And When I Return Ch. 08
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Transsexuals & Crossdressers
When Fiona found him in the morning, she scrunched up her nose at his stink of urine while she helped him to get up off the floor. "My, my, you've had quite a night dear, haven't you?" she said, sounding like a caregiver in a nursing home.
Indeed, had did have quite a night, he thought, sleeping fitfully on the hard floor, soaked by his own urine. He sputtered, "I'm so sorry ma'am. I just couldn't hold it. I fell off the bed and I couldn't get up. This has never happened to me before. I'm so, so embarrassed ma'am."
Fiona squinted her eyes in puzzlement. He sounded different, helpless and sort of pathetic. Something within him had changed, something fundamental. "It's okay," she said, "Let's get you out of this and cleaned up so you can cook our breakfast." Rather than try to take off his bondage gear in its current state of stench, she simply guided him out of the dungeon in the early morning light and into his shower in his bedroom where he went through the regular morning routine. The replacement of the expander plug with the normal stainless steel one was akin to placing a toothpick in a post hole now, as his sphincter muscle had given up a lot of room over the past 16 hours. The girdle almost seemed necessary for its retention. Fiona made note of it and decided to go a size larger for the rest of his stay here.
It was now Tuesday morning, only his second full day of training, but it seemed like seven days. He was tired and drawn, weakened psychologically and even spiritually. He stood there, corseted to 27.5 inches today, and adorned in yet another maid's traditional black outfit. He had been told to shave his legs and underarms every morning now because Diane had noticed some stubble while making love to him the previous night, and he had simply done it without complaint. After all, the hair would not grow back fully before he went home to Jenna anyway, so he was screwed either way. He was numb with confusion and fatigue, a blank slate on which to imprint Diane's weird and unorthodox training upon him. Fiona had locked on new four inch heels this morning, and he struggled mightily to walk without bending his knees. The steps had to be shorter still, and the theraband helped to force that. He didn't think about female mannerisms as much now, as he had been hammered over and over again for almost 48 hours on how to do this, how to do that. He knew the rules of feminine carriage; now he just had to refine them and make them ingrained, make them his own.
He felt subdued and wasted this morning. The placement of those penises inside him had actually removed something from him, perhaps self-respect, perhaps fear, perhaps dread, but whatever it was, it was gone.
He wanted to be fucked again...that way. And for the first time in his life he was not afraid of being gay, because he now understood that he was not. He had no urge to feel a man's scratchy beard on his cheek, or have a man's penis penetrate his vagina. The smell of a man repulsed him, and in fact, he now rejected all masculinity, preferring to be Anna, to be Diane's lesbian lover if she wanted that. His feminization was progressing in a frightening and staggering pace, to the point that he thought differently about a lot of things.
These musings stopped suddenly in his head. Jenna. What about Jenna? As he walked with somewhat manufactured flowing femininity to the kitchen to make breakfast for Fiona and Diane, he worried. How could he leave this behind and go back to whatever it was that he had with her, to that world? It wasn't Jenna; it was the way of life. It was normal, but it was not normal at the same time. In opening himself to this feminization experience he could feel doors slamming and locking behind him, feel the heat of burning bridges. But he was too far into it. He had to finish. As yet, he was unable to see many doors open for him in the future however. He sensed they were there; he just had to find them.
When he saw Diane in her bathrobe in the kitchen, felt her approval and warm smile, he thought, how could this be wrong? How could this be the wrong path for his life when happiness and purpose in this erotic stew tasted so right, filled him up with such a sense of being, such a sense of belonging to humanity. He had always felt different and isolated. Now he felt different and accepted.
And that was a delicious stew.
Indeed, had did have quite a night, he thought, sleeping fitfully on the hard floor, soaked by his own urine. He sputtered, "I'm so sorry ma'am. I just couldn't hold it. I fell off the bed and I couldn't get up. This has never happened to me before. I'm so, so embarrassed ma'am."
Fiona squinted her eyes in puzzlement. He sounded different, helpless and sort of pathetic. Something within him had changed, something fundamental. "It's okay," she said, "Let's get you out of this and cleaned up so you can cook our breakfast." Rather than try to take off his bondage gear in its current state of stench, she simply guided him out of the dungeon in the early morning light and into his shower in his bedroom where he went through the regular morning routine. The replacement of the expander plug with the normal stainless steel one was akin to placing a toothpick in a post hole now, as his sphincter muscle had given up a lot of room over the past 16 hours. The girdle almost seemed necessary for its retention. Fiona made note of it and decided to go a size larger for the rest of his stay here.
It was now Tuesday morning, only his second full day of training, but it seemed like seven days. He was tired and drawn, weakened psychologically and even spiritually. He stood there, corseted to 27.5 inches today, and adorned in yet another maid's traditional black outfit. He had been told to shave his legs and underarms every morning now because Diane had noticed some stubble while making love to him the previous night, and he had simply done it without complaint. After all, the hair would not grow back fully before he went home to Jenna anyway, so he was screwed either way. He was numb with confusion and fatigue, a blank slate on which to imprint Diane's weird and unorthodox training upon him. Fiona had locked on new four inch heels this morning, and he struggled mightily to walk without bending his knees. The steps had to be shorter still, and the theraband helped to force that. He didn't think about female mannerisms as much now, as he had been hammered over and over again for almost 48 hours on how to do this, how to do that. He knew the rules of feminine carriage; now he just had to refine them and make them ingrained, make them his own.
He felt subdued and wasted this morning. The placement of those penises inside him had actually removed something from him, perhaps self-respect, perhaps fear, perhaps dread, but whatever it was, it was gone.
He wanted to be fucked again...that way. And for the first time in his life he was not afraid of being gay, because he now understood that he was not. He had no urge to feel a man's scratchy beard on his cheek, or have a man's penis penetrate his vagina. The smell of a man repulsed him, and in fact, he now rejected all masculinity, preferring to be Anna, to be Diane's lesbian lover if she wanted that. His feminization was progressing in a frightening and staggering pace, to the point that he thought differently about a lot of things.
These musings stopped suddenly in his head. Jenna. What about Jenna? As he walked with somewhat manufactured flowing femininity to the kitchen to make breakfast for Fiona and Diane, he worried. How could he leave this behind and go back to whatever it was that he had with her, to that world? It wasn't Jenna; it was the way of life. It was normal, but it was not normal at the same time. In opening himself to this feminization experience he could feel doors slamming and locking behind him, feel the heat of burning bridges. But he was too far into it. He had to finish. As yet, he was unable to see many doors open for him in the future however. He sensed they were there; he just had to find them.
When he saw Diane in her bathrobe in the kitchen, felt her approval and warm smile, he thought, how could this be wrong? How could this be the wrong path for his life when happiness and purpose in this erotic stew tasted so right, filled him up with such a sense of being, such a sense of belonging to humanity. He had always felt different and isolated. Now he felt different and accepted.
And that was a delicious stew.