Cherry Ch. 04: Groomed for Depravity

Work started in earnest for the remainder of that day. I was under the "happy girl" command, so I complied with every order with a cheerful, "yes, Sir," and "thank you, Sir!" While I later felt shame at my attitude, I couldn't shut off the euphoria of the moment. Was it a hormonal manipulation? Was it all in my mind? And if the latter, was it chemically induced or conditioned into me? These days, I'm usually prepping to suck a would-be investor's cock as Sir explains how the process works. Thus, I may never understand what he did to me.

But on that day, the first day of training that I remember, Sir gave me a list of makeup and cosmetic videos to watch. As I sat on a small stool in front of a laptop that Sir provided (activity monitored, no doubt), I learned techniques for feminizing the cheekbones and jawline from video channels of famous drag queens. I learned how to select the best cosmetics for my skin tone and facial features. I learned to style my hair. I learned what wigs and fake glasses would best frame my face, accentuating my more feminine features. I made a "shopping list" for Sir. Would his assistant be picking those up? Would this be a normal experience for them?

I spent the rest of the day studying feminine fitness. I was already a yoga nut and a complete failure in the weight room, so my muscle was already distributed mostly along my hips and ass. But I learned about squats, lunges, clamshell leg openers, resistance bands, and every other exercise I could to fill out my ass and thighs.

I also had "homework" on nutrition. Sir told me that he wanted my waist slimmed completely down, and all my muscle gone from my arms and shoulders. And with the "happy girl" command, I was enthusiastic to limit myself to nothing but 1,200 calories of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains while I cut weight.

After several hours, Sir interrupted my studies. "Is my girl hungry?" My stomach grumbled, as if in response to his question. Given the degree of control that Sir had demonstrated over my mind and body, I didn't rule out that possibility.

"Well, I'm hungry," Sir continued, "and you probably can't survive on my cum for too long. Not that I'd let you complain about it. I'm ordering Thai, but tomorrow I'll expect you to start preparing our meals. No asset wasted and all that. After you're done with the homework I gave you, I want you to compile a list of recipes and an accompanying shopping list. I will be disappointed if a meal isn't excellent."

At that last remark, I could feel the dread biting at the edges of my mind. Even despite the "happy girl" command, my eyes widened and my breathing hastened.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine!" Sir reassured me. He lifted my chin to look at him, "who's my happy girl?" With that, the ridiculous smile returned to my face and the bubbly, warm sensation flooded my mind.

By dinner time, I had pages of notes on cosmetics, fitness, nutrition, and home care. Sir guided me to the dining hall and set the bag of Thai food on the table. I approached the chair I'd sat in previously. "Oh no no," Sir stopped me, "chairs are for me and guests." Sir took out the paper container from the bag, sat at the end of the table, and set the paper container at his feet. "Palms and knees on the ground," he ordered, "and they're not to leave the ground until you've finished eating. We need to work on lengthening and strengthening that tongue of yours."

"Yes, Sir," I chirped as I meekly obeyed.

"And turn 'happy girl' mode off. I want to watch the degradation sink in as you adjust to how you'll be eating from now on."

The smile disappeared from my face. Tears began to fill my eyes. "Oh no no, no more tears. Unless I or a client wants to see runny mascara while you're servicing us, or unless I'm feeling particularly sadistic, I don't want to watch you cry." The tears stopped.

"And on that note, you can look down at your food while your face is going down to it, but I want you to maintain eye contact with me while you're chewing. This will be how you'll be eating from now on."

The humiliation was unbearable. I lowered my head to the paper dish and tried to find a decent mouthful without getting food all over my face. I failed. As I looked Sir in the eye, chewing my pad thai with food covering my face, Sir looked annoyed.

"You'll have to get better at that so you don't ruin your makeup in the future. Alternatively, I may have you research a dry, nutritional pellet mix for yourself." Sir laughed, "but watching you eat that way hilarious."

After watching me take several more mouthfuls, I could see a bulge growing through his slacks. The asshole was getting off on this. But on that note, was I also getting hard? My command to look at the food and then at Sir prevented me from looking at my groin, but I felt an uncomfortable weight hanging from my groin. Somehow, the weight seemed more offensive than embarrassing.

"It's very important to me that you keep developing those ass and thigh muscles. We need to add some protein to your diet." Sir unzipped his slacks, letting his cock fall loose against his leg. "You can take your left hand off the floor now. Start stroking Sir's cock."

My left hand immediately went to Sir's erection. It was a balancing act of keeping my knees steady and my front upright with my right hand while stroking the length of Sir's cock with my left. After several minutes of this, Sir instructed me to open my mouth and position myself under his cock.

"You will not waste a molecule of this. If a single drop falls on the ground, you'll be licking that spot until it shines."

"Yes, Sir."

After another minute, his cock pulsated under my touch. Instinctively, I knew to position my thumb under the base of the tip and apply pressure just before the point of orgasm. How did I know that?

Warm cum shot all over my mouth and face. I tried to move my head so that none spilled on the ground, but of course, several drops did. After licking my face and hand clean, I went to work on the floor.

I prayed that the hardwood had been mopped or cleaned recently as I worked my big, soft tongue in circles around every point of contact. After my brain was satisfied that I captured as much as I could, as Sir had put it, I looked back up and him and opened my mouth.

"Good girl for showing Sir that you swallowed every drop. That should be enough food for you today--throw the rest of that away and clean up my food as well." I had eaten less than half of my meal.

After cleaning up, Sir patted me on the ass and sent me to my room. "Your sleeping gown will be in the dresser. You're not to touch yourself or play with your little dick in any way. As soon as your gown is on and you're under the covers, you're to fall asleep."

Why would he insist that I not touch myself? And why would he insist that I wear something to bed, after being naked for the entirety of the rest of the day? And could Sir order me to lose consciousness at certain intervals?

He could. When I opened the sandalwood dresser, a sky-blue babydoll nightie looked back at me. I wanted to say, "you've got to be kidding," but I was still under orders not to speak unless addressed. I lifted the nightie and slid it on. The collar and cuffs were plush and fuzzy. Sir evidently had a thing for plush and fuzzy on a girl. Under the nightie was a sheer pair of matching panties. With both articles on, I slid into covers. The moment my head hit the pillow, I lost consciousness. If there was a limit to what Sir could order me or my body to do, he had not found it.

**TO BE CONTINUED**