Spencer's Transformation

The first call when we'd showered was the drug-store. I carried a basket as Deanna worked her way through cosmetics and grooming products. The Nair I had no argument with, and felt a bit safer dealing with that than using a razor on my undercarriage and butt-crack, but some of her other selections gave me pause for thought. It was an effort not to say anything when she started inspecting the racks of hair-dye and picked out a self bleaching kit and a bottle of permanent dye in a shocking pink. My reaction must have shown in my face as she looked smug dropping those in the basket, then patted my hand and kissed me. An epilady, a tube of pink shaving gel and a bottle of shaving oil had already gone in the basket along with the depilatory. "No more shaving with a vintage safety razor, a brush and a stick of soap," Deanna had said. "Far too macho for a slutty cross-dressing slave." I'd always thought she'd liked the citrusy smells of the cheap Wilkinson Sword sticks I used, even if I did mostly use them because they were cheap and you could get them anywhere.

The next stop was, unsurprisingly, the big sex shop in the Outlet Mall. We'd been in there a lot since moving to Barstow and joining La Illorna. This time Deanna went in alone, and left me waiting for her by the doors. She obviously didn't want me to see what she was buying, as I didn't think I was dressed conspicuously enough to be worth exhibiting. She'd gone through my wardrobe and looked out a pair of black PVC leggings I'd bought for a video with the nu metal band we were in before joining La Illorna, a loose silk shirt with a strong whiff of big girl's blouse to it and a pair of buckled ankle-boots. More gothy than sissy. Deanna came out fairly quickly, and handed me a couple of well filled carrier bags to add to the bag from the drug-store. For her part she was wearing a purple and black polka dot summer dress, a jeans jacket and cowboy boots.

I was allowed to accompany Deanna into the Big and Tall woman's store, though didn't get told to try anything on. It was obvious enough what was going on without that as Deanna is five foot four. To my horror, I found watching her sift through the racks and look for drag queen size ladies shoes arousing. She took the bags and let me pay for my new clothes there, and the scornful look from the forty-ish lady behind the counter added to the buzz I was feeling. After that, we tried a couple more clothes shops, then Deanna sent me to the car with the bags and told me to meet her in Raspasian's when I'd finished. I did and sat there uneasily, not daring to buy myself a drink until she arrived. She put a couple of bags with logos I didn't recognize on the table I was sitting at, smiled and told me to get her a lager and a Pernod for myself. I went and did so: telling her that I loathed Pernod wouldn't do anything besides annoy her. She knew full well I didn't like the stuff and that was why she'd told me to order it. It didn't escape my notice that Pernod is a girly, faggoty sort of drink compared to beer.

"You're doing quite well so far," Deanna said when I rejoined her. "No tantrums or whining or histrionics. Not even a hint of passive aggressive. You're serious about being my slave, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "I am."

"Good. Now, here's a rule I want you to remember and follow at all times. If I snap my fingers, you stop what you're doing immediately, and kiss my feet. You go down on all fours and kiss them with loving submission." She smiled and snapped her fingers. I stood up, went down on all fours, crawled under the table and kissed the silver plated metal toe guards on her cowboy boots. It was only a little after eleven, and the lunch rush hadn't started yet, so the place was empty and there was nobody to witness my display besides the barman.

"Up. That makes up for you sitting without permission. You don't do that in public any more. Of course, I can't really take you to task over that because I didn't think to mention it. Still, you can sit down now, so drink your nice Pernod and then we'll go home."

I took a mouthful of the licorice flavored sickly sweet liqueur and managed not to grimace as I swallowed it. Deanna smiled smugly. She reached under the table, then I felt her toes pressing against my crotch. Her smile got even smugger as she felt my penis stiffen in response to the pressure.

Back at home, I unloaded the car, then stripped naked and waited on my knees facing the corner as Deanna sorted through the shopping I'd put on the coffee table. My cock, which she'd teased to an aching, oozing hardness in the bar before slipping her boot back on was still semi erect. I heard bags rustle and packages open with rips of cardboard or tape.

"Go and fetch the camera, slave," Deanna said. "I want to record your transformation. Maybe I should have taken some pictures before shaving you last night. Still, there's plenty of nude shots of you when you were still pretending to be a man for a before and after, aren't there?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. I stood up, turned to face her and curtseyed before leaving the room. She liked the curtsy. When I came back with the camera, she had cleared the bags and their contents away from the center of the coffee table and sat with it between her and the door, so I'd see what was sitting on it in front of her as soon as I stepped inside. I felt my heart sink, but kept my face impassive. I'd always had a good poker face, and was obviously going to need it as Deanna's slave.

"You know what this is, right, slave?" Deanna said, picking it up and brandishing it.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Tell me what it is, then take a picture of me holding it. Take a few, because once it goes on, it's staying on until your time is up. I'm not going to take it off you just to take a few more photos."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "It's a chastity device, Mistress. I don't know the make."

"Of course you you don't. To you, these are just an arousing idea in internet pornography, aren't they? Not any more, though. I've done research, and this should be a good fit for three weeks."

Deanna held it up and I took a few photos. She kissed it and smirked at the camera. The device was a small one, made of some translucent pink plastic. She looked from it to my crotch, where the idea of being imprisoned had made more erect.

"There's no point even pretending that you don't want this, is there, slave?" she said. Every time she called me that I felt a tingle inside me. "Your body is betraying you and revealing your true needs and desires. Give me the camera then go down on all fours, lick my boots and beg me to put it on you."

I didn't need telling twice. Deanna took the camera from me and switched it to video recording as I started to lick her boots, grovel and beg. If the H-P had been able to take longer clips than five minutes, I was sure that she'd have made me keep at it for a lot longer.

"Stand up and put your hands behind your head," Deanna said. I did. She took a photo of me like that, then zoomed in on my semi for another. "I got a small cage, so it would be a snug, comfortable fit and could be left on full time," she said. "With the Nair, it won't even have to come off to shave. Of course, that hard on has to go first." Deanna put down the camera, and took my cock in one hand.

"Go to the kitchen and fill a glass with ice," she said, "then bring it in here. Just think, if you hadn't come in my mouth last night I might have allowed you a hand job to soften and shrink you to fit into the cage."

My hands shook as I emptied an ice tray into a highball, but I had myself back under control by the time I re-entered the living room. Deanna took the glass from me and put it on the table next to the cage. "Hands behind your back," she said. I crossed them behind my back and she put a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. "Stand up straight." I did and braced myself as she raised the glass and pushed my penis and balls into the ice.

It hurt, and I couldn't help whimpering. Deanna giggled at that. When she removed the glass, the ice was mostly melted, and my penis and balls were blue and shriveled with cold. She wiped her hands and took a photo of that as well.

"Say bye bye to Mister Penis," Deanna said, picking up the cage. She knelt in front of me and looked up expectantly.

"Bye bye, Mister Penis," I said. She giggled and gave my shriveled cock a kiss, then started to fit the device. The whole thing was a single unit, so even made out of a flexible jelly plastic, it took some coaxing and fiddling to get it in place properly. The ring at the back was a single smooth and very tight band, and I was grateful that my genitals were numb from the cold as my balls and cock were stuffed through it. Once that was in place, a small plastic sleeve fitted over my limp penis. The only metal part of the device was a a band that fitted over the base ring, and fastened with a lock to stop it being removed. Deanna looked me in the eyes as she turned the key in the lock, and I wondered if my eyes looked as feverish and excited as hers. The soft click of the lock locking sounded as loud as a bomb and sent a shiver down my spine.

Deanna picked up the camera and took a close up of my imprisoned genitals before standing up again and cupping them in her hand. "These could have been designed to be caged," Deanna said. "A cut, low baller grower. Exactly what the people I showed photos online said a chastity slave should have."

Perhaps my poker face was slipping, but I must have shown some reaction to that. Maybe my cock twitched in its sleeve, I began to feel an uncomfortable pins and needles sensation down there, almost a burning, as the numbness from the ice wore off. Deanna smiled. "Oh yes," she said. "You don't think I'd do this without doing some research first, did you? I had a word with Lydia in the shop and showed her a picture to see if she agreed with what I'd been told. She did."

To my surprise, Deanna French kissed me. "You don't have a penis any more," she said. "You're even less of a man than you were when you were begging to become my slave last night. Your sex organs are your mouth and your hands now. And your anus. I've got an aneros stimulator and I'll massage your prostate with it to milk you. That's supposed to be incredibly emasculating, but you're pretty thoroughly emasculated already, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. Deanna smiled, smugly and snapped her fingers. With my hands cuffed behind my back I couldn't get on all fours, but I got down on my knees as quickly as I could and leaned forwards to kiss the toes of her boots. I heard the camera click a couple of times as I did that.

"I think it might be fun to do a blog of the next three weeks," Deanna said as I straightened back up. "From husband to slave, or something like that. I think recording your first steps into serious, hardcore slavery is a good idea. Even if you fag out the first chance you get instead of going deeper, I can do a lot to train you in three weeks, and you're never even going to be able to pretend to be a top ever again. I think putting some photos and descriptions, and maybe some film on blogspot is a good idea. I know you, and I'm sure you'd much rather be exposed than blackmailed into silence, wouldn't you, sweetie?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Good. I'm sure the others will be okay with putting a link to the band site as well. And we can do some nastier photos for the porn sites. Any of your more extreme fantasies you regret sharing now that I can make you do them?"

"No, Mistress. I am your slave and I must obey you in everything. I am nothing except what you want me to be." I looked in Deanna's eyes as I said that, and tried to sound as sincere as was humanly possible. She smiled back and I found what I saw in her eyes and mouth frightening.

"You really mean that, don't you? You want this."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And of course, if you're ordered to do things that you're ashamed of wanting to do, then they're not your fault, are they? People say that submission takes courage, but this kind of outright abdication of all responsibility and choice seems more cowardly to me. Say 'I'm a pathetic submissive coward.'."

"I'm a pathetic submissive coward, Mistress."

"Yes, you are, slave. And if you can keep this state of mind up, you'll want to take it further after three weeks instead of going back. I expect that now."

I didn't say that I couldn't imagine going back from here, and that going this far and then giving up would destroy our relationship. I was quite serious about wanting to submit and was determined that I would do absolutely anything to please my wife, who was now my Goddess and owner as well. Maybe that showed in my eyes.

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Please turn me into something that can never go back. Please break me."

"A perfect title for the blog," Deanna said. "Breaking my husband. Don't worry, sweetie, I will. For now though, you need a makeover. I'll show you how to do your makeup. Soon you'll feel naked without it. You're going to need to practice walking in heels as well. No more flats for you. I'll wait until the three weeks are up and you've told me that you want to be my slave permanently before getting rid of your boy clothes, though. No, not a word. I know what you think you think about that, but you might change your mind when there's photos of you eating my shit online.

"For now, though, come into the bathroom. Your hair is going to be the biggest job in your makeover. And think about what you're going to write on the blog. I'll want a description of how you feel about me, why you want to be my slave rather than the equal partner you've been up until now, and all the rest of it. Just remember that what the blog's followers think won't really matter. What's important is that you impress me. You're not a man any more, sweetie, and from now on I'm the only woman who exists in your world."

"Not a woman, Mistress, a Goddess. The Goddess I worship."

Deanna smiled and snapped her fingers. I kissed the toes of her boots, then flinched when she slapped my face hard as I lifted it. "Remember that," she said. "All the time. Every waking hour and in every dream you have. You are my slave because you're a pathetic, disgusting, inhuman piece of filth. You're not a man. You never were a man, really, were you? You were just too much of a coward to admit it. I am your superior in every way that can be imagined, and I am going to hurt you in ways that you can't imagine. You will call me Mistress at all times, but you will certainly think of me as a Goddess.

"And I," Deanna said, as she put her fingers under my chin and lifted my eyes to look into hers, "am going to have to learn to think of you with utter, total contempt. That's something else you want and need, isn't it, slave? To be treated like dirt and looked at like shit?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. Apart from my imprisoned genitals, my whole body seemed to be throbbing like an erect penis. My brain felt swollen inside my skull and my eyes itched. I knew this feverish feeling was what they called subspace. I'd been pushed into it before, but this time I might never be getting out again. I thought I could live with that.

"Open your mouth," Mistress said. I did. She spat into it, twice, hawking. "Close, and savor the taste." I closed my mouth and rolled her spit around my mouth. "Everything that comes out of my body is too good for you now. You are a pathetic, vile spineless creature, so your slave name is insect. I'm going to break your shell open and peel away your character armor and expose the soft, vile thing that's the real you. There is no Spencer any more, is that clear? I no longer have a husband. The man I loved is gone forever. He never really existed at all, and I resent your deceiving me that he did. You should find that thought very frightening. I intend to be a vengeful, cruel Goddess and you have an awful lot of sins to expiate. Swallow."

I swallowed my Goddess' divine spit and felt my penis trying to stiffen inside its cage.

I'd stopped whimpering and sniffling, but tears were still running down my cheeks as Mistress sodomized me. I knew that I was going to be punished for spoiling my makeup on top of everything else for that. I wore a red lipstick, pink eyeshadow, heavy mascara on false lashes and white foundation. My lips had been outlined with a pencil. The mascara had probably run down my cheeks. My hair was bleached bone white, with pink streaks, like vanilla ice cream with raspberry sauce in it, and had been piled on top of my head in a chignon that wasn't quite a beehive.

"Pathetic weakling," Mistress said, knotting the fingers of one hand in my hair and jerking my head back. "You're earning my contempt, insect. I haven't even needed to whip you to break you. A little sodomy and you're in tears, crying like a baby. You're not just a pathetic excuse for a man, you're a sorry excuse for a slave."

"Sorry, Mistress," I gasped. I'd enjoyed the build up. Mistress had compared the enormous strap on she'd bought at the sex shop to my imprisoned cock. It had swollen as much as it could inside its acrylic prison by the time Mistress had finished greasing my anus. It was still painfully swollen and squeezed all over by its cage now. That was part of the reason I was crying.

The other was the steadily growing pain in my anus. Mistress had often pegged me, back when I was a man or pretending to be one, and her loving husband not her fawning pathetic slave, but with a far smaller dildo. This one was too thick for me to close my fingers around and a foot long. The one Deanna had used on Spencer was less than half the size of this thing. It was made of a soft jelly layered around a solid plastic core, and every time it thrust into me it felt worse. My anal opening was on fire and got sorer with every stroke.

Mistress laughed. "I shouldn't expect an insect to take being buggered like a man, should I? I'm annoyed that you aren't enjoying this more, though. This is intimate attention from your Goddess. You should relish it however much it hurts. Maybe next time I should you use less lube and show you what pain really is. You'll never have an analgasm if you carry on like this every time you're penetrated. Perhaps I should stop and just use the vacuum to prolapse you instead. Having a length of your poop chute turned inside out and having it hanging out of your sorry white ass will make you look more like an insect, won't it?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. The thought appalled me. The way I was standing probably wasn't helping any. My legs were spread as wide as I could get them to lower my anus while wearing six inch heels. I'd spent all afternoon wearing them, being coached on how to walk by Mistress. My ankles, knees and the small of my back hurt, but it was nothing next to my anus and my penis.

The thrusting stopped. At first, the feeling of the huge squashy molded head of the dildo hitting my prostate had felt good enough that I could ignore the soreness and chafing, but that didn't last all that long. The wet sucking sound the strap on made as it pulled out of me was horrible, but it didn't feel like It was dragging my intestinal lining out after it.

"You're going to need a lot of anal training," Mistress said. "Don't worry, you're going to get it. For now though, I think you should go to the bathroom and give yourself an enema. It might soothe your discomfort a little. Hold still."

Mistress leaned over my shoulder. I felt the huge rubber cock between my legs as she licked the tears off my cheeks. The tip of her tongue flicked across my right eye.

"Yummy. Isn't this how you thought real slavery, without safe words and stops and goes and all that fake role-playing shit would be? Don't answer, just grab your ankles and smile for the camera."