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When I refused I was shocked when she stepped forward and backhanded me across the face; I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed. She began screaming at me, asking how dare I back talk her, and that she was in charge now, and if she wanted me in panties she was going to get it or I could leave for good. I was stunned; she had never been like that before. I put them on as she began laughing, stroking my red face drunkenly. She then made me strut around for her, and degraded me by telling me what a poor woman I made. She then pushed me to my knees and made me lick her pussy until she came, calling me her ‘little bitch’ the whole time. When she was done I thought it was my turn to cum, but when I tried to make a move she slapped my face again and said, “I don’t fuck guys in panties.” She even made me sleep curled up at her feet instead of beside her.

Things got worse after that, and I have to admit I let them. Each day she turned me less and less masculine, until after about three months she declared she was “finished the transformation.” I now got up every morning two hours before her, shaved my whole body (except my hair which by now was page boy length), put on my gaff (a device designed to compress my genitals into the smallest package possible and secure it between my legs), did my makeup, got dressed (usually in a little maid costume: a short black dress, black stay-up stockings, matching black push-up bra and thong panties, 4″ black high heels, and of course the required apron, hat, and collar), and made her what ever breakfast she decided on the night before. I would then serve her breakfast in bed, and when she was done I would help her to the bathroom to bathe and prepare her for her busy day. After she was gone I’d spend the day cleaning and preparing for that nights’ dinner. When she came home I would undress her and make her comfortable in a silk night gown, serve her dinner and then spend the rest of the night doing whatever pleased her. I’d then put her to bed and curl up at the bottom of the bed and catch some sleep so I’d be ready to do it all again the next day.

It wasn’t enough for her that I looked like a woman, but I had to act like one too. By the end of the three months I had as much as I could become a woman, in walk, mannerisms, and voice. She even stopped calling me my real name, and now called me Jenny. She threw out all my male clothes, gave me a credit card, and made me go by a whole new female wardrobe – while she watched. It was humiliating, because even when the sales girls didn’t realize I was a man, she told them. They would stand around and joke and laugh as I tried on outfits, trying to find something to please her. Eventually we finished, but not before I felt totally defeated.

Even worse, during the whole time my sexual gratification was nil. The extent of my sex life was satisfying her orally when she demanded it. If I made advances she’d beat me and say it was un-ladylike. When she found out I was masturbating while she was away she began spanking my penis each night before bed until it hurt, and I lost all desire to touch it.

So that was my life until yesterday, a pathetic sissy. And then it got worse. Yesterday she came home at lunch and said I was to have a gourmet dinner for two ready for 7pm, but that she’d be home at 5 and I’d better be ready to help her. Of course I was when she came home with a package. She sat on the bed and made me kneel in front of her. She explained that she enjoyed me being her “pet lesbian”, and while I was a good little cunt-licker, she needed a good dose of cock. She then slapped me before I could even offer my services. She announced that tonight she was having a friend over for dinner, and I was to help her get ready. We must have spent an hour, bathing, shaving, trimming, and primping, until she was happy with how she looked. She then opened the package and pulled out a sexy white crushed-cotton full-length sleeveless scoop front dress with buttons all the way up the front. She then slid it over her head and onto her still naked body. She explained that she hoped she wouldn’t need underwear tonight. I was shocked and felt a bit sick about the blatant ness of her announcement. She then made me dress up (in the outfit I described before no less) and sent me off to finish preparing dinner.

When the doorbell rang promptly at 7, Cindy ordered that I show her guest in. My cheeks burning and my stomach nauseous, I opened the door to find a well-built man in a business suit, holding flowers and a bottle of wine. He looked at me strangely, but I somehow managed to ask him in, took his coat, and showed him to the living room where Cindy was stretched out in front of the fire. She crossed the room to meet him; her body silhouetted through the material by the fire, and gave him a hug and a brief kiss. He then inquired who her maid was. She laughed, and said “Oh that’s just what’s left of my husband.” She then bid me to open the wine and pour it for them as she told him the whole tale of my transformation. I could have died, the humiliation was so great. The man, I found out that his name was Jim, seemed to enjoy my discomfort, but after about half an hour I was forgotten as they focused on each other. When dinner was ready I served them throughout the meal, listened to them flirt and tease with each other; it was almost too much. After dinner Cindy ordered me to do the dishes and bring desert into the living room in half an hour.

Source: Literotica: Fetish: You Show Me How It’s Done

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