Cassandra Ch. 01

"Oh...my...GOD!"

I couldn't help it. I tried to be demure, but I couldn't contain myself; out came a rich, melodic laugh. Melissa feigned a fit of pique at my deception and punched me in the shoulder for having the temerity to laugh about it as well. Yet I could tell even the sound of my laughter was having an effect on her. She smiled. The smile turned to a chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh. Her laughter fed mine, and vice versa. Soon, we were both emitting peals of laughter, clutching our sides, tears rolling down our cheeks.

I withdrew a tissue from my purse and dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. She took the tissue from my hand and returned the gesture. She caressed my cheek. I caressed hers. She leaned over and kissed me; softly at first, then with gathering passion and urgency. We stood and pressed our bodies together. She took me in her arms and I yielded, melting against her.

By the time we reached her bed, we were clad only in waist-cinchers, stockings and heels. It felt so natural to worship her voluptuous body with my fingertips and tongue. I explored every inch of her with exquisite care, arousing her, enflaming her, enticing her. Finally, I ate her to one glorious orgasm after another.

After she regained her composure, she left the bed and went into the bathroom. She returned minutes later, wearing a huge strap-on dildo. No words were spoken; none were needed. A transfer of power had taken place; yielded by one, assumed by the other. I climbed up on my hands and knees and presented my virgin ass to my lover. She penetrated me slowly, gently, recognizing my inexperience from the resistance she felt. Her demeanor was calm, serene, as though it were second nature. I came as I had never come before. My whole world exploded in a symphony of pain-pleasure.

We snuggled together, basking in the afterglow. My back was to her front, her dildo still buried deeply inside me. I felt so safe and protected with Melissa's arms around me. We revealed ourselves to each other as we never had before - as we should have done so long ago. Melissa was very bi, but had given up on serious relationships with men during college. She had wearied of being 'conquered', used up, and ultimately abandoned in favor of some new conquest.

Her desire for sex with men was unchanged, but her emotional preference gravitated toward the female gender. The 'someone else' she had been involved with when we met was Jennifer, her roommate and pledge sister. The two had been carrying on a torrid lesbian affair, with Melissa as the dominant partner and Jennifer her submissive. They had been into every kink one could imagine - and then some.

Melissa and I had met about this time. At first she had intended me to be just another of her casual flings, a "booty call". But she had developed feelings for me, sensing something different about me than any other man she had ever known. She didn't want to tell me because she felt guilty for "betraying" Jennifer in her heart. Nor did she know how to reveal to me her need for kinky pleasures, her desire to dominate, and her love of exquisitely-feminine playmates. Breaking up with me had been difficult, but something she felt she had to do at the time.

The lovers became the scandal of their sorority and were forced to move out. In the end, Melissa's desire for sex with men was her undoing. Jennifer was insanely jealous of Melissa's frequent male consorts. "She had no reason to be," Melissa protested. "It was just sex. I can get cock anytime, but I was in love with her." Shortly after graduation, it was Jennifer's turn to abandon Melissa - for a woman who was a committed lesbian. Melissa had been completely crushed by Jennifer's abandonment. I could appreciate the irony where she could not. How many philandering males had paid the same price? The realization of having given me up as well had made the loss that much more acute.

Melissa had moved to the city afterwards and engaged in a series of short, meaningless affairs with lovers of both sexes. During this time, the glossy, superficial, transient world of the Drag Queen/Transsexual scene appeared to be ideally-suited to her needs. She adored the beautiful, feminine boy-girls she met. The bisexual in her regarded their soft good looks and non-threatening passivity as rare and attractive qualities in men. The Dominant Bitch in her regarded them as an ultimate fantasy; a pretty bauble she could conquer, transform into a feminized plaything that belonged only to her, and discard when she became bored with it. This was, in part, the reason she had set up her practice as an endocrinologist. Melissa felt supremely powerful as she transformed these delicate, effeminate boys into fabulously-proportioned shemales, destined to live the rest of their lives as beautiful, submissive sex toys.

It had also made her more conscious of her own body, to the point where she had had it surgically enhanced to its current spectacular proportions. She wielded her exquisite new physique as a weapon, an instrument of destruction clad in the most revealing, blatantly-erotic clothing she could find. She attracted her intended prey - male, female, and in-between - and consumed them bit by bit; first their resistance, then their will, and finally their soul. Whatever was left after she had taken her pleasure, she discarded like an empty husk. Lately, she realized that she had become what she despised most - a user - and hated herself for it. She had had every intention of cutting herself off from the scene entirely, but decided to go out on Halloween for one final fling.

Melissa had been hearing stories about me for months and had wanted to meet me, but had always been in the wrong place at the wrong time. On some occasions, she had missed me by a matter of minutes. That had only served to pique her interest. When she made the decision to quit the scene, she had put that desire out of her mind. Then we met. In that one, brief, explosive encounter, she felt all the old, familiar cravings come flooding back with a vengeance.

In the past week, she confessed, she had been completely obsessed with me. I was on her mind every waking moment and haunted her dreams as well. She just HAD to possess me! Now that she knew my identity, she was overcome by a raging storm of intense, conflicting emotions and desires.

My heart pounded as Melissa poured out her story. Her conflicts were so closely-attuned to my own. I desperately sorted through my own turmoil, groping for the right words to express what I felt. Just as before, I wanted to tell her just how much I wanted her, needed her, and always had. More than that, I felt so submissive to her; I would have done anything she asked of me at that point. Once again, the words would not come.

Then it occurred to me; THIS time, they wouldn't have to. I gently kissed her lips and snuggled even closer, wiggling my bottom to impale myself even more deeply on her love pole. All of our hopes, dreams, desires, and emotions were exchanged in a single, wordless glance between us. In that moment, the roles were cast; we had only to play out the scene. Melissa cupped my chin in her hand, smiled, and spoke.

"You belong to me now, Cassandra - body and soul. I shall make you my personal plaything, a bizarre little sex toy that exists for my pleasure. You will submit without question to whatever demands I make of you. You have no choice, no will of your own. Do you understand, my pet?"

Tears of joy welled up in my eyes.

"Yes, Mistress."

I don't know where that came from; it just seemed the natural thing to say. It struck the right chord; Melissa smiled, kissed me deeply, as if sealing the accord, then wrapped me in her arms and snuggled up against my tush. We slept with her phallus nestled in the crack between my thighs.

From that moment on, I was Melissa's very willing submissive. As proof of my devotion to her, I acquiesced to her demand that I begin a course of hormone therapy designed to make me softer, shapelier, and more passive. I began a treatment of thrice-daily pills, supplemented by weekly shots. She introduced me to "body modification" (corseting) as part of my feminine ritual and delighted in compressing my torso as tightly as she could.

My new hourglass figure was difficult at first; I felt as though I were being crushed within the jaws of some huge vise and could barely breathe. Even so, my new and very alluring curves were worth the effort. Flesh that had been squeezed from my waist area now spilled over on my chest or filled out my hips. With silicone breast forms and hip pads, I had a very convincing feminine shape. My lover put me on a strict diet and introduced me to daily aerobic dance classes to enhance my womanly figure and muscle tone.

As time progressed, I did feel softer, calmer, and more passive. Melissa was delighted with my increasingly docile, subservient personality. In time I became completely dependent on her and was helpless to resist her dominance in any way, meekly submitting to her bizarre plans for my development. I addressed Melissa as "Mistress" and deferred to her judgment in all things.

Without a doubt, I was also shapelier. My waist was noticeably more slender. The fleshy mounds on my chest, hips, and tush became more pronounced - and sensitive. Corseting had become a way of life - even under my male clothing. Melissa even fitted me with a full-torso 'night corset' which molded my body while I slept. It seemed only natural that I begin wearing feminine lingerie and sheer, filmy stockings as well. My sensitive breasts certainly felt better with the silky support of a padded push-up bra. My delicate little "clitty" remained tucked away without a trace inside my lacy panties, giving me a smooth, flat, feminine appearance. The sleek, snug fit of my stockings made my legs feel SO heavenly!

At first, Melissa continued to ride my cock to orgasm as she had at the club on Halloween. In addition, she trained me in the way she loved to be pleasured orally. In return, she reinforced my own feminine desires by pleasuring me anally with her strap-on phallus until I came to a glorious orgasm. As time passed, my hormonally-altered body and submissively-channeled responses took their toll on our "straight" sex. I had neither the ability nor the desire to penetrate my lover; I wanted only to pleasure her orally and, in turn, be fucked by her into quivering, mindless bliss.

Melissa began taking male lovers again. She was very open and honest with me about it, telling me she loved me with all her heart but still had needs which I was now unable to fulfill. She told me in detail about the gorgeous hunks who bedded her, how big they were, how they filled her pussy to overflowing, how they made her feel so - womanly. I wasn't hurt; our sex life was as good as it had ever been and her trust in me and caring about my feelings made me feel closer to her than ever before. If anything, I was envious; not of them - of her.

People at work took note of the changes in me. The guys snickered at me behind my back. My girlfriends began to call me "Sweetie", "Honey", and "Precious". One morning, they dragged me into the Ladies Room with them during break. They made me strip off my suit coat, tie, slacks and shirt, then admired my corseted, feminine curves, pretty lingerie and shapely, stocking-clad legs. Gwen told me they couldn't HELP noticing the thrust of my girlish bustline and the faint outline of bras, panties, and garters under my clothes. They cooed that they just ADORED my slim, sexy figure and the way I now swished as I walked.

Once the initial shock wore off, I didn't mind them knowing. They were my girlfriends and I actually felt relieved that they now knew my secret. Under their coaxing, I revealed everything; my history of cross-dressing, how Melissa had taken control of our relationship, how she was slowly, deliberately feminizing me, and my own feelings of wonderment and anticipation over the changes in me, even my new name. My girlfriends were delighted with my incipient womanhood. Gwen hugged me tightly.

"Oh, Sweetie, I'm so happy for you. I knew you were desperately unhappy before, but I didn't know why. You have always been so sweet and innocent, just like a girl trying to find her way in the world. You shared and interacted with us as if it were the most natural thing on earth - which it just ISN'T for a man. I teased you about being like one of us, but I didn't understand. You really ARE one of us in your heart. Now, the rest of you is catching up."

They vowed they would keep it "our little secret" as long as I comported myself in the most feminine manner possible at all times in the office, took my breaks with them, kept them up-to-date on EVERYTHING regarding my relationship and transformation, used ONLY the Ladies Room - and went with them on "Girls Night Out". I found out soon after that they had contacted Melissa, revealed their knowledge of the situation, and promised their support in her efforts. Armed with that knowledge, Melissa informed me there was no reason not to take my transformation to the next level.

Melissa had me give up my apartment and move in with her. I was required to be dressed, made up and coiffed whenever I was home. Each day she tightened my corset laces a little more. Melissa began taking 'Cassandra' to the beauty salon with her. Each visit started with my lover dressing me in some tight, revealing little outfit and skyscraper stiletto-heeled shoes. My double-pierced ears were adorned with studs or buttons over large hoops or long, dangling pendants. Melissa always parked in a garage a block away from the salon, to make sure everyone got an eyeful of me as we strutted down the street.

At first, the girls at the salon were beside themselves with glee at my predicament, marveling at the total control Melissa had over me as she calmly explained her desires for her feminized plaything. I was beyond embarrassment and secretly yearned for what lay ahead. Like the girls in the office, the salon staff warmed to Melissa's bizarre plans for me and enthusiastically conspired to make my transformation totally convincing.

Each salon visit took me a little farther down the path toward total femininity. My ever-lengthening tresses were lightly-trimmed, styled, lightened another shade, deep-conditioned, then carefully gathered up in back. My eyebrows were plucked and shaped into high, delicate arches. My arms and legs were waxed. A facial rendered my complexion soft and creamy-smooth. My feet were pedicured and my toenails were lacquered a deep red. My lengthening fingernails were delicately shaped and polished with clear, nail-hardening enamel, then affixed with long, lustrous press-on nails in the same crimson hue as my toenails (the press-on nails were only removed when I went to work or was being manicured, and always went right back on afterwards).

The cosmetologist made up my face in a flattering, yet always overdone look, showing me how to achieve the effect on my own. Finally, I was crowned with my blonde (or occasionally red) wig, which had been carefully styled in a big, blowsy, bimbo-ish 'do. The stylist then pinned it into place, making it feel like part of me. I was so proud of my totally-feminized appearance as I was spritzed all over with perfume and allowed to admire myself in the full-length mirror. Melissa's eyes glazed over as she beheld every luscious inch of me.

At the office, the social dynamic of my status had changed dramatically. Even with no makeup and my blonde hair tied back in a demure pony tail, my femininity was undeniable. The men now tolerated me with grudging silence. They did not abuse me openly; They didn't dare. Grace Rogers, our polished, attractive, and tres-chic Office Manager, was a zealot on the subject of harassment in the workplace.

We had not spoken directly about my changing appearance and comportment, but she had become very friendly lately. She was not condescending or patronizing; just caring and complimentary, in the way she would be to a new girl in the office. At the same time, she issued a memo to all employees, re-affirming the company's total commitment to "a positive, professional, and TOLERANT working environment". In addition, I was protected by an ever-widening circle of girlfriends, a kind of "Mammary Mafia" of women in key positions. They could (and would) wreck any man's career, should he disparage me openly.

My relationship and increasingly-feminine appearance were my girlfriends' favorite topic of conversation. They were amazed at Melissa's total dominance over me and touched with my complete devotion to my lover. Suzie wished out loud her own relationship could be as rewarding and several others echoed her sentiment. Our trips to the Ladies Room became impromptu 'makeovers'. The girls insisted on "doing me up" with a little eyeliner and mascara, a hint of eye shadow and blush, and a coat of clear lip gloss.

They fawned over my golden-blonde hair, brushing and shaping it into something "more attractive". "I haven't had this much fun since I gave up my Barbie Doll," Beth quipped. They lived for my blossoming figure, tightly-corsetted and adorned in the most feminine of lingerie under my drab, male suits. They longed openly for their girlfriend to "come out" in all her radiant feminine glory.

By now, I actually felt awkward and uncomfortable as anything but Cassandra. My heavy hormone dosages had had an amazing effect on my body. My hips and tush had become full and rounded, causing me to affect a fluid, natural undulation as I walked. My pert titties had swelled to an overfull B-cup. Their areolas were much larger and darker now. The nipples had become super-sensitive and seemed forever erect.

The extreme feminization had taken its toll on my psyche as well. I had become a simpering, submissive little playtoy. I yielded willingly to Melissa's insistence that Cassandra, not Matt, accompany her everywhere in public. We shopped, went to museums, aerobics classes, dinner, movies, and clubs as girlfriends. She insisted we accept Gwen's invitation to "Girls Night Out" so she could show me off to the girls from the office. I was as bimbo-ish as my lover could make me, with teased hair, electric-pink spandex minidress, matching purse and spike heels, and wantonly-heavy makeup, with shocking-pink lips and talons. After their initial shocked disbelief at the extent of my feminization, my girlfriends were enthralled with me - and with Melissa, the authoress of my transformation. They told her how much they adored their 'girlfriend', how good I looked, and reiterated their desire to see me "come out all the way". Melissa smiled a Cheshire smile and replied that perhaps she could do something about that. I didn't think much about it at the time.

Later, while I was dancing with a really cute boy named Todd (he had asked and Melissa had insisted I accept his invitation), I noticed Melissa had gotten really chummy with my girlfriends. They kept looking my way, smiling, and whispering to each other and nodding enthusiastically. I asked her on the way home what that had been all about. "Oh, nothing," she chirped. "Just girl-talk."

The following day, Melissa woke me at the crack of dawn.

"Come on, Sleepyhead, it's time for you to get ready for work."

"But I don't have to be at the office for three hours."

"Actually, you are going to be late today. VERY late."

I brushed my teeth, showered, then patted myself dry with a big, fluffy towel. As I stepped out of the bathroom, Melissa was waiting for me by the bed, a smile on her lips and an outfit laid out - a very feminine outfit!

"Come along, Cassandra. It's time to get dressed."

I gaped at her in astonishment.

"But, I have to go to work!"

"Don't argue with me, Missy! Start making yourself pretty for me!"