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The physical part of training--I'm embarrassed to say it--was fun.
Like, really fun.
I tried to pretend it wasn't. Cherry and Angel, those two natural fairies, were having too much fun. Listening to them talk about it was horrible. You can only hear someone talk about how much they love it up the ass so many times. Eventually you lose your mind.
Speaking of losing your mind, here's what was really happening:
We were being brainwashed.
We had gotten our tits. Our body hair had been removed through electrolysis. We'd gotten hair extensions. We were trained on how to put on makeup. We had beautiful new femme wardrobes.
Physically, we were ready. In other words, we looked hot.
(This is embarrassing to admit--I saw myself in the mirror and thought, "I'd fuck that.")
Speaking of which, Brian, now known as Brooklyn (we were all using our girl names now, which made sense given our new physical condition) was smoking hot. So hot she would stop traffic. Window washers would stop working. Crossing guards would lower their arms. All men everywhere would turn to see this physical specimen, this perfect girl, walk by. 5'6", long blond hair with bangs, clear blue eyes, a face so innocent, so perfect, you wanted to stare at it forever.
But Brooklyn, like the rest of us, still needed training.
So here's how the brainwashing worked. (They didn't call it brainwashing, of course... I think they called it "Inside the Female Mind" or some bullshit like that.) We'd strip naked. The female lab technicians would scrub us, head to toe, with essential oils. We would mount our oiled-up bodies onto the world's greatest fuck machine. It was more than just a piston-powered dick--it would warm you up, get you going, pummel your p-spot, fuck you slow, fuck you hard. Our cocks--I mean, our clits--were mounted in another device that would give us some stimulation, but never enough to get us off. We wore sensors that made sure that didn't happen.
And all the action of that beautiful machine fucking our pussies was synched to what we saw: high-budget sissy hypno via a VR headset.
And for two hours, you'd get fucked.
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We had to take turns since there was only room for one girl at a time. In another room, we'd paint each other's nails, talk about outfits, compare makeup techniques. Cherry and Angel would talk about boys they wanted to fuck. I did not give in to that particular part of the fantasy. Not at first. After a couple of sessions with the machine, it did cross my mind...
The most amazing thing to see, and what got every girl's attention every time, was the look on the face--and not just that, but the entire physical posture--of a girl who had just gotten off the machine. There was something so graceful, so fulfilled, so tranquil, so... feminine in the look of a girl who had just been mounted.
Together, we started this process as reluctant heterosexuals, fags, and beautiful boys. The machine turned us--all of us--into willing females.
How can I describe it? There was a sense of satisfaction, but in a sense, you were never satisfied. You were not permitted to cum. Your satisfaction derived from how well you pleased the machine. And how well you pleased the machine derived from how well you surrendered yourself. Your needs. Your thoughts. Your masculinity. Your ego.
Watching Bryan, now Brooklyn, enter the group room after her first session nearly made me cry. Her posture was soft. Her face carried a smile as subtle as the sphinx's. She was open, kind, and confident in her femininity. She looked like she no longer had anything to hide, to protect, to defend. She was a woman--a beautiful woman who knew her role in life was to please real men.
It was beautiful.
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At the end of one session we had to record a personal declaration. Each of us girls had to tell the camera how much we loved getting fucked.
While we all definitely had that feeling it in that moment, the doctors were quite fussy--we couldn't pass that lesson until our video was deemed to be good enough.
"Can you say it with more enthusiasm, April?"
"I love having a dick inside me so much... it's hard to even say. Back when I was a man, I thought the best thing in the world was fucking a warm pussy. But now I know something even better--working to get a man off inside my own pussy. His pleasure is so much more important than mine. To see that I have made a real man happy is what makes me happy."
"That was good. Now try it again. Take out the suggestion that you get any pleasure out of getting fucked in your pussy."
"Yes, ma'am."
I paused and collected my thoughts. Then I looked straight into the camera, my eyes gleaming with possibility.
"I simply LOVE to get fucked by real men! My pussy is designed and built to take them inside to provide the ultimate in pleasure. My only goal in life is to witness a man approach orgasm and release his seed inside me. Thank you! I am so lucky to have your manhood inside me!"
Every day after that, I was shown that video.
I saw it over a hundred times.
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The machine and the brainwashing were joyous. We were becoming amazing women, whether we wanted to or not.
But not all the steps along the process were fun. Some were miserable. Demeaning. Even torturous.
One of the last stages of our physical development involved getting fitted for our "clitty cages." Our hormone regimen had shrunk our former penises and testicles down to a pathetically tiny size. Once that final size was reached, we were ready to be encased permanently.
The technician who interviewed me for my cage setup and design... why did he irk me so much? Maybe it was his smugness--the fact that he clearly thought of himself as better than me. Maybe it was his name. Travis. Blech. Maybe it was the fact that he was, what, 5'8" 5'9"? And scrawny? This guy was no great gift to humanity. He was no breeder.
And yet Travis held power over me.
I sat in the lab with him to discuss the procedure.
He made small talk.
"So. How's it going so far."
I didn't feel like responding. So I didn't.
"How's life as a pink collar?"
Whatever. He knew perfectly well what it was like.
"Gee, are you always this talkative? You know, some of the men out there, they might want to talk with you a bit before they fuck you. You might want to work on that part a little bit too, missy."
I faked a little laugh, hoping he'd shut up.
"OK, let's get down to business. How do you want to encase your cute little ladies?" He smiled at me. "Oh, you can take them off."
Travis used his pen to point at my crotch. I was wearing government-issue bra and panties, lightweight white cotton, like something Victoria's Secret would make during wartime.
I tentatively pulled my panties down to my mid-thigh. It was slightly embarrassing to reveal myself to this stranger. But my sense of shame had continuously been diminishing of late.
My tiny, shaven balls and penis peeked out from beneath my pale, white hips.
"They are so cute! They are the perfect size. Now: have you thought about what kind of case you want?"
"Not really."
"She speaks! Well there are a lot of fun options. Here are some popular ones. Pink cases are VERY hot. They have that extra bit of femininity that some girls want."
"Can I get a white one?"
"I'm sorry. I can offer you lavender instead?"
"Is there anything besides pink and lavender?"
He gave me a pitiful frown to represent his fake empathy. I got the distinct feeling that this guy was fucking with me.
"OK, fine. Give me lavender."
"Wonderful choice. Now have you thought of any writing to add to it? Or some artwork? Perhaps a pretty little flower?"
"..."
"What was that, sweetie?"
"Do I have to have something on it?"
"It's more fun if you do! You could put something like 'Be Mine' on there. Or how about 'Daddy's Girl'? That one has been popular. We even had one girl--she was a naughty one--who asked for 'FUCK ME' on the front... and 'HARDER' on the back! Remarkable. All the boys here found that very provocative."
I grimaced. "Lavender cage, no writing. Are we done?"
A brief glimpse of pure hatred passed through Travis's eye, a bolt of white lightning that shot through his mind so violently I could see it.
Then he recovered.
"OK! You're all set!"
I made my way for the door.
"Oh--you can pull your panties up now."
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We all had our procedures completed at the same time. Some sort of fucked-up bonding ritual, I guess. We sat at a series of tables, our legs locked into stirrups. It was an odd thing to see, all these new girls now subjugated to the extent that we would willingly have our legs spread, not to mention our clitty and balls encased permanently in plastic.
We were given a light sedative during the procedure. We all began to awake at the same time.
Groggily, we came to.
Cherry was the first to react. She screamed in joy; her case, in hot pink, said "Daddy's Little Slut," just like she wanted, I guess.
I inspected her cage. It was more than a cage, really. Cages imply you can get out if you have a key. No, this was an encasement, a new body part designed to prevent any stimulation to your penis--your clit--ever again. Her tiny little balls were snugly trapped, and just the tip of her clitty was visible--for urination. The rest was smooth, shiny, pink plastic, maybe a quarter-inch thick and solid as a rock.
It would be there for the rest of our lives.
Angel woke up next. Her reaction was not as positive. She wanted to be excited, but something had gone wrong and she was physically uncomfortable. "Ohhh, papi. I think they did something wrong. This really hurts!!!"
Angel's pink case looked twisted a bit, torqued in a way that seemed like it could be painful.
"Nurse, nurse. Can I see the doctor? I think they did something wrong!"
Poor girl.
Brooklyn was looking at her cage. It was ivory white and had in simple cursive script, "Brooklyn" written on top.
I was pissed. First off, there clearly were white cages--my technician had obviously been fucking with me. Second, nothing slutty or anything? She just gets to be herself? Brooklyn was clearly the top of our class, the trophy within the group. I wasn't pissed; I was just insanely jealous.
She looked content and beautiful, like she always does.
My turn. I was lucky--I did not have any of the pain that Angel had. Just a snug tightness that reminded me I would never be a man again.
I glanced down. What the fuck?
Hot pink?
And what does it say?
I had to lean way over to take in the bold, block print, all caps, that read at the top of my encased balls and clitty,
FUCK ME
I nearly passed out.
Frantically, I pulled at the straps on my stirrups, trying to free my legs, wanting to know but simultaneously trying to avoid the horror story of what was printed underneath.
I scrambled to my feet. I bent over and pointed my ass towards Cherry's face.
"What does it say? What does it say?!"
"Oh girl... it says `HARDER.'"
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Angel had to be taken back to the lab for a consultation. I followed along with her, mostly uninvited. The nurses told me I could submit a complaint form, but you know what happens with those, right? At a government institution?
So I followed along as poor Angel limped to the lab.
My blood was pounding so fiercely I swear I could see red. My last ever blasts of testosterone must have been pulsing through my veins because I was ready to kill that lab technician, Travis.
The nurse who accompanied us checked us in at the front desk. Angel was easy--they must be used to dealing with fucked up encasements, a scary proposition.
My situation was a little more unorthodox.
"She says she got the wrong case. They specifically discussed a different case, different color--"
"She can submit a complaint form--"
"Yes, but she insists that..."
As the bureaucracy went on, a tech exited the lab. The door was open.
I saw my opportunity and I grabbed it. I pulled the door before it closed. I flew with fury towards Travis's desk.
He had a smug look on his face.
"You think this is funny? You think it's funny to put me into this case for the rest of my life? I asked for something completely different. You put me into the worst case you could think of!"
He was taken aback. He knew what he had done--I just don't think he thought he would have to account for it.
I went on.
"You little piece of shit. Think you're so big and brave. Such a man. Yeah, a big man because you wear this little lab coat." I grabbed his lapel tightly. I thought about hitting him. Then I let go. I didn't need to get in trouble.
"You're going to figure out a way to fix this. Where is your supervisor? I want to make an official complaint. I'm going to see that you get fired, and I'm going to get my case fixed and that is what is going to happen."
I'd gone full Karen. As I finished, I had both of my hands on his desk. He sat there, bemused and maybe just a little intimidated.
Our eyes were locked. I'd been in situations like this before as a man. This is the moment when, without saying it, a fight has been proposed. This is when you have to show that you're not intimidated. To show that you're ready for the fight.
I gazed at him with blinding fury. Still he sat there, beneath and below me.
Then his eyes lit up with that hatred I had seen earlier. He rose to his feet. He stared right into my face. He met my gaze with an energy of his own, one that blended hate with condescension and just a little bit of pleasure. Soon I was the one who was feeling intimidated.
He paused, then he addressed me.
"Take off your panties."
"...what?"
"I said take off your panties."
"You already know what it says."
"That's not why, you bitch." Travis's gaze became one of sheer aggression and pleasure.
"I'm gonna fuck you."
I choked. He... can't do that. Right? Here in the lab? During the workday?
I know I'm obligated to let any man fuck me, but, like, during our training?
I froze.
He didn't wait. He reached over, grabbed the front of my panties, and tore them violently from my smooth-shaven body.
I squealed.
"Bend over. Bend the fuck over!"
I had no choice.
Or I decided I had no choice.
Of all the moments that lowered my status. That lowered my opinion of myself. That made me feel worthless...
...this one might be the worst.
I lay across his desk in just a light cotton bra, my hot pink `FUCK ME HARDER' cage pressed on the desk. My legs instinctively spread wide. My ass pointed in the air to create the optimum entry angle for him. I think I had learned from my hypno.
This man who had demeaned me was now about to rape me.
And I was accepting it.
This was my new life.
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Once you've been fucked a few thousand times, you learn that not all fucks are created equal. The ones we'd been getting from the machine? They're rare. They do happen and they are wonderful. But on a typical day, you should not plan on having one.
Most fucks are about what the man wants. That's fine. It's not always fun--sometimes what he wants hurts you a little bit. You get used to it.
Some fucks are like nothing at all. Quick and dirty. He gets in there, he fucks you for a couple of minutes, he leaves a load of cum inside, you go about your business.
Other fucks are passionate. They linger. Hopefully you're in the mood. He might tie you down, or grease you up, or make you beg for it. He'll run a feather down your armpit. He'll make you go down on his ass. Or he'll go down on yours, sometimes for hours. These fucks can take you places. They can also be very boring.
But the worst ones--and these are rare too, thank god--the worst ones are the hate-fucks.
Have you been hate-fucked? I have. This was my first. That it came after being loved so perfectly by the fuck machine made it all the more jarring. This man was not motivated to cum inside me--that's not why he mounted me. No--he wanted me to feel pain. And shame. And regret. And a deep, deep sense of diminution. A reduction. I was nothing but a fucktoy. A worthless tunnel where he could dispose his cum.
Was it your goal was to make me feel that way, Travis? Congratulations.
I don't know what he used for lube. He was smart enough to use something. That was not for my benefit--that was so he could get inside me deep and fast. A second into our encounter he was inside me to the hilt.
That will take your breath away.
Then he began fucking me. He pushed me so hard against the steel desk that the drawers rattled with every thrust.
My mouth lay open, my eyes glazed over with too much sensation, too much pain. I was still frozen--I was just taking a fuck at the same time.
What about his coworkers--what would they think? Wouldn't they be embarrassed? I looked around. A couple of nurses both within 20 feet of me kept going about their work. There was no way they could not see or hear what was happening here. Were they oblivious? Did this just happen enough that they no longer found it noteworthy?
A man in a labcoat, tall, handsome, took in the scene. He studied me as if I were wildlife, a creature whose behavior he was trying to understand, to put into code.
Travis was growling in my ear.
"Stupid fucking bitch. You like this? You like getting fucked? This is just the beginning."
I moaned.
"Tell me how to do my job. You're going to get me fired, huh? This is what you get, bitch. This is what you get for saying that."
The man in the labcoat came closer. I could see something else in his eye.
Oh fuck... he was aroused. As Travis hammered into me, he approached.
He opened up his lab coat.
And unzipped his pants.
And whipped his dick out.
And started jerking off into my face.
Travis introduced me. "This little slut... stormed in here to say I... made a mistake. My only mistake was not... fucking this tight little pussy earlier. Teaching her a... lesson. Don't fuck around... with real men... or they'll fuck with you."
Travis was breathing hard, and I was too. I could hear it--I sounded like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. I groaned with each inhale and wheezed with every exhale.
"Oh fuck... I think she loves it!"
I heard Travis say that. I'm not sure if he was right or wrong.
"Mmmm, you do love it, don't you bitch?"
I moaned.
"Don't you?!"
"Uhhhhhehhessss..." was the best I could do.
"You came back here to complain, yeah? Now I think you know I was right."
"Ohhhhhhhhh..."
"So I want you to say it, bitch."
I didn't know what that meant.
"Say it."
My mind began to drift back into reality. Say what, exactly? What was the thing he wanted me to say?
"Say it, you fucking slut."
Then I remembered.
"Ffffuck me... harder."
"What's that?"
"Fuck me harder."
"I think you want me to fuck you harder, but I can't say for sure because I--"
"FUCK ME HARDER!"
"You got it, you fucking bitch."
I had lost control. Over and over again I screamed, "FUCK ME HARDER! FUCK ME HARDER!"
Travis pounded into me like it was an act of violence. I found out later that I was lucky he had not perforated my colon. I guess I can take a hard fucking pretty well.
I don't know how long Travis banged into me. My guess is that it was about ten minutes. For the entire time, I screamed "FUCK ME HARDER!" Still the women in the office did not turn around. I was completely alone.
The other guy was heating up--I could tell he was getting ready to shoot a load.
Travis reached his crescendo. He found another gear, fucked me even harder than he had before. He moaned as he fucked into me five or six times. I could tell he was shooting his load deep inside. His fucking motion slowed, then he collapsed onto my back.
I just kept crying and sobbing. "Fuck me harder" was all I could say... even after he'd finished.
The guy in the lab coat creamed on my face just as Travis's orgasm was subsiding. "Stupid slut," was the only thing he said. He zipped up and walked away.
Travis pulled out. I sobbed on his desk. Spent. Worn out. Emotionally destroyed.
"What do you say to me?"
Somehow I knew.
"Thank you, sir."
I gathered what little I had brought with me--just my panties, torn to shreds. Instinctively I covered my chest with one arm and my crotch with the other. I could not really walk--I could only shuffle.
I began to slowly leave, my posture a clear clue I'd been taught a lesson.
Travis had one final thing to say to me.
"Before you go, you said you wanted to talk to my supervisor. Go for it--he's the one who just came on your face."
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I'm so fucking wet. Are you wet? Drop me a line at sexyamie@hotmail.com -- if you're as turned on as I am I'll keep writing it.