A Submissive Sissy

Here you'll find my favorites Sissy & Femdom stories, the best one I've ever read over the net since many years and believe me, that's a lot ! I'm also a wool fetishist, so you may come accross this type of topic around here too... Hope you'll like it !

Kelly Ann Rogers

The Boy Nanny

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A few more weeks, (I think it was around the end of March _ I had lost track of time) found Amanda sitting on the edge of my bed, directing me as I brushed my hair, my head tilted to one side, so it would fall freely.

"OK, here's the deal Ashley," she said, "After you finish your training, you'll live with me, care for me and my home, and when the baby comes, care for her as well. That will be your full-time job. Any sign of resistance and Sheila's mob friends get you. Do things right on the other hand, and you can be quite happy. And just to show you I'm sincere, I'm changing your nose ring."

It was replaced with a much smaller one, which I could barely feel, but which could still be used to control me, if needed. After that, I forgot it was there, except when Mrs. Spinner decided I needed a little remedial work tied to a door, a chair, or wherever.

Over the next couple of weeks, I was "grown up." My diapers were gone. I had been successfully toilet trained (again! My God, how many people have to do it twice?) by Mrs. Spinner, who did her best to humiliate me by checking on me repeatedly throughout the several days of my "training." Of course, I had to play along. My hair hadn't been cut and was still in soft blonde curls. I wore lots more makeup now and I had to constantly search through teen glamour magazines for new looks. My nails were much longer and I changed the color on them constantly.

Now I wore dresses or skirts and tops instead of rompers. My skirts were always short and my tops mostly tight and low cut or cropped and low cut. My shoes were either clunky platforms with big heels or high heeled spikes. I had lots of plastic jewelry, which I changed repeatedly, and still had to make myself over several times each day for Mrs. Spinner. Not only that, I was given a new acting assignment. I was to be an air headed teenybopper. I had to be enthusiastic all the time and express my exuberance in both my words and actions.

"Oh yes, Aunt Sheila. Like, thank you Aunt Sheila, can I, like, really?" I jumped up and down in front of her clapping my hands rapidly in front of my face, and looking at her pleadingly. " Can I really be a teenager? That would be sooo darling. I'd, like, love it!"

'Oh my god, did I say that?' I must be developing brain damage. Of course, that's just what Sheila and Amanda wanted to happen. They figured that if they could just overwhelm me with being a girl, I'd become one. The hormones certainly helped, and they were masterful at manipulating me and filling all my time with GIRL stuff. You know, clothes, makeup, hair, nails, and magazines. I literally had no time to be me, whoever that was by this point. When I slipped up, I was punished, by being pulled around by my nose ring, whipped, and verbally degraded.

But when I was the Ashley they wanted me to be, everyone treated me like a princess. They brushed my hair, which I learned could be heavenly, and they helped me with my makeup, teaching me little tricks. They called me sweet and adorable without any sarcasm, and I even started to get occasional hugs for being irresistibly cute.

I knew what was going on because their approach wasn't particularly subtle. But it was unrelenting, and I simply couldn't resist. Sure I changed my behavior to avoid the pain and punishments, but the truth was, I really wanted them to treat me nicely. I have a strong need to please people and I needed their approval. I don't know, maybe it was the Helsinki Syndrome, you know, where the hostages start to identify with their kidnapers, but after awhile, I wanted to be their good little girl. I needed to be loved, and if being a well-behaved and enthusiastic little princess got me their approval, that's what I would be. I would be the best little princess ever.

Well, I guess I shouldn't exaggerate. They didn't treat me exactly like a princess; I was more like Cinderella, because I was still the assistant housekeeper during the day, and by night. . . . the French maid. No tight miniskirts, tube tops, and clunky heels when Sheila was home. No, I was dressed for my part, in a formal maid's uniform. Sheila and Amanda both preferred me in a black satin uniform, which had fluffy lace all around the low-cut neckline, puffed short sleeves, and mid thigh hem. It had two layers of lace trimmed organza petticoats, and a little tea apron, and a lace cap that had to be pinned on just so. At first, I got in trouble because Mrs. Spinner said I didn't tie the apron bow properly or place the cap just right. I couldn't help it. How women did things with their hands behind their backs or on the tops of their heads was just a mystery to me. But I learned quickly, and soon presented a very professional image.

I also had the requisite seamed nylons and spiked heels. Fact is, my legs looked terrific, and both Tommy and Sheila took every opportunity to stroke my thighs or caress my butt. Even Mrs. Spinner, who did most of the cooking, offered an occasional, "You look scrumptious my dear," when I got the look just right. She was right, too. As much as I didn't want to admit it, from the neck down, I was a pretty tasty looking treat.

Part of that look was due to the corset I always wore with my uniform and any other time my outfit permitted it. I even had special sleeping corsets. No doubt about it, I was being figure trained. My waist had already been trimmed down to 25 inches during the day and I slept at 26. Sheila's target was 24 inches, but Mrs. Spinner was in charge, and vowed to get me to 23. I had no doubt I would make it.

My chest didn't need as much help as my waist. In the three months since I had received my small implants, the high dose hormones had added enough real breast tissue to give me some bounce and cleavage. Sheila was delighted and adamant that I show it off.

"How are you going to attract men if you don't show a little cleavage Ashley? You're not that pretty you know." So it was miracle bras and low-cut tops during the day and night. Most of my bras were lace trimmed, and as much as I wanted to deny it, I just loved the way they felt. This was a source of real concern for me. I was beginning to enjoy aspects of my own degradation.

I also had a very large collection of great fitting T-shirts. I had several with scalloped, scooped necklines that showed nice cleavage and others with V-necks that plunged from nearly the edge of my shoulders and exposed the insides of both breasts. Even the ones that didn't show cleavage were tight, so my breasts were always on display. I didn't wear my miracle bra under those; I had sheer seamless bras that made it look like I wasn't wearing one at all.

Then, there were the crop tops. For some reason I had always worn my shirts tucked in, so walking around with them not even reaching my navel was very disconcerting. I kept trying to pull them down, even though they weren't going any lower. The one that freaked me out the most was made of stretchy black lace. It was completely off the shoulder and came no where near the bottom of my ribs! I think most girls would wear tops like that with jeans, but I didn't have any pants. I wore them with little minis and heels or platform shoes so I looked like a teenage boy's wet dream.

One of Sheila's friends was always talking about piercing my navel, because, "it would look so cute with your short little tops." Eventually, I found the idea kind of exciting, though I'm still not sure why. But then I hardly knew why I thought anything anymore. Along with the hefty dose of humiliation I always felt, I was being force-fed ever larger doses of girliness, and I was constantly trying to figure out how to avoid being punished. Add to that my own need for approval and I hardly ever knew what I was really thinking anymore.

One boring day though, I called her bluff, and made her put her money where her mouth was. I decided that I would do something really girly for them. I would use my feminine wiles to get jewelry!

"Oh! A ring in my navel would be, like, sooo cool. Could you like really get me one Mistress Barbara? Would you? Pretty please? I want one with an emerald. That's sooo totally what I want. Then I could get earrings to match!" I put my hand up to my right ear and pushed the lobe out to her while I angled my toes toward each another and twisted my body back and forth just like I'd seen little girls do it. Just to be sure I was totally devastating, I pouted for all I was worth.

Sheila just leapt at that. "Oh Barbara darling, you can't disappoint little Ashley. She wants to pierce another part of her body. I guess the rings holding her cock prisoner aren't enough. Do take her to get her navel done. I know just the place."

"Well princess," Barbara came up and put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze. "Let's go, but one wrong move out of you and you'll regret it. You'll end up with more piercings than a pin cushion, and a couple of tattoos to boot."

"Oh thank you Mistress Barbara. I'll be good, I promise I will. Can I get earrings too?" I was kind of enjoying being the selfish little bitch, but I had always liked women's earrings and I had three holes to fill, so. . . .

So now I had a nice little emerald in my navel and a pair of dangly emerald and gold earrings (Mistress Barbara could certainly afford it), and I started wearing crop tops even more often. Tommy loved to play with that little ring, it turned him on somehow, and between that and my ever-growing tits, he got even more attentive and solicitous.

One day I was wearing one of my most provocative tops (like I had anything else). It was pale pink and cut square very low across my breasts. It was held up by thin straps that were always slipping off my shoulders. It barely reached the bottom of my ribs and I was wearing a short black pleated skirt with it. I was fixing my Very Berry Red lipstick in the mirror yet again so that Mrs. Spinner wouldn't whip my thighs, which were just about completely exposed in that dress.

"Lookin' gooood Ashley." Tommy had sidled up behind me as I was putting the cover on the lipstick case. I glanced up to see his reflection as he stepped right up to my back, his gaze fixed on my chest. I was startled to discover that my heart actually fluttered a little to have him so close.

"Do you really like them?" I asked, very tentatively, crossing my arms under my tits to push them up a little more.

"Oh yeah," he drawled out slowly, reaching around to cover my arms with his own and cuddle me into his hard body. That really set my heart off! I couldn't believe it, I was flattered by the attention of this man, flattered and flustered. And as I watched in the mirror, he bent his head around mine, nuzzled the strap off my shoulder and placed an exquisite, tender kiss on the top of my right breast.

Oooh, how delicious! I tilted my head back and began to arch back into his body. For a moment, I was in lust. But then awareness came crashing back and I panicked. I spun around to put my hands on his chest to push him away. He only let me get a few inches before he firmed up his grip around my back.

"Let go of me." I said quietly, raising my eyes to find his. What I saw stunned me. He had the sweetest and most adoring look in his eyes.

'My God!' I thought, 'he's in love with me.' Then I startled myself by kissing him quickly on the cheek. Now I was really embarrassed, I ducked my head down quickly, so he couldn't see my blush, and he let me dance away from his grip.

As I ran into the other room to catch my breath, I could hear him whisper, "For now, just for now."

After that I often found him staring at me. When our eyes met, I would blush, but he would just smile. Worse, I found myself staring at him and studying his muscular body. When he wasn't around, I found myself thinking about him. More awful yet, I caught myself fixing my makeup, fluffing out my hair, or adjusting my bra to be sure my tits were displayed to their best advantage when I knew he might show up shortly. I was trying to make myself look sexier for him!

In retrospect, it was a no brainer. Sheila had set this up. Tommy was the one person who had been unfailingly nice to me throughout my entire ordeal. He had taken care of my body under the worst of circumstances. When I had been completely and utterly helpless in his hands, both physically and emotionally, he had never once taken advantage of me. Not only that, but he had made sure I had at least some emotional support through the deepest pits my torment. Unknowingly, I had come to depend on him; he was my emotional safe harbor. At the same time, he was a constant source of complements. Whereas Sheila was angry and dismissive, and Mrs. Spinner cruelly strict, he was so charming, and so endearing!

The women dressed me to degrade me; they tried to make me feel like a bad joke. Today's outfit was a good example of that. But Tommy loved the way I looked, and he let me know it. While they were angrily trying to create a personal hell for me by making me a little girl and demeaning me for it, he was gently helping me out of my purgatory with his emotional support. Now he was expressing physical attraction for me. I was so confused my head was spinning. I couldn't let myself think about him. I was a man after all, wasn't I?

Of course, that's all I did _ think about him, that is. He made me feel loved. If a man makes me feel loved, does that mean I'm turning gay? What did being gay mean anyhow? I had tits, was developing a nice round ass and the softest skin, and hadn't acted anything like a male of any age in almost four months. I had been a baby girl and now I was teenybopper. I behaved so ridiculously it was beyond belief. To avoid punishment, I erupted with glee at the opportunity to try a different hairstyle, and skipped around the apartment in flirty little skirts, tight tops, and high heels, like a happy little air head.

I was almost beyond shame. Every time I allowed the young man in me to emerge, I was punished, usually painfully. I had to bury my feelings of humiliation so I could throw myself wholeheartedly into my girls' role to avoid pain. The women had been much stronger than me. For most of my waking moments, I was a young girl. My time and attention were absolutely filled with it. Being attracted to a man should be normal, not gay. Shouldn't it? Well, whatever it was, I was becoming obsessed with Tommy!

***

One afternoon, sitting in front of my vanity, teasing my hair to create a stupid bouffant style Mrs. Spinner had demanded, I had a set of flashing insights about my new life. These were triggered as I leaned close to the mirror and my robe fell open, giving me the most tantalizing view of my own naked chest. My breasts were soft and creamy and had a beautiful curve to them.

That's when I first consciously realized that I just loved having tits. I had loved tits on women when I was a guy, and I was becoming really obsessed with them now that they were growing on my own chest. Hey! They were a turn on. I reached up with my right hand and in the mirror saw my manicured nails fondle my left breast. I melted at the feeling. I straightened up. My breasts stood up on my chest like they were proud of themselves. I was proud of them! I pulled my shoulders back and shook them a little to make those wondrous globes sway. That sent a thrill down my spine and into my groin. My dick even started to stir. These breasts truly were a gift.

Thinking about my tits made me think about Tommy. At that moment I wanted him to be fondling them. I wanted to sink back into his chest, and stretch and purr as he reached around from behind and massaged my nipples. In my imagination, I was reveling in his soft touch. He had long ago shown me that he was really good with nipples. I wanted more!

As I rubbed my back against his chest in my little fantasy, I realized that I was profoundly grateful to Tommy for the way he had been treating me. I genuinely wanted to thank him! I knew that now with all my heart. I just as I hadn't allowed myself to feel it before. It was too dangerous.

But something else had been lurking just out of my awareness. There was a dark side to my feelings as well, and now I knew what it contained. I felt that I had to be nice to Tommy to make sure that he wouldn't abandon me. That would just be devastating! I couldn't imagine how I would survive without him.

My recent flirting had been my way of trying to secure his attention. Unconsciously, I had been giving him what I could within the character I was being forced to play. I was a little teenage sex pot, and I was leading him on. My god, Sheila, Amanda, and Mrs. Spinner were really doing a job on me. I was afraid the only man in my life would stop paying attention to me, and reacted to that fear by being sexually flirtatious. This is what real little girls do to keep their boyfriends, isn't it? I must be pretty far gone. I was instinctively reacting like a teen age girl!

And as I sat there staring at my image in the mirror while these revelations unfolded themselves, I realized something that reached to my very core. I really wasn't too upset about how things were going. The women want me to feel humiliated, but I didn't, really. . . , so much . . . . , anymore I mean. I wasn't really sure why not, but I did know that I had felt that I had deserved to be punished, so the retribution the women were taking on me was actually cleansing in a sick way. It helped to relieve my guilt.

In addition, someone seemed truly to care for me, for the first time since my mother, really. Once I had hoped that person would be Amanda. But I had blown that one. I would be lucky if she just stopped hating me.

Instead, there was now Tommy. We were both guys (well, me sort of), but that doesn't seem to bother him. Duhhh, he's gay. But the bottom line was that he's treating me wonderfully. . .

OMiGod! I was being courted! What was I going to do? I didn't even have to answer that question. The warm squirmy feeling in the pit of my stomach had already answered for me. I was falling for Tommy and at the very least, I wanted to let him know how much I appreciated his care. Plus, I was terrified of losing his attentions.

I was so confused! But some dim insight told me that this was somehow correct. I should be confused. My identity was somewhere between man and girl, and was headed for girl, at least socially, more quickly than I could control. But could I go that way sexually as well? I had always assumed Tommy would fuck me. Surely that's why the women brought him into this. To rape and humiliate me like I had done to Amanda. As sweet and wonderful as he's been, that could still happen. I did exactly the same thing to Amanda, who trusted me and who cared for me. I'm sure that from Sheila's perspective, it would be the perfect payback.

But maybe I could enjoy sex with a man. I had always liked sex, a lot. And I really had no inhibitions about it, at least I hadn't discovered any yet. Still, I wasn't gay and had never been sexually aroused by the thought of sex with a man. Even now with Tommy, I wasn't lusting after sex. It was approval and affection I craved.

I was so pitiful. Even with all my education and understanding and sexual experience, I had the emotional needs of a teenage girl. I looked at myself in the mirror. Truth was, I wasn't a very pretty girl. My face, despite the makeup still looked too boyish. I hung my head as feelings of self-loathing and self-pity washed over me.

All of a sudden, I was drowned by a wave of insecurity. I really wanted my Barbie! I grabbed her off my bed and held her tightly to my chest while I cried. I had to face it; I didn't know whether I was ever going to have access to my penis again. And given the effects of the hormones, it would probably be useless by the time I did. My days as a stud were over. I was being conditioned to be a young girl. I was going to be my own child's nanny. Could I live with that? I cried softly for what I had lost. And while I was crying, I wondered what it means if you're a guy who gets comfort from crying with his Barbie doll clutched against his breasts.

By the time I had turned my attention back to my hair, I had concluded that I had to continue down the path I was on. I didn't know what the outcome would be, but there was no way I could get away from these women and what they were doing to me. That being the case, I definitely didn't want to lose Tommy. I would continue to flirt with him as if I was a teenage girl and he was the man of my dreams. I could now combine this with other, somewhat more mature kinds of attention. I was going to get him for sure. Tommy didn't have a chance!

The only problem was, I wasn't sure just what I wanted from Tommy once I got him. Or what he might demand from me before I made my own decisions. Spending all my time thinking like this was driving me crazy. I had to distract myself. Then I realized that I hadn't had any exercise or been able to dance for months. I needed to dance! That would get my mind off Tommy! So later that night, while serving Mistress Sheila in my black satin maid's outfit and with my hair teased absurdly high in the most ridiculous bouffant hair style, I curtsied and asked if I could.

"Sure," she said, surprising the hell out of me, "but first you have to get in shape." That's when I discovered that Tommy was also Sheila's personal trainer. He came in the next morning, had a brief whispered conversation with Mrs. Spinner, gave me a package and told me to get changed. In my bedroom I discovered that he had brought me workout clothes. I was astounded _ I had a white Lycra sports bra with a T back, a pale, turquoise, crushed velvet leotard with a floral print (where did I learn this stuff? ), white tights, fluffy light blue socks that bunched down around my ankles, and a femmy pair of cross trainers with pink and blue inserts.

What the hell, I put it all on, pulled my hair back in a pony tail at the crown of my head and clipped the loose hairs back over my ears with blue barrettes that nicely matched my outfit. I had every intention of making Tommy notice me, so I brushed on some pink lipstick that picked up the shade of the flowers in my leotard, a little blush, mascara, and I was ready.

No, wait! I need some eye liner and shadow too. By the time I had finished putting on all that make up (do real girls wear make up to exercise?), I had decided that I didn't need the bra. I was by now a very full B cup, but the leotard top was pretty tight, and besides . . . I wanted my tits to bounce. I wanted to bounce them in front of Tommy to see how he would react. I mean, like, what was wrong with me? Hellllo! How did I think he was going to react? What's the matter with girls sometimes anyway? God, I really was a ditz.

When I got to the den, Tommy was there doing some slow crunches. He was facing away from me, so I stopped for a moment and watched. Yes, just watching him made my heart flutter. I took a deep breath, pulled my shoulders back so my breasts stood out, and with my sweetest, squeakiest voice, bounced into the room.

"Hi Tommy! I'm, like, ready! I just love the leotard. It's like so totally scrumptious!"

'Oh, shut up, you little twit,' I thought to myself. I stopped, did a quick pirouette, and ran my hands from my ribs to my thighs while pivoting slightly to the side. Was I ever cute! Then I pulled my shoulders back and stuck out my chest, again . . . . very obviously, too.

A slow smile ran across Tommy's face as he turned around and watched my little show. "Careful what you wish for, Ashley honey, you might get it."

"Let's dance." I bubbled, bouncing up and down on my toes and holding my hands primly in front of me. I was just too, too much. If the old me had been watching, he would have thrown up. But the new me, the one called Ashley, was locked into a little girl role, and was obviously not the old me. The new me had decided that it was not just fun, but important to flirt with Tommy.

"Not exactly, first you have to get into shape a little. You've done nothing harder than iron panties for months, and we need to get that hot little bod firmed up so you don't hurt yourself. You're as weak as a kitten. . ." He looked me over for a moment, leering with wide-open eyes, "just as cute too." And he winked at me.

I could feel my cheeks get real warm real fast, and I was sure that I was blushing bright red. I didn't know what to do. He was flirting with me!

Fortunately, he didn't wait for me to respond. "I made an exercise tape for you and I'm going to make sure you use the proper form for each movement."

And he did. And it was wonderful. He had his hands all over me as he ran me through a set of exercises that I eventually learned would firm up my nice new feminine shape while not adding any ugly male muscles. He corrected my form each time it wasn't just right by either demonstrating the proper position, so I could watch his luscious body, or better yet, by placing my body into the right position with his hands. My now shrunken and largely forgotten penis tried to get hard over and over again, only to be thwarted each time by its restraint. I couldn't get over the feeling of having my pony tail bounce from side to side as I moved, and nearly swooned as my breasts wobbled about inside the leotard. I wanted to grab them and rub them. How do women control themselves? I couldn't. I took every opportunity to rub against Tommy. I was a little slut in heat. I was trying to turn him on without having considered the consequences. I mean, really, like what was a fourteen year old girl doing trying to get a twenty five year old man excited. Where would that lead?

Thankfully, nowhere that day. Well, that's not exactly true. It got me nowhere with Tommy, but in big trouble with Mrs. Spinner. She had watched me on the security camera, and when Tommy was done with me, and I was so tired that all my muscles felt like jelly, and what I really needed to do was rest, I got punished. I was tied to the floor by my nose ring, and soundly spanked.

"You little slut," she shouted. "What makes you think you can behave like that? You really are a whore. Maybe we should take you down to one of the bars on 10th Avenue and let you strut your stuff. I'll teach you. You will behave like a proper young lady, or you won't be able to sit for a week."

I guess I still had a lot to learn about being a girl. I cried and cried as she spanked me, and then had to stand in the corner with my leotard down around my ankles. I was still there when Sheila got home. She took one look at me and laughed her way to her bedroom.

Needless to say, I was more . . . uhh . . . restrained . . . after that. I did my exercises, but didn't flaunt my body or throw myself against Tommy whenever he came within arm's length. . . , except occasionally. I wore my bra, didn't wiggle anything, except when it was part of a movement, and treated Tommy like he was my beloved, but respected pastor instead of my hulky trainer.

That didn't stop him though. He still copped the occasional feel, or stole a kiss here and there. This, of course, only made him more endearing. I would savor what he was doing for a moment with a soft sigh, to let him know I appreciated it, then slap his hand away and say, "I don't do that. I'm not that kind of a girl."

He'd laugh and say, "Oh? How could I have possibly gotten the wrong impression?" I actually began to blush when he treated me like that. Men don't blush! I used to fuck sophisticated babes who couldn't get enough of me. Now I was. . . what . . . ? A fourteen year old girl trying to get her aunt's trainer to notice her? Really? What was I?

Well, in case you forgot, I was an assistant maid and nanny in training. I was a girl who was alternately a little too enthusiastic, and a little too shy. I (was) dressed to attract boys (and to embarrass me), but wasn't allowed any sexual outlets. I guess the hormones had taken care of that anyway. I didn't have any sexual urges and wasn't really seeking sex, although I was still pursuing Tommy to make sure he continued to pay attention to me.

In effect, I was enrolled in a home study program designed to take a rather sophisticated, college graduated guy and turn him into a high school aged stay at home mom. I was awash in hormones, just like a girl in puberty, but instead of studying English, or history, or pre-algebra, like the rest of the girls my age (the rest of what?), I was heavily into child care manuals and Good Housekeeping, Martha Stewart Living and Parent and Child. Of course, I also had Allure, Seventeen, and Teen as well.

My god, who wrote that thing? It's nothing more than Cosmo for kids. "Fifty ways to get your boyfriend to kiss you," or "What's he's really thinking?" Now there's a brilliant title. If he read this stuff he wouldn't be thinking anything, he'd be brain dead! And as if I had any free time, there were romance novels scattered throughout the apartment, and every romantically sappy videotape every recorded. I was drowned in femininity, home making, and child care. When the time came, I would be a very well educated nanny; I just wouldn't have a real thought in my head.

But I guess they figured I wouldn't need any. The mom was Amanda, and no one ever let me forget it. And once her belly started to swell, who could? Amanda would visit on many nights to spend time with Sheila and discuss arrangements for me after the baby was born. When she was there, my costume would change again. I wore tight, straight skirts with silk blouses and high heels, or figure hugging dresses with tight skirts that went down to my calves. With all these clothes, I always wore a corset. My waist was nearing the goal of 24 inches, and, oh the joy of it, I had great posture.

I still had to serve, but at least I was now allowed to eat with the grown ups. It was just more training though. I was being given high manners of the most feminine kind. The position of my elbow and pinky were painstakingly critiqued, and my use of silverware perfected. When my hair was down, I was taught how to flip it to attract a man's eye. When it was up, I was taught how to pat it into place as a way to attract some other guy. And I was run back and forth to the kitchen so they could work on the way I moved.

"Ashley, honey, would you go get the salad please?" "Ashley, sweetie, would you fetch the cream? That's an angel. . ." And on and on. They were sickeningly sweet to me, but I was rewarded for doing what they wanted. I hate to say this, but I not only learned a lot about being a girl, but I loved the attention. They reinforced my submissively girlish behavior with the most potent reward they had. They treated me nicely, like I was a special person, instead of a despised object. Even though they were treating me like a teenage girl, she was a person they seemed to care about. My old male self, by contrast, whenever it briefly surfaced, was an object of hatred and derision.

What would you have done if you had been in my position? Would you have been stronger and resisted? Maybe, but I just couldn’t.

"Certainly Aunt Sheila, I'll get it right away," I said as if I had been blessed by her request. I rose out of my chair smoothly, head straight, shoulders back and as gracefully as a ballet dancer. I carefully folded my napkin, turned daintily towards the kitchen, and with a smile thrown back over my shoulder, I minced (How could anyone walk in these skirts, I used to wonder) to the kitchen to retrieve whatever it was she wanted this time. Only much later did Amanda reveal that they had dressed me mostly in hobble skirts, designed to severely restrict my stride. When I returned, I placed whatever it was on the table, curtsied, and asked to be able to sit again.

"Oh yes darling, please do," gushed Amanda. "And tell me about that delightful little outfit you're wearing. What kind of silk is that blouse? It really clings to the curve of your breasts, doesn't it?" I ducked my head to steal a quick glance at my chest and smiled slightly. By now, everyone knew I was infatuated with my own breasts and so went out of the way to mention them to me.

"And your hair is just perfect. I like the way you've pulled back the one side to show off your earrings. That's so sophisticated. You're becoming such a grown up young lady. She's just coming along wonderfully, isn't she Sheila? You're doing such a good job with her."

"There's still a long way to go, Amanda, so don't get impatient. You can have him only when she is a proper young lady in every way." She turned slowly and looked directly down into my crotch. I crossed my hands over my groin and shrunk back from her in fear.

One day in mid April Sheila came bursting into my room. I was rolling my hair to get some more body for the flirty little flip Mrs. Spinner had selected for me that day, and had both hands above my head and bobby pins in my mouth. My chest was sticking way out and my nipples pressed through the stretch fabric of my tube top. The emerald in my navel glistened.

She laughed. "Aren't you just precious? Listen sweetheart, we've decided it's time to get you out. First thing will be a visit to my office. We need to check your hormone levels."

"Out?" I squeaked, trying to keep the pins from falling. I grabbed them from my lips. "Why?" I was suddenly scared.

"Well, you didn't expect to spend the rest of your life in the apartment did you?"

Well, yeah, I guess I did. I sure didn't want anyone to see me. But I knew what Sheila required of me in answer to her question. "Oh no, Aunt Sheila, that would be like the pits. I'm just dying to get, like, out! That would be totally awesome! (Is it OK if I commit suicide first?) It's been like so long, and there's. . ."

"OK, Ashley, chill" She said curtly. "No need for that now, we haven't time for one of your darling little performances. Save them for when you have a bigger audience."

"Yes, Aunt Sheila," I said feigning disappointment. That was just great! The perkiness that I hated so much annoyed her too. That was one of the few things that made it worth doing. So I continued with my disappointed act. I turned my head toward my shoulder and pouted. I couldn't keep it up though, and after a moment, I giggled involuntarily.

Sheila burst out laughing. With a big smile on her face she said, "You just might do yet. Hurry up." And she pinched the back of my hip, which now really stuck out in a way that you only see on. . . Oh God. . . girls.

Well, we went out all right. But no one got to see me. Our first stop, as promised, was her office, where she checked my hormone levels (I figured they were so high you could probably just smell them). Our next stop, though, didn't even get us out of the building. It was just down the hall, where the brass door plaque announced:

Abigail Pierce, M. D. Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery.

Dr. Pierce was one friend of Sheila's I had never slept with, even though she looked quite delicious. Abigail had been at the party and seen me when I was a baby girl. She agreed that becoming a nanny was an appropriate fate for a rapist who obviously had testosterone poisoning. Today she said she was going to "fix me up" a little so I didn't "scare" anyone. Although I now had the curves of a 15_year_old, I certainly didn't have the face of one. Sheila and Amanda had decided to have Abigail correct that.

"I absolutely must have a cute nanny." Amanda had explained to Abigail. "Besides, I think changing his face will drive him even further into his femininity. She was thinking something else as well, though she didn't share it then. I was being made over into the girl she might want to sleep with. "Let me tell you what I'd like to see. . ."

"Come on in girly," Abigail said, poking her head into the waiting room. Even though I had been in there for only a few minutes, I jumped. My anxiety level was through the roof. I was sure they were going to cut my dick off and was starting to panic.

"My, aren't you skittish?" Abigail said, rubbing the back of her hand soothingly over my smooth cheek. "Just relax. I'm going to take that nasty ring out of your nose." She did, right then, and I started to relax a little, silly me.

Sometime later, she took part of that nose. But I wasn't awake anymore when that happened. I had walked into her office under my own power, but have no memory of ever leaving. Instead, I woke up in my own bed, my face a mass of pain. They had fixed me up all right. My lips, for example, where now much fuller, and they turned up in the corners to form an irresistible smile, kind of like Meg Ryan's. My cheeks seemed different too, very much like Brittany Spears I thought (I knew absolutely everything about Brittany Spears. She was just about my age after all). My nose was much smaller and my Adam's apple seemed never to have existed at all. They also did something to my eyes, so I always looked a little surprised. When it all healed, I looked like I was maybe 17. My dick, such as it was, was still intact.

It took weeks for my face to heal, and Tommy was again my angel, taking care of me, changing my dressings, and feeding me my liquid diet. I was skinny when I arrived at Abigail's office. Now, after several more weeks of no solid food, I doubt I weighed even 110. But I spent a lot of time close to Tommy, touching him actually, even holding him on occasion, and despite the pain, I felt safe.