The following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so if you are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and fantasies involving the mental and physical control of others. If you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
I want to thank Miss Porcelaina Valeriana for inspiring this story, as she also constantly inspires me. Please send any comments/suggestions to me at froman.author@gmail.com. They are appreciated and warmly received.
This story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met:
1) The story is not altered in any way, 
2) The story contains my name and disclaimer, and
3) You do not make money from the story or use it promote any product or service.

Chapter Six
As bizarre as it seems, my life settled into a kind of normal over the following weeks and months. Miss redid the decorations of the master bedroom once more, to suit her own tastes and wishes, as it became her domain, even though she did not spend every night there. 
The guest room, remaining as a princess room, was now mine. My new wardrobe, consisting of the kinds of outfits I had been dressed in so far for Miss's amusement, as well as various humiliating uniforms and various implements of torment, teasing and restraint, was moved into my new closet. Any of my old clothes that remained were kept under lock and key in Miss's room. 
To go to work I was required to come to her for the gift of clothing. I wore only panties for underwear, and she often chose to send me out into the world wearing stockings as well. Toys meant to play upon my body and mind were also a frequent inclusion. Some days I would be bent over and stuffed with one from the very start, feeling it aching inside me all day long as I pretended to be a normal man.
Another day, I might find a gag or dildo or plug sent along with me in my briefcase, along with a detailed note from Miss instructing me just when, where and how I was to subject myself to it. 
Miss set up video messaging on my computer at home, so that she could also contact me with the full force of her power at any time she chose during the day. I had begun to accept and understand her control of my will, of my mind. That is what it was; I had no doubt. Her eyes gave me a gift, happiness, pure bliss that I had become addicted to. I would do anything to keep feeling it. 
In a kind of strange irony, the more I accepted it, the more I was able to keep it in balance. I was no longer plunged into depression when I didn't see her for hours during the day, or even if she didn't spend the night with me, because I knew that she would be back. I knew I was hers; for better or for worse, it was irrelevant. 
Just as she had marked my body with the tan, shaved legs and balls, and with the tattoo, she continued to put her sign upon me. The small silver rings piercing my nipples were new enough to still make me constantly aware of them. They teased enough to keep them erect, and they bounced when I walked. Typical of the many ways in which Miss had changed my life, it acted as a kind of constant awareness that I was hers, and that there were no limits to how she might show it. 
The details of my new life were kept as a contained secret. I was again a regular customer of Lucy's, so she saw the physical changes and the hidden wardrobe. She had seen the bases of buried plugs on more than one occasion. She had even calmly and professionally made the best of it when Miss sent me there while locked within a steel chastity harness. 
There was also Rebecca, of course, somewhere out there, who knew, but I had not seen her since she had used her hands to force upon me my first (but not last) taste of my own cum. Miss did not speak about her, and I did not dare ask. If she was free, out there, recovering her old life, trying to forget those things had ever happened, I wished her well. 
My acceptance of this did not imply any kind of numbness. I felt it all acutely and powerfully. Miss knew just how to work upon my mind, escalating her plans slowly and inventively, always keep me off balance. I never seemed to lose myself completely into a new world, and never quite became used to it. 
I still felt embarrassment, fresh and hot, every time I exposed my panty-wearing sissy ass to Lucy. I was constantly nervous about panty lines that might show through my pants. I had to think, every time I crossed my legs at work, to remember whether or not I would be exposing stockings or nylons at my ankles. I had given up using urinals at all, not wanting to give a flash of coloured lace to anyone beside me. 
Miss also had the perfect unknowing accomplice in Denise, my assistant. She was always there, just outside my door, never aware of what I might be wearing or filled with, seconds away from accidental discovery. She came to know Miss as my girlfriend, and was not surprised by occasional unannounced pop-in visits. Miss would delight in having me close the door to my office, but leave it unlocked, while she had me put on some toy, or open my shirt to write something humiliating on my chest in lipstick or marker. 
She would have me go so far as to remove my pants completely, tucking them in a desk drawer, sitting behind my desk is some particularly colourful pair of panties with matching stockings, and then have me call Denise in to get some contract from the file, research some inane question, or simply to chat about her weekend. Often, Miss would have me leave the IM window open, so she could watch along, as I tried to act normally while I squirmed in my chair, my face getting redder and redder. 
None of this ever got any easier. I never felt any less like a fool or sissy dressed in those ways. The toys never stopped aching. The periods, be they hours or days or weeks, when I was not allowed to cum never got any less frustrating or painful. The only thing that happened, I suppose, is that I knew they were worth it. 
The gift of her gaze never stopped being an incredible rush. I came to think of her smiles as her expression of care for me, even perhaps a kind of love. I felt what I came to think of as love for her too. There were challenges she put before me, and games she loved to play with me, but I didn't know what else to call the overflowing emotion I felt towards her when I saw those eyes. She was capable of making happier, more at peace and more complete that I had even known was possible. I didn't dare know what it was if it wasn't love.
Whatever all of this was, it was mine. It was my life. There were highs and lows, to be sure. Whatever the lows, however, I could still feel Miss's desire and pleasure in them. I knew that the pain or humiliation meant reward. 
The only flaw, the only nagging thought I could not get out of my mind, was guilt. I still thought of how Rebecca must have felt when she was taken on my bed, over and over, enduring not only the merciless toys but her own body used against her, driving her to orgasm after orgasm. I could feel the humiliation she must have endured, looking down at her own lovely body contorted into a lewd sideshow in that clear latex dress, having even the toys filling her exposed for her audience to see. 
I wondered what she had been subjected to, or forced to do with the illusion of free will, during her shopping trip with Miss. I wondered how she might have been dressed when Miss had sent her home. There were so many questions I had, but I couldn't ask them. She became the symbol of my old life, something to miss, perhaps or to reminisce upon; someone to wish well as they continued without you. 
As much as I wanted to know some of these answers, I was happy that I didn't. I was relieved that she was no longer a part of Miss's games with me. In my mind's eye I imagined her free, and got some solace in thinking that the visions of Miss, of both of us, would be fading from her mind just as they had once done for me. I wondered if it would be quicker for her. Would she truly feel the same love and joy in Miss's eyes that I did?
Miss never questioned me about her either, though her role in my development would occasionally come up in her speech. There were photos of those experiences as well I came to know. I had only to see myself in that pose, the hook looking even crueler from the back, and I could remember exactly how Rebecca and Miss had looked around me. Miss's eyes would always search mine as she made me relive these memories.
I thought, as Miss never pressed the matter, that she too had put Rebecca in the past. I imagined that Miss thought of her as little more that any of the other toys she had used on my body and mind.
With so much more free time for Miss to work with, I grew to have more agonizing anticipation of weekends. There was often more elaborate preparations of my body, or a choice of garments that would take longer and longer to fit or squeeze myself into, or for that matter, into me. 
There was one Saturday when Miss took advantage of that time to prepare me for a further opening of the small circle of my secret. My clothing had been intricate and carefully chosen. A corset laced impossibly tight upon me was put on early so that I could become accustomed to it, only to have it laced even tighter when I did. My orifices were sealed with gags and plugs and my cock was kept hard via her special shake and trapped mercilessly. Bondage of rope and leather and steel kept me completely immobile in the centre of my own living room. I was displayed for her friends as a kind of feature artwork during a cocktail party. I had been blindfolded as well so I had seen none of them, but I had been subjected to their groping hands, teasing tickles at prodding torment. 
And so, coming home one Friday, my mind was mixed with feelings of anticipation, fear, and curiosity. Running through my past uses and the possibilities that they had begun to stimulate in my increasingly depraved imagination, I still could not have anticipated what I found. 
Nothing. 
The apartment was unchanged, and while I thought I caught something of her scent, I could tell it was empty of her eyes. 
On the coffee table, was the smallest pink envelope. I rushed to open in. 
<I>"My Edward, You've been such a good boy, such a good sissy. I want to have you as my own, forever. All that remains is just one more thing, a kind of test or choice. After this, I know we can be linked completely. You will see me again when the task is complete.</I>
My heart sank as I read through the instructions. I knew with even more certainty that she was gone - though I did walk in a daze through the quiet and empty apartment. I read the entire letter again, sinking into the couch. I loved her completely. Her eyes had seared my heart and soul forever, and she owned my mind like no one could. Still, I didn't really know if I could do this. 
The next day, I called Rebecca at home. She hung up as soon as she recognized my voice. I tried again in the afternoon, and there was no answer. It seemed just as well, and I left a long message, saying how I wanted to apologize for all that had happened, how I was sorry she had ever been involved in this part of my life, how I cared for her and wished her well, and how, if she would let me, I would just like to see her for coffee somewhere and say goodbye. I made sure to let her know I was proposing somewhere public, safe and normal. 
It took a couple more days before she would even answer the phone for me, and it was the next weekend before she consented to coffee. It was to be Saturday morning, early, at a busy downtown Starbucks. I agreed readily and thankfully.
I arrived early, and I saw her enter, still with a wary look in her eyes. She was just as beautiful as always, though I sensed that her guard was up, robbing her complexion of some of its natural ease. Her smile was thin, polite. 
Once past the initial awkwardness, and when I somehow managed to convince her I was not trying to trap her, or even get back together with her, we fell into a kind of rhythm that recalled the promise of our ill-fated relationship. We talked for hours, mainly with me leading the conversation, trying to explain that I was so sorry she was ever involved. I told her she had been a gift to know, appearing just when I needed someone to be kind to me, and it was cruel the way that my life had snagged and damaged her. 
In time I could see her softening, accepting my apologies. She began to tell me that it was taking time, but that she was letting go of her anger. She was mostly sorry that what seemed like a promising relationship didn't work out, and while she didn't really fully understand my new relationship, she was ready to wish me well. She seemed to understand that the choices made that day regarding her had not been mine. 
I told her that I would be leaving soon, that I had to leave this city behind as I was letting go of my old life. I took a deep breath, going on, telling her that as she remained the biggest link to that life, it had been so important for me to tell her these things, and that I wanted to get a gift for her. She seemed flattered, more by her place in my life that the gift - she was just so good - but she finally agreed to let me take her shopping. 
We meandered through the streets, some busy, some quiet and deserted; we were mostly talking and reminiscing about our brief time together and our favourite parts of the city. I almost wanted to reach down and hold her hand.
We appeared to lose track completely of where we were when the sparkling display of glittering lights on beautiful jewellery stopped her in her tracks. I saw the look in her eyes, took her arm, and led her inside. The store was empty of staff or other customers but there was more than enough to look at to keep us busy. When we saw the necklace, it was if it had its own spotlight trained upon it. I knew she would love it, even as a soft gasp escaped her lips. 
It didn't take too much convincing to get her to try it on. I held it up in my fingers and she turned her back to me. As she lifted her hair with her hands, the tiny wisps remaining only made her neck more alluring. I draped the chain around her neck, watching the pendant lie heavy and perfect between her breasts. I could feel my own warm breath escape over her neck as I removed the soaked handkerchief from the plastic bag in my pocket to press and hold firmly over her mouth and nose. There were moments of confused struggling, but soon enough she sank down to her knees on the floor. 
When she started to rouse from her slumber, I studied her slow reactions to the confusing realizations about her position, her situation. Her body looked so incredible, and I wondered if anyone else than me will see or know the disconnect between the simple beauty of her soul and the way I had posed her. 
Her toes were pointed and her feet encased in black leather calf-length ballet boots. The large fishnet pattern of the stockings that rose out of them made a delicious contour map out of her legs; the tops of the stockings were artfully stretched in perfect symmetry by garter belts. Her pussy, freshly and completely shaved, was just barely visibly behind the sheer white fabric of her panties. Invisible inside her was the plastic egg vibrator, already humming constantly, that had caused her to moisten with arousal even before she had awakened. 
The wide vibrating plug in her ass, in contrast, was set to provide brief but intense pulses of vibration every twenty minutes. Her belly was at once soft and taut, and her breasts were offered up in a matching white quarter-cup push-up bra. Her nipples, standing out stiff and fully exposed, were circled tightly, held erect, by tiny looping golden chains from which were suspended lovely, if heavy, orbs of jewelled gold. Her lips were painted red and stood out starkly against a pure white ball gag. Her makeup was immaculate, and her hair had been done up with the formed perfection of a bridesmaid.
 Her body was upright and spread, like a living St. Andrews Cross. Her ankles were trapped in white leather cuffs and locked with short chains to the eye rings embedded in the floor. The spacing of those rings held her legs wide. Her hands, cuffed as well in matching wrist cuffs, were drawn over her head, spread just as wide. Every exposed inch of flesh gleamed and shone, as I had massaged her with glittering baby oil.
The terror, followed so quickly by flashing anger and disbelief in her eyes let me know for sure that she was finally awake. 
I stood just inches from her, whispering into her ear. 
"Rebecca, I truly am sorry. You really were the best part of my old life. You were pure and kind to me, but I have to make this choice. I have to leave that life behind, completely, and I can't allow myself to know you might be here waiting for me. I have to leave you here instead. In time, there will be someone to take you away. I hope they will take you just as I have been taken, that they will be able to give you the kind of overwhelming joy I feel, but I don't really know if that will happen."
"I could try to tell you, even tell myself that I am being forced to do this, but I am the one making this choice, I am the one completing this challenge because I know, no matter what is behind it, that Miss that holds my future. My life is hers. I'm sorry I have to choose, but I do. I have."
And so I left her. I flipped the switch to turn on the bright lights and I drew open the wide curtains. I slid out of the small space, closing the curtain and door behind me. The jewellery was packed up and gone; she was now the only display. As I stepped away from the store I allowed myself just one glance back at her, shining bright under the tanning lamps that drew only more attention to her displayed body. She looked every bit like the prize I'm sure some man would make of her. 
I'm heading home now. Into her eyes.
THE END



