood of flesh; his balls were shrunken back into his pelvic floor. Kathleen had never seen a full-grown man so small.

"Pull your dress way up, Mona. That's it. Now let it go and use your hand to take out your breast."

With the dress hiked up around his waist, Michael was fully exposed. He reached inside the scooped neck of the jersey dress and slipped out his right breast.

"Play with your nipple, Mona. That might help."

Of course, Kathleen knew that it wouldn't. As Michael rolled and squeezed his hard little nipple, there was no change in his penis. It remained totally flaccid. Michael bit his lip and his brow knit. He was trying very hard but nothing was happening.

"What's the matter Mona? I told you to come. Are you disobeying me?"

Michael's eyes opened, wide and terrified.

Kathleen knew she had put him in an impossible situation. He was programmed not to disobey her and yet she had given him an order it was impossible to obey. She could see the tears filling his green eyes. He looked so pitiful sitting there with his dress hiked up, his legs spread, unable to give himself pleasure. He still had one hand inside his panties, the other on his breast.

"You can't come, can you?"

Michael sadly shook his head "no." She could read the frustration and confusion on his face. He had never had this trouble before.

"Poor baby. Do you need help?"

Michael looked down, blushing.

Would you like me to show you how to come?"

Michael nodded.

"Look at me, Mona."

Michael looked up slowly. His eyes, which seemed to want to look anywhere but at her face, were slowly drawn to hers.

"Say it Mona. Ask me."

Michael felt the words being slowly drawn from deep inside him.

"Please—ma'am--help me—come..."

Kathleen truly did feel sorry for him. She also felt incredibly turned on. To have this much control over Michael, this man who had hurt her so badly, it was more than she could ever have imagined....

"I am going to help you, Mona. I am going to show you how to come. But you must trust me. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. You will do whatever I say. You will do it without question. I know what is best for you. This is the only way you will ever be able to come. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Michael looked so eager, so ready, so willing.

"Mona, I want you to touch yourself as you were doing and I want you to repeat after me..."

"I need a penis inside me."

Michael said it without the least hesitation. There was a slight look of alarm on his face, but Kathleen pressed on before what was left of his thinking faculties could be brought to bear. Michael passively said the words he heard coming from deep within his own mind. If he could reason, he would have been stunned at the content of his thoughts, but he would have had to conclude they were his own deeply-buried fantasies. Kathleen could not be doing this to him if it was not, on some basic level, what he really wanted after all. But Michael didn't have these thoughts. He didn't have any thoughts at all. He was aware only of the intensely pleasurable feelings finally rising in waves from his pantied crotch and completely flooding his awareness. It was all Kathleen wanted him to be aware of; it was all that it was necessary for him to be aware of.

"I need a long hard penis inside my plump bottom," Michael said, panting, rubbing his soft little penis. The intensity of his arousal overcame his inhibitions. "I want to feel it buried deep inside me. I want to feel it stretch my asshole. I want to feel it thrusting in and out of me. I want to be filled up with cock. I am so empty. Please fuck my plump bottom."

Michael quickened the circular movements of his feminized hand and spread his knees obscenely wide, affording a full and rather immodest view of his crotch. His penis still didn't get hard but Kathleen could see a dark green wet spot forming on the front of his satin panties. His eyes were shut tightly and he was having difficulty talking as his breath was coming in short little gasps. The brain was the most powerful sexual organ and Kathleen knew that Michael's body was reacting as if he really were being fucked by a long hard cock. She could hardly keep her own sexual excitement under control. She was fucking him just as effectively as if she had a cock of her own. It was the most intensely erotic encounter of her life.

"Oh god, yes," Michael moaned. "Please fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."

His fingers were shiny with the cum leaking from his flaccid member. One hand was squeezing his breast and his head was thrown back in ecstasy. His dress was pulled all the way up and his pantied bottom was squeezing its imaginary cock. Inside his sandals, Michael's painted toes scrunched up in anticipation of the orgasm that would change him forever.

Kathleen had done it. She watched as Michael's eyes snapped open and he himself said the words that completed his total emasculation. The hot semen gushed inside him, jet after jet, spurting at the end of each long painful/pleasurable thrust of the hard cock buried deep inside his ass. His own orgasm came simultaneously, of course, forming a new associative imprint in his mind. Now Michael would forever associate his orgasm with the idea of being anally penetrated. His orgasm was different from any other that he had ever experienced. It would be the only kind of orgasm he would ever experience in the future. It didn't come all at once; it just seemed to spread over him. It seemed to have no real beginning and no definite end. He felt he could do it again. And again. And again. His panties were soaked. He rubbed himself slowly and lazily, basking in the pleasurable afterglow. With a curious and innocent sensuality, Michael brought his sticky fingers to his mouth and tasted them. He didn't make the connection that it was semen that he was contentedly sucking from his fingertips or that he was being further conditioned to crave the taste of this stuff from the cocks of other men. He only knew that it tasted yummy and it made him feel sexy and he wanted more.

Kathleen gazed fondly and sadly at the hopelessly wanton and indolent sensual creature she had created. He was laying back on the sofa, one hand still in his panties, the fingers of his other hand in his mouth.

"You're finished Mona," she said, using his real name for the last time. He stopped sucking his fingers for a moment and looked at her. There was just the slightest shock of recognition in his green eyes.

And then it died without a protest.

From here on out Michael was no longer.

There was only Mona.

********************************************

Ten months later they were all having lunch together at a small outdoor café in uptown Manhattan. During that time, as the divorce proceedings were underway, Kathleen had managed to establish a friendship with Michael's soon-to-be-ex-wife.

It wasn't easy and it took some convincing, but eventually Christine came to realize that Kathleen really wasn't the enemy and that she hadn't stolen Michael away from her. Her husband had, apparently, been harboring some very powerful and deeply felt sexual needs that Christine hadn't supported, nor, if she were honest with herself, could ever have tolerated if she had known.

It was best this way. In the long run, Michael would be happier—and so would she. They had signed the divorce settlement that morning and it was time they all moved on with their new lives.

Christine looked across the table at the man—it was so hard to call him that anymore—who used to be her husband with a certain fondness and nostalgia. It had been a little strange at first to see him in his new role, but the transformation was so complete, that it eventually came to seem perfectly natural. She had even gotten used to calling him 'Mona," which seemed to make him unusually happy and content.

Christine would miss him in a way. Of course, she no longer had any sexual feelings for Michael. How could she? He had cried at the courthouse when he signed the papers. Christine had never known him to be the sentimental type. But then again, the poor dear had been through so many changes in the last year or so.

Michael was still dressed in the outfit he'd worn to court: a simple but sexy red halter suit with a sleeveless buttoned top and a modest knee-length skirt. On his feet were a pair of red high-heeled sandals with a pair of crisscross straps across his insteps. His toenails were painted with clear lacquer. His longish hair, permed and highlighted, was pulled and clipped in a kind of makeshift up-do, loose tendrils escaping fetchingly at the side of his face. Every once in a while Michael pushed the hair away with a feminine gesture that caused the gold bracelets on his slender and tanned left arm to jangle. Christine noted that his wedding ring had been replaced by a tiny gold sweetheart ring. He was only lightly made-up, just a little bit of eye makeup, enough to bring out his pretty green eyes and a light coat of lip red gloss. Lip liner accentuated his soft, sexy mouth. His hand, the perfectly manicured nails painted with clear lacquer to match his toes, daintily held the fork with which he ate his tossed salad. Kathleen had ordered it for him with the lite french dressing on the side and a Pepsi One.

When Michael excused himself to go to the "powder room", Christine watched him make his way passed the tables, wrists brushing his hips, which rocked gently side to side. She turned back to Kathleen.

"Does he know?"

"That he isn't a woman? No."

"But the way he walks..."

"He thinks he has 36 inch hips," Kathleen said. "As well as 38DD breasts."

"You mean?"

Kathleen nodded. "When he looks in the mirror he doesn't see what we see. He sees a sexy, over-developed young woman, not a man in drag."

"Unbelievable."

"Do you remember how obsessed he was with skinny women?"

"Do I," Christine said somewhat bitterly.

"Well you might get a kick out of this. He thinks he's overweight."

Christine looked astonished. "You're kidding. He's flesh and bones."

"He's certain that he has at least twenty pounds to lose. That's why I ordered him a salad. You'll notice that he didn't even touch his wine, except for a little token sip when I made that toast at the beginning of lunch. Do you know where he's going now?"

"To the powder room," Christine said with a smirk.

"Yes," Kathleen said. "He's going there to throw up. I'm afraid Michael is a touch bulimic."

"How adorable." Christine remembered the snide comments Michael used to make about women with eating disorders, including her sister. It serves him right, she thought, and then felt a twinge of old concern for the man she'd shared so much of her life with. "But isn't that dangerous?"

"It can be. I'll cure him of it when I think he's learned his lesson."

Both women laughed.

But the lisp..." Christine said. "How?"

"That was the easiest of all. Same with the feminine mannerisms. Just a little post-hypnotic suggestion."

Christine took a sip of her wine. There was one last thing she needed to know. "So, what will become of him?"

"He'll become the woman he already believes himself to be," Kathleen said triumphantly, happy to be able to tell her talk about her master plan for Michael with someone who would appreciate it. "I've already begun his hormone therapy and laser electrolysis. I'll have some hair extensions put on until the hormones kick in and he can grow his own. Then will come his breast implants and some cosmetic surgery to his face. Body reshaping will give him the figure he thinks he has now. Finally, I'll have him castrated and give him a vagina so that he can live as a woman full time. As it is, he can't function as a man anymore. To make him live with useless male parts is just cruel."