Consent Ch. 06

Author's Notes:

(1) This is a story. It is not real. But anyone who has had internal transgender fears knows this could be real.

(2) There is lots of bondage and sadomasochism in this tale, but I have kept it in the cross dresser's category because that is the underlying thread.

(3) Much of this is disturbing, and the trolls will have a field day with it. Have at it guys!

(4) I'm sorry, but to get the full meaning of this story, chapters 1 to 5 really should be on your reading list first. If you feel you can't put yourself through that (ie you don't like my writing), then maybe you should just go away.

(5) Last, but not least, I have recently been diagnosed with cancer and I am on a personal roller coaster right now. When I write, it is to escape, but lately I have had many negative thoughts intruding upon my own sexuality, so bear with me. Chapters may be few and far between.

While making supper Johanna studied the new video, and with every new pan of the camera, every new look of conflicting lust and fear in Jackie's eyes, she knew she had a winner. Once editing was complete, it was going up on the site and Jackie would attract more freaks that wanted to be used and abused...and pay dearly for it. Clients would want him to be Johanna's assistant or to use him as they saw fit, or even to be used by him. And for those that wanted that sweetly confusing role of being fucked by a man with breasts, or a woman with a penis (depending on one's point of reference), Jaqueline would be the one. The options were endless, the kink as twisted and bizarre as any on the internet.

Supper was ready and she put that first taste of salmon in her mouth followed by the Sauvignon Blanc. She closed her eyes in exquisite recognition of the complex tastes mingling and swirling in her mouth, a metaphor for life. She smiled and breathed through her nose in a contented sigh. Sex was also like that, multifaceted and surprising at every turn. She had always loved the complexity of sexual perversion and fantasies, and they churned in her head as the foods did in her mouth. So many shades of taste, so little time. How did vanilla people survive, she wondered?

Thinking of Jackie sitting alone in his cell, she decided to let him watch a movie, so she streamed the video of his training to the flat screen in his cell and left it to loop for the night. That should make him cringe, she thought mischievously. His protective armor and his psyche had been shredded today. Such a fear of being gay, and yet he submitted so sublimely to the bondage and humiliation. He'd be confused and wondering what or who he was now, and she intended to encourage him to question his sexuality, to become more confused than ever, so she could build him back up. Stripped bare, he'd slowly begin to understand that shades of sexuality don't matter; only sexuality itself matters. And he was such an incredible sexual specimen, a virgin in so many ways.

As she sipped her wine, Johanna absently wondered if she herself was a psychopath, but she really didn't think so. She cared for people, only doing to them what they wanted to be done. Yes, there were times when the treatment she gave clients was severe, even more severe than what they bargained for, but they always came back because they trusted her to give them a scary ride on her sexual rollercoaster. It was an adventure for her as well, and she prided herself on being able to not only determine a person's desires, but their weaknesses as well, and they were often one and the same.

She had decided that she would hammer and exploit Jack's irrational fear of being gay. She would gut him, rearrange him, and put him back together again, much like military training does, so he would see things in different ways than before. Or better yet, not even think about the things at all...just do them. Both his application for this job, and his acceptance of its conditions, had shown that he was weak and would eventually succumb.

A dead man walking.

Being alive for him meant that he should serve and be used. It was a natural flow of events; she was merely helping water flow downhill by breaking the dam. He would break. The superficiality of his life before his slavery would become apparent, and he would become what he had been hiding all his life, an openly cross dressing trannie, expressing a freedom he had never known existed.

The paradox made her smile. Sexual fantasy was full of such stuff. She wondered what Jackie was thinking now, as she watched him on the CCTV. He looked helpless. And he was. He was bound. He was locked inside his cell. He was in control of nothing.

And no one knew he was here.

Jack looked around the cell. He was hungry and thirsty. He had assumed that he would be fed some supper, but now he was beginning to wonder, as there had been no sign of it. Water was a different matter. He had to have that, so he went to the sink and tried to figure out how to do what normally would be a simple task. His hands were but knobby fists in the rubber bondage mittens secured behind his back, so he turned around and pushed the drain plug down and fumbled with the cold water tap until water gushed out and filled the sink. There was a plastic glass by the sink but he knew that his control of that would be limited, so he put his face down into the sink and drank like a dog from a bowl. It was harder than he thought it would be, and it softened some of the ejaculate that had hardened on his chin, so that the smells of the men came back to haunt his nostrils.

He shook his head in regret and guilt. Looking down at his breasts jiggling in the bra, he realized he couldn't even get his bra off. There was nothing he could do but wait until Mistress Johanna permitted something, and that was a humbling, humiliating, powerful and erotic feeling to him.

He had a hard time figuring all this out. He was heterosexual, not gay, and he detested the smell of those men's penises and the taste of their ejaculate, abhorred the way they used him as a vessel or receptacle for their orgasm. So why did it arouse him so much that it made him ejaculate as well? That was so degrading. And that video woman had taken a close-up shot of his face when he came, and then of his cum-soaked girdle. In the recollection of that he shuddered, like recalling images of teenage angst.

The ubiquitous mirrors around his cell betrayed his state. He was essentially nude except for his pink bra, with his hands secured behind his back inside a locked cell and he started to breathe heavily with the realization that he was stuck here, and he just had to learn to adapt.

She had asked him if he wanted to leave. He chose to stay. It had been his choice, not hers.

Then he heard Mistress Johanna's voice and looked around to discover the flat screen TV in the top corner of the cell. He hadn't noticed it before. There were no controls.

He watched with a detached fascination the degradation and objectification of this poor little trannie boy/girl on the screen as so many eyes watched. It was there for all to see. There was real futility in the struggle; there was real fear, but most of all there was very real arousal at being treated like that. The cum-caked face at the end of it appeared to show a dehumanized slut, completely dominated and controlled by the leading woman. His mouth was open, and his head was bowed down, beaten, and clearly understanding his role in the macabre scene. He was to be used for others' pleasure. Any normal person would be screaming and fighting against it. But this one...this one had succumbed to this treatment so completely. And there was clear sexual enjoyment in the submission. Why?

He shook his head. He had been watching his role in such a dissociated state that he had forgotten something. This was what he was. This was Jaqueline. This was Jack.

The video started again. Jack wasn't being forced to watch the video, but he did, transfixed on every detail, the sounds of the orgasms, the visceral grunts and groans, the pure base animalism. Do it. Feel it. Do it again. The simplicity of it was striking. There was no clutter of emotional attachment; just the desire to have an orgasm, a complete isolation of physical sex, and he was the receiving vessel, the fantasy object for all of them. It felt strangely powerful, even in his bound weakness, to be used like that as a sexual prop for an orgasmic scene. And his own orgasm had been a mind-bending humiliating climax at the end of it all.

Jesus! Why did he like this? What was wrong with him?

He slept the best he could on the bed for the night, but awoke frequently to watch the ejaculate dripping from his face on the screen, and to feel the caked dried mess of it still on his face now. In fact, he noticed that his left eye was sealed shut with the dried ejaculate. No amount of facial contortions could unseal it.

Now he dreamed he was perfectly restrained, unable to move a muscle and an impossible scenario emerged. He was taking a man in his mouth while at the same time being taken from behind. This was where the dream was confusing: he was also making love to Mistress Johanna. His eyes were glued to her in her black corset and boots, and he even smelled the leather in the dream. He kept wondering if this sexual position was actually possible, but in dreams impossibility gets put aside.

He awoke in a sweat and reviewed the scene in his head. He clenched the anal plug with his sphincter and that's when he noticed the wetness on the bed and realized he had cum again. He struggled to sit on the edge of the bed. His head spun with sexual confusion and he rocked back and forth a few times before lying down again in the futility of the exercise, a restless sleep consuming him again.

In the morning, as Mistress Johanna entered through the outside door to Cell E with a full plate of eggs, hash brown potatoes and ham, Jack sat up quickly on the edge of his bed. She was different this morning and she greeted him as if he was a bed and breakfast guest.

"Good morning Jackie! I hope you slept well?"

"Yes ma'am," he said wearily. He wanted to say that he had a terrible sleep but she had food, and he didn't want to jeopardize receiving it. His stomach growled as he observed her objectively standing outside his cell door. This all seemed so real; he couldn't get out, his hands were locked behind his back within the rubber bondage mittens, and yet she stood there as if everything was normal. Her dark green eyes flashed with her smile, and the dimples in her cheeks, the only disturbance to her perfect facial contours, seemed to be put there to laugh. Her rich auburn hair was freshly brushed, but still slightly wet from either sweat or a shower, and she wore a yoga top and matching tights which emphasized her shape. This woman needed no corseting; she only wanted it.

Johanna returned his objectivity, and there was a brief moment of intense study. She thrilled at his helplessness. His healthy thin body and effeminate face seemed to have been ravaged by yesterday's treatment. His hair was matted in places and there was dried and flaking ejaculate at random places on his face and hair. His left eye was closed.

Johanna was delighted. She opened the cell door with her card and entered, telling him to sit while she fed him.

"Why don't you just release me so I can do it myself?" he asked.

"Because I don't want to. How are you really feeling by the way?"

"Tired. Dirty. I smell like men's cum and my face cracks with it. I can't open my left eye."

"Yes, you do look like a piece of shit. Here, I'll clean your face up a bit. You're kind of gross." She went to the sink and wet a face cloth, brought it back and gently cleaned him up. She noticed the stain on the bed.

"You came on the bed." It was simply a statement.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I had, I just had...it was just a dream."

"What was the dream about?" she asked innocently while she mixed egg yolk with hash browns on the plate.

Jack stared dreamily at the food. "Oh...umm, nothing really. Just sex, that's all." He couldn't tell his mistress and owner that he had fucked her while asleep. He sensed that would be disrespectful.

She gave him a bite. "Just sex, eh? Sure. Nothing would be "just sex" with you, now would it?"

He chewed and didn't answer. She gave him another bite.

"Just so you know, unauthorized orgasm is punishable. And that's not me being mean; it's just that in order to make good videos and satisfy visiting clients, you have to be in full fantasy mode...and an orgasm machine."

Jack snickered. "Right," he said sarcastically, "Like you'd seriously punish me for that..."

Johanna pulled a spoon loaded with ham and egg back from his open mouth and said, "Yes. Of course I would. Don't test me on that. Now, eat up." Her face could go from cheerful to domineering in the wink of an eye.

Jack digested her statement in the context of his position at the moment, and for the foreseeable future, and realized he was in no position to challenge her. Again, he felt that odd feeling of distant arousal from her control and dominance. He hoped his penis didn't show it, but it did twitch some. She looked at it and chuckled. His face turned red and burned. Again. He did it again. There was no place to hide.

"Change of subject. Did you enjoy the scene yesterday Jackie?"

He looked at her to see if she was mocking, but her face expressed sincerity. He decided she was genuine and serious. "It was weird. Yes. I guess so. I don't know why."

Mistress Johanna laughed and said, "Do you really need to know why? Should the word "why" intrude upon fantasy?"

He stared at the floor for a few minutes not saying anything.

"What's the matter Jackie? Are you okay?" She thought he might burst into tears.

"I told you I wasn't gay," he said weakly, "but now I'm not so sure. How could I have enjoyed that? I'm really fucked up. I'm not sure I should even be here."

Johanna tilted her head and smiled. "Look," she said softly, "You're orgasm was due to the humiliation, not anything else. And besides, I don't believe in labels; I believe in sexual expression...whatever gets you to orgasm. You're just wired toward eroticism, that's all...extreme fantasies and fetishes. The humiliation and guilt got you there, not the attraction to men. Relax and wallow in it. Just let all this flow over you. If my training goes as planned, you'll be a jack of all trades (pardon the pun); you'll be a gay transvestite to some, a purely heterosexual man forced to be a woman to others, and I'm even thinking that you might be able to take the role of dominant transvestite over some male clients. We'll see how you evolve. The important thing is to let all of what I put you through enrich you, not destroy you.

And besides, I enjoyed all of it, and that's all that really matters here. You have to understand that my enjoyment comes first if you want to be my slave. I matter a lot; you matter only enough to keep you here."

"What do you mean?"

"I've explained this before Jackie. My fantasies are important; yours are not. If both of our sets of fantasies feed off each other, that's great, but it doesn't have to be that way. You don't fully know it yet, but I do actually own you. You will have tangible value, and you can even be sold if I get an appropriate offer. There are lots of people like me. If you get off on all this (and I know you do), it's to your benefit...all you have to do is let go...and let it happen."

She put one of the poached eggs on some whole wheat toast, broke the yoke and then cut a piece, lifting it up to put into Jackie's mouth. He opened like a baby and savored the food. Nothing was said for the next few minutes as she filled him up with the solid food and sips of fresh coffee. His mood lightened despite the revelation that he was now a commodity.

The plate was empty. "So, what do you think? Can you take it, or do you want to go home today?" she said off-handedly, "Your choice. I'll pay a couple of months' rent for you and you can go on as you were before, broke and lost. I want you; I could even need you, but if you want to leave, I have to let you go."

Jack's mouth opened slightly as he couldn't conceal the fact that he was aghast at the question. He looked at the floor and mumbled, "I, uh, I can't. You know I can't...for so many reasons. Jesus, sometimes I wish I could. And I wish I was normal!"

Johanna tilted her head slightly and with a soft voice said, "If you were normal, I wouldn't like you."

Then she put her arms around him and pulled him into her body. "And I do like you, you know. When I'm done feminizing you and training you, I'm going to want to be more than just friends, believe me. I told you what I fantasized about, a man with breasts, femininity with a penis. I want it all...but you're not ready yet."

"Johanna?"

"Yes?"

"I, umm, I need...uh, I mean, I..." There was no way to express his feelings at this moment. He was almost in tears, and he didn't know why. So tired.

"I know baby, I know... Your paths to escape are barred in so many ways."

Suddenly she got up and left the cell, closing the door so it was locked once more. Back into business mode, she turned and said, "Come over to the securing window and put your hands through please."

He did as he was told, and after some fumbling with the tight rubber mittens, she released him. "You have one hour to have your enema, shave, shower, and insert the next-size-up anal plug. When I come back I'll measure you for your corsets and other clothing that you'll need. Then I'll do your nails and pluck your eyebrows. Makeup lessons after that, and this afternoon...well, we'll see."

Jack flexed his sweaty hands, grateful to be freed, and watched her leave without looking back. What was that all about, he wondered? One minute she was pensive and gentle; the next abrupt, businesslike and coercive. She was always pushing and pulling, and he felt that same off-balance feeling that he had on that first night's interview.

Later, after the successful struggle to insert the larger anal plug, and dressed in what he considered his uniform now, a matching pink bra and panties, he stood waiting for Mistress Johanna to arrive. He had to admit today that he felt empty when he pulled the smaller anal plug out, and he actually craved the insertion of the next size. He realized with relief that it simply felt good, and there were no associated gay fantasies, no visions of penises or smells of men. He clenched it now and shivered a bit, both from the slight chill in the room and the apprehension. Everything was new now, and his future was in the hands of others. As in all his fantasies, personal choice had been eliminated. He had to trust her. And he did.

About twenty minutes later, Johanna entered with two bags similar to carry-ons for a flight, and a measuring tape. "You said you didn't want to leave, so I'll take you at your word and not restrain you this morning, okay? Stand up please while I take your measurements."

The touch of her hands electrified him as she wrapped the tape around everything, from his wrists to his waist, chest, neck, or thigh, measuring twice at each spot and writing everything down. When she was done she said, "My corsetiere is here in Calgary, and she is very good and very efficient. She's promised that the corsets will be done in three weeks, so your waist training will start then. The more bizarre fetish clothing that I envision for you will take longer, perhaps six weeks.

Meanwhile I'll have some dresses, skirts, blouses, new underwear, and an assortment of high heeled boots and shoes ready for you to wear before the week is out. You should have been a woman you know; you're going to be so easy to fit. Now for your nails."