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From: Christine@Ms-Christine.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: Under Control, part twenty-six
Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2006 22:10:50 +0000
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===================
Story:- Under Control. Copyright: Victor Bruno.
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html
Under Control
by Victor Bruno
part twenty-six
Then minutes later, refreshed by a shower, Delia was all brisk
efficiency again. One could scarcely have realised the incident
had occurred at all. Whilst for Paul it had been an unforgettable
experience, he realised for Delia it had been a momentary frolic.
That was bitter to bear.
"Of course we won't say anything about it, will we slave?" smiled
Delia flexing an unpleasantly thick rod menacingly.
"No... n-no... never, mistress...." promised Paul.
"Because I do not think Miss van Meer would much approve. She
might decide to cut 'it' off after all!"
She was right, he reflected. "I swear, mistress...." he said,
most earnestly.
"Good... good," nodded Delia. "For you, I mean. Because since
you are going to remain in my immediate charge for some time yet,
you would very much regret any indiscretion."
The cane whistled shrilly through the air.
"Never forget that how many you get, and how hard depends very
much on we overseers. On me!" She smiled roguishly.
"Understood?"
"Yes, mistress..." Paul understood only too well!
Delia now went to work on him again. First she massaged his
whole body with oil explaining, rather as if she were a nurse,
that this would be done regularly to him to help keep his flesh
more soft and womanly. Then came his first injection of female
hormones. Another regular event to come.
"You realise we intend to make you as near female-looking as
possible, don't you, slave... even if not female-feeling! In
fact preferably not female feeling! Why... soon you'll have
your own tits... with these hormones working away!"
Paul shuddered. He almost felt like weeping. The fate devised
for him seemed almost intolerably cruel. A man imprisoned in a
woman's body. Yes... it was crueller than being made an actual
eunuch. Much as he knew he would hate to face that.
"Meanwhile," continued Delia, "we're going to give you a false
pair of tits. They're very good, too. Take a look..."
Paul looked and was amazed. They were a pair of breasts
seemingly made of real flesh... even though they must have been
of some special latex or plastic filled with foam rubber. The
tint of them even matched his own skin. How long had Gloria
planned this?
The breasts, high, firm and round, were fastened on to a kind of
sheet of skin which Delia placed over and around his chest. It
adhered automatically, merging in with the natural skin.
"There..." said Delia, looking down with amused satisfaction,
"isn't that just great?" She tweaked the pink-pert nipples.
"Pity you can't feel that," she said.
Looking along his chest from his prone position, Paul saw the
twin hillocks and the cleft between. The realism of them was
amazing. Oh my God, he whimpered inwardly, it's really
happening!
"I wouldn't ever try to remove them," Delia warned, "the
adhesive penetrates the pores and hair follicles. Without the
special solvent I'm not sure how much of your chest and sides
would remain!"
Next came the affixing of the cruel device to emasculate him.
Paul's penis having firstly been pressed down between his balls
and under him.
The 'thing' was shown to him; A kind of oval plastic,
'cricketer's box,' but with a slit underneath it. This too
fastened on by means of the adhesive. Paul shuddered as he felt
the cool substance on the skin of both penis and balls. The
plastic skin surrounding the box adhering to the tender flesh
above and behind.
What, in effect was achieved, was a rather prominent mound of
Venus, such as quite a number of Junoesque women possess.
"Your 'tits' will come off when your own start to develop. But
since there'll never be any need to take that off I've used
extra adhesive," assured a smiling Delia, "but you'll now have
to sit down on the lavatory just like we real girls do!"
Paul felt something like panic as well as despair gripping him.
The whole of his manhood was confined and crushed immutably. He
had been rendered useless. Utterly impotent. Little wonder that
tears began to mist his eyes.
"It might be painful if you ever get excited," Delia continued.
Paul groaned in despair. My God how was he to avoid excitement
surrounded as he was to be by so much girl flesh. And what
would those girls think of that 'box' between his legs. He was
neither man nor woman!
But Delia had not quite finished. She now affixed over the mound
another piece of skin-plastic... this having lips which fitted
around the slit of the 'box' underneath.
"I hope none of the men here take a fancy to you," she laughed,
"or they'll get a bit of a shock. No way in there, I'm afraid."
The main process of Paul's transformation had now been
completed... but there were many fine details yet to be
attended to. Delia was only too happy to oblige. Having had the
last of his manhood it was strangely satisfying to complete his
transformation.
She plucked his eyebrows, put false eyelashes on him, made up
his face carefully and finally put a wig of soft brown hair
over his shaven head. The hair was shoulder length. As a final
touch she painted Paul's finger and toe nails a bright crimson.
"We won't be calling you Paul any more now," said Delia as, at
long last, she released him from the bench on which he had been
spreadeagled helpless. "It will have to be Pauline from now on.
Take a look..."
Paul sat up stiffly. He was trembling with dread at what he
must see. There, ahead of him in the wall mirror, was himself...
yet not himself!
Only dimly could he recognise something of the line of his
features; make-up, wig, eyebrows, and so on had transformed him.
If not exactly beautiful there was no doubt that the body he now
saw had a femininity; was almost sexy, possibly even attractive.
It was unbelievable. Uncanny. Frightening.
"Take a closer look..." urged Delia.
He swung off the bench, feeling the bounce of his false
breasts, and moved unsteadily to the mirror. Yes... he really
was a woman! Long hair, facial features, breasts, everything.
With a moan Paul buried his face in his hands. Within moments he
was sobbing openly. Never, never, had he felt such utter
despair.
"Come, come, Pauline," said Delia, giving him a half-playful
slap on the bottom, "those hormones can't be working all that
fast, can they? We are not reduced to girlish tears so quickly,
are we?"
Paul went on sobbing... until Delia brought him up sharply
with three slashing cuts of the rod across his tender behind.
"Now you'll need to repair the make-up" she rasped. "And, this
time you'll do it yourself. After all, you've got to get used
to it. Sit there..."
Delia indicated to a dressing table. Paul sat and gazed in
bewilderment at this unknown creature. Slowly he began to undo
the unfamiliar jars of cream, rouge and lipstick. From now on,
this is your life, he told himself.
Perhaps, he thought pathetically as the lipstick coloured his
lips deeper, when the hormones really begin to work it will be
better. Then, possibly, whatever he looked like, he would feel
more like a woman and less like a man.
* * * * * * *
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