The Rewiring of Kimberly Dew

The whispering paused. A feeling of nausea and disgust rose from the pit of Kimberly's stomach, rising from her depths.

"And my asshole. God, you're going love licking my asshole."

The soft hand slipped under her nightshirt and caressed the apple of her left breast. Kimberly, already horny and now aroused by the Pink Water, let out a soft groan, despite her feeling of revulsion.

At that moment Cynthia playfull slapped the woman's hand away.

"Now we have to wait, Regina. You know that. She's not yet ready. Mistress wants to go a little slow. But it's all right to talk to her and promise her things. Oh yeah, we get to talk to her. Tell her what we're going to do and how much she'll like it. It's part of the process, you see baby, don't you? She needs to show resistance for some reason. Oh god, yeah, right there, baby. Oh fuck. Yeah, right there."

Kimberly looked up at Cynthia to see her assistant leaning her ass against the table while the other woman, Regina, faced her, nuzzling and kissing her neck and chin as she pumped her fingers in and out of the smaller and younger assistant's snatch to the rhythm of Cynthia's groans.

In her wheel chair, Kimberly sat eyelevel to the action, entranced at the sight of Regina's large but feminine hand, delicate, soft, pressing her fingers into Cynthia, whose shorts had been moved aside, giving Kimberly a few view of her wet lips squirming against Regina's hand. The scent of Cynthia's aroused groin drifted over to the nearby patient.

Regina moved her pink mouth over Cynthia's.

The sounds of their wet kissing filled the air around the small table. Both women now groaned and cooed into each other's mouths.

Resistance.

Kimberly closed her eyes and imagined a strong man, pummeling her relentlessy, fucking her at the table in full view of the diners. It was so easy to do this, to replace the image of a man with the women she saw around her. The images came so easily, the feeling of a man, his hands, his body, came so easily to her.

God, she needed to get fucked.

"Isn't it hot? Cynthia's always like that, though. That girl can never get enough."

The voice of the other assistant, a tallish, young black woman, athletic and lithe, broke through her thoughts, and Kimberly turned to meet the other assistant's gaze. She found herself staring into deep brown wells, glittering with an impish bemusement. Sitting on the other side of the table, Kimberly took the opportunity to study her third assistant.

Her almond-shaped eyes, subtly turned up at the outer corners, sat cat-like above prominent cheek bones set wide over her brown, almost mocha face. Her nose ran in a not-quite-straight slope to the broad point of her nostrils, under which her full lips, layered in a bright and shiny pink, curved into a warm and welcoming smile, slightly parted to show a glimpse of beautiful white teeth. The stunning woman's face ended in another soft and broad point of her chin, producing a face that was at once heart-shaped and round. And entirely feline in appearance.

She braided her hair into many narrow rows which swept along the curve of her head until separating into two long braids which fell on either side of her neck in front of her prominent breasts, which Kimberly gauged to be slightly larger than her own B-cups.

"I'm Q'ieshay. With a Q. And then an apostrophe."

Q'ieshay's brows furled just a little, then relaxed.

"My mother's an artist," she said in explanation.

Another silence, broken only by the sighs of the two women embracing at the table and the squishes of wet fingers sliding between the folds of wet labia, descended momentarily on the small table.

"Regina's right you know. You're just about the daintiest thing I've ever seen. I can't wait to try you."

Q'ieshay's low, almost tenor voice rolled over the top of the table, matter-of-fact and unquestioning.

Resistance.

The table vibrated and bumped, and Kimberly saw Q'ieshay close her beautiful maroon eyes, her hands now below the table as she she slumped in her seat, obviously masturbating to the sounds of Regina and Cynthia. Kimberly looked around the dining hall, but no one seemed to notice. Each group of assistants at each table busied themselves with the care of their own patient, and each patient seemed to be stuck in some nowhere land between waking and sleeping.

"God, oh god, oh god, women are so hot, so sexy. Don't you just love them?"

Q'ieshay had opened her eyes again, her hands still caressing her groin below the table as she gazed at Cynthia's back. Regina had slipped the younger girl's short below her hips, her pussy and ass was on full display as Regina wrapped her left arm around the girl's waist, holding her against her as she quickened her pace, sliding her long fingers in and out, in and out of the trembling girl's pussy.

"Just look at them. Beautiful women."

But Kimberly closed her eyes again. She moved her hand below the hem of her sheer nightshirt, but met the hard plastic of the chastity garment. She tried to slip her hands over the top of the device, but the waist was curiously devised to impede all entrance. In desperation she moved her hands over the groin of the garment to no effect. Nor could she move her fingers below the edges of the leg holes. She wouldn't even be able to slide a thin object between her legs.

Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of Kimberly's eyes as she imagined man after man, boy after boy, having their way with her.

Curiously, whenever Q'eishay said woman, a vision of a handsome man loomed up in Kimberly's imagination, and when she saw Regina hand-fucking the girl Cynthia, a man fucking a woman, fucking Kimberly formed in her mind's eye.

Resistance, Kimberly repeated. This is how I'll resist. Now matter what they do, no matter what they say, I'll imagine a man. Every time I see a woman, I'll imagine a man. No matter what they say or what they do to me. They won't change me. They can't change me.

You just can't change people like that.

You just can't turn a woman into a dyke.

After all, what is it that Katy calls me? Boy-crazy. That's me. I'm boy-crazy.

Q'ieshay saw Kimberly trying to rub herself and smiled.

"You're pretty horny, huh? That first session really makes a girl horny. You should try to get used to it. You won't be able to cum for several days, I expect."

Kimberly groaned.

*** Day One: At night

They did finally manage to eat. After a vehement orgasm, Cynthia and Regina washed their hands at a washing station nearby, wandered into the food service area, and brought back two trays loaded with food. Famished, Kimberly devoured sandwiches, chips, two cookies, and a brownie, washing everything down with the ubiquitous Pink Water. She knew it harmed her ability to resist. But the stuff was just too good, and she was so thirsty.

They'd shown her the day room that day, after lunch. A bright room, windows all along one wall opening out on a courtyard, where patients strolled with their assistants in the warm weather, under the shade of a large cottonwood tree. Curved stoned benches dotted the courtyard here and there.

Two large televisions hung from the ceiling in two corners of the day room. To Kimberly's surprise, the screens displayed soft lesbian erotica, nothing too outrageous, women strolling arm in arm with other women along a beach, pausing to kiss passionately, or women wearing lingerie in a bedroom, kissing and caressing each other. A low murmer of kissing and sighing floated from the televisions over the room. Assistants in tight pink shorts and scrub tops darted to and fro, caring for their charges.

The room had two billiard tables, several small couches, chairs, tables, a snack area.

Images and paintings of lesbian erotica covered the walls. Girls leaning into girls, holding each other from behind, squeezing each other around their waists, cupping each other's breasts, embracing busom to busom in fervent kisses, smiling faces side by side and cheek to dainty cheek.

Kimberly noticed the young woman she'd seen in the waiting room, the one in with tattoos who flipped her off. She was sitting in a wheelchair.

She wasn't wearing jeans now.

Or a T-shirt.

She wore a short camisole night shirt in a light pink satin, showing her midriff. A pair of thin, loose fitting pink satin bootie shorts completed the outfit.

The girl, somewhat taller and larger than Kimberly, fleshier, with breasts slightly larger than Kimberly's stared at the world around her in a stupified gaze. Her nipples protruded from the fabric of the nightshirt, kept hard by her caretakers who flicked and touched her tits and nipples constantly.

Her black hair was gone.

Her mohawk was gone.

In its place, golden blond hair that fell in a short cut to about two or three inches above where her neck joined her shouldeers.

Her piercings were gone.

Her black makeup was gone, replaced by bright pink lipstick, glittering blue eyeshadow, foundation and concealer which gave her face a sharp, vivid outline. But her eyelids drooped, and her pink lips opened in a stunned, numbed expression of absence.

Cynthia leaned over her and whispered.

"Oh, do you like Kiera, dear? I know, isn't she cute? But she won't be part of your, our, program dear. I'm afraid you won't be able to try her out. Unless you meet her on the outside. After your transition."

Kimberly shuddered.

That night Dr. Carla Essenza came into her room to check on her, take measurements, and put her to bed.

Essenza personally prepared her bed, sliding the soft bed cover, a light duvet, pale pink in color, along with the top sheet, white with darker pink stripes, made of very fine and soft cotton imported from Nubo-Egypt.

Kimberly hadn't noticed the flat panel behind her the head of her bed. Dr. Essenza pushed a button on the wall beside the light switch, and the panel quietly slid open, revealing another headpiece for Kimberly, much smaller than the bucket which went around her whole head that day.

"We'll have another nightie for you to wear tomorrow," the doctor said. "I suppose the one you're wearing is starting to feel dingy?"

"But why do I have to wear a nightie at all? I mean, isn't it silly? Wearing a babydoll all day long?"

Kimberly, aware that she sounded like a whining child, tried to wear a coldly logical expression.

"No, dear. It isn't. You look positively adorable in it. We all just love seeing you like this. And don't pout, darling. Now lie back."

Kimberly lay back, resting her head face up on the pillow Dr. Essenza had just finished fluffing for her.

"But how long do I have to wear this thing?"

Kimberly pointed at the chastity device.

"Oh, a long time. For several days yet, I imagine. It's for your own good dear. We don't want you to orgasm."

"But why not? I'm so horny now, if you got to know. I haven't had an orgasm for two days now. Not since the day before yesterday."

Kimberly surprised herself by being so communicative, so blunt, with Dr. Carla Essenza.

"Oh, you won't be able to orgasm until you're ready to become a lesbian, dear. Here, raise your head a little, Kimmi. This cap will help you to become one."

"But I don't want to become one." This time she didn't try to disguise the whine.

"Well, I mean. That's the whole point, love."

Essenza fit the cap, attached to wires running into the opened panel behind Kimmi's head, carefully over the girl's head. A narrow belt encircled the cap. Dr. Essenza assured a snug fit, leaned over and kissed the girl on the tip of her nose.

"You'll see, dear. Tonight will be so much better than this awful morning."

Then the doctor pushed a button inside the panel, and Kimmi fell asleep, instantly lost to the waking world.

***

Kimberly herself wouldn't have been able to say she fell asleep. She just knew that the strange woman kissed her on the nose and turned off the light. Well, she knew something must have happened because she found herself in a bedroom, her bedroom, sharing her bed with an incredible looking hunk of man, perfectly muscled, jutting chin, a chiseled body in every way. And his cock. Oh my his cock.

She must have spent hours exploring every inch of his body with her hands, her fingers, her mouth, her needy pussy. He hammered her, and she shoved her cunt back at him. He stuck that magnificent tool in her face, and she sucked him off wildly, squealing between shots of cum flowing from her mouth and down her throat. And when that man left, another took his place, and then another. And then another.

Always a different man, always one at a time. And was it her imagination? Every cock was somehow smaller, just a fraction smaller than the previous, every man not quite as burly as the one before.

Maybe.

She couldn't really be sure.

Oh but she still bucked against them, missionary style, cowgirl style, reverse cowgirl, doggie position, and positions she didn't even have a name for. Pelvis thrown high above her head as she leaned her shoulders against the mattress, the man just fucking her relentlessly above her, her knees at the sides of her head.

One after another.

Dr. Essenza was right, though. This time it was much better. She was in control, she knew that. This was not that merciless violation of the morning. She could stop them any time. She could take a break, walk away, have a drink of cold water.

But she didn't want to stop.

She hadn't cum yet.

Man after man had poured out his love upon her quivering body, and still she had not cum. Covered in semen, her bed covered with sticky semen, some of it drying after a long night of running a train on every conceivable body type, all gorgeous, all increasingly frail, soft, yielding.

She finally woke up, exhausted, spent, sore even. And horny as hell.

Not even the glimmer of an orgasm had reached her.

Frustrated, she pulled off her babydoll.

Cynthia stood in front of her. Holding out a new, clean see-through camisole nightshirt, with a frilly lace front, pink naturally but quite charming.

Cynthia giggled.

"I just love your titties."

"Um," said Kimberly.

Resist.

Before sitting her down in her wheelchair, Cynthia retrieved a syringe from the panel in the wall, a syringe filled with the same pink syrum as the day before, tapped Kimberly's left arm, and stuck the sharp needle into her vein, depressing the pump to fill her with the intoxicating and bizarre aphrodisiac, if that's what it was.

Kimberly's body reacted immediately, zinging and tingling with a lust and horniness that never really dissipated in the first place.

Kimberly looked at all the nude men on the posters in her room and smiled bitterly to herself. If they wouldn't let her come, what good did all those nude men do?

*** Day Four

The next three days passed almost exactly like the first, with slight variations. There was no repeat of the violent or almost violent suffering she had undergone during the first session. Also, she'd begun to wear that strange cap every day. Cynthia carefully detached it from its wires, put attached a small black box to the side of it, and fit it over Kimberly's head.

"That way we can record everything," she said brightly.

Then she'd stick her with that needle.

The assistants fondled her at every opportunity, and Kimberly closed her eyes to imagine men fondling her.

The sessions under the helmet were longer and longer, the sex more vivid, more sensual, softer. Somehow even more emotional, deeper.

It was slow.

Kimberly really didn't notice it at first.

How the men themselves changed over the course of the sessions.

It wasn't obvious. The difference between, say a linebacker and a quarterback. Nothing you could put your finger on. Just slight differences.

But her sex drive was amped up.

Whatever it was that Dr. Essenza shot into her every session did a number on her. She fucked and she fucked and she fucked, desperate to have those men, as real to her now as anything in external, actual reality. She sucked, she threw her pussy at those men, they licked her, devoured her cunt, her snatch, her hot and scalding pussy, jack-hammered her sloppy cunt silly, and still. Still. Still, she did not cum.

An orgasm, always on the edge of exploding, hovered on the edge of her losing it, like a gray storm cloud on the horizon of a desert and drought-ravaged land, mocking the inhabitants with the promise of rain.

She'd fuck the bedframe with her hips covered in that damned chastity thing, impervious to jarring wood, her eyes flitting from framed poster of nude man to frame poster of nude man, eyes sweeping over chiseled torso, rippled abs, and swollen cock. She searched for anything, anything to slip between her skin and that brutal device, a ruler, and a pencil, anything to scratch that remorseless itch.

But that itch remained unscratched.

Nothing penetrated that shield.

And those damned posters drove her crazy.

She'd begun to recognize them as some of the men in her bucket experiences.

She spent mornings crying and screaming, weeping in the arms of Cynthia, or Regina, or Q'ieshay, promising to do anything to them, anything, if they would just take that damn thing off and let her cum. But the assistants shook their sad heads and said wait. Soon.

And then they touched her some more, kissing her breasts, her nipples, running soft hands over and over her smooth legs, her belly, her shoulders, her cheeks, caressing her face, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her temples, her neck, finally kissing her lips.

Resist.

She resisted, of course, recoiling in revulsion from the touches, their soft caresses. But she was so horny. Those shots made her so horny.

She wanted to cum, and those touches, those kisses felt so damned good, and what was the harm anyway, what was so wrong with being bi?

Her lips parted, and she let their tongues in, imagining the mouths and kisses of the men she'd dreamed about or had in her life, her boy-crazy life before she'd ever come her, before her friend Katy took her to this awful place.

That last morning, at breakfast, she broke. She let their tongues in.

She kissed back, desperate and hungry for physical contact and affection.

And just before she could lift her hands to caress their breasts, to touch their legs, to squeeze their arms, or even lightly trace her fingers over their hands, they broke away and said wait.

Wait.

"It's time for the next session, silly," Cynthia announced.

"And anyway," Regina added, "you're just horny. You'd fuck or kiss anything. It's not like you're really a lesbian."

"And you need to be a lesbian, Kimmi," said Q'ieshay. "In order to have sex with lesbians. And you don't want that, right? You don't want sex with lesbians, you'd never want to have sex with lesbians."

Kimmi groaned.

No, she agreed. She'd never want that.

*** Day Four: Last session

That last morning session with the bucket occurred with both Q'ieshay and Cynthia as Dr. Essenza's assistant.

The session consisted almost entirely of sucking cocks.

Kimberly, on her knees, her face pressed closed the man's groin, her arms around his waist, holding onto the cheeks of his hard, tight ass. The first cock was so long, so thick, she could barely deep-throat it, but somehow she managed. Her mout never tired, her jaws never ached, as shot after shot, load after load, of hot cum flowed down her throat, or out of her mouth, pouring in cascades down the front of her opened negligee.

That's what they had for her that morning.

They didn't even bother to tie the loose strings in front. When she tried to tie them, they laughingly slapped her hands away.

"No, no, silly girl. We want to see you."

So they saw her.

Hot cum rolled down her tits, covering her hard nipples, sticking at her skin, her bare skin, drying on the sheer fabric of her negligee.