Body Image                    by: Monika Ikon

 

"Sit down Mona. We have to talk."

He had heard those two tiny sentences more than a few times in the last several weeks. Every time he did he felt a strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not refuse. He walked over to the couch across from the chair where Kathleen was already sitting and sat down.

He sat at the very edge of the couch, crossed one smooth leg over the other and folded his hands over his crossed knees. He pointed the toes of his dangling foot toward the floor and leaned forward expectantly. It seemed perfectly natural and comfortable to Michael to sit like this.

Kathleen was watching him very carefully.

"You look very pretty today, Mona."

Michael felt himself blushing. He looked down at the short green jersey dress he was wearing and absent-mindedly smoothed out a few non-existent wrinkles. He noted his pale slender hand with its perfectly shaped oval nails coated with silver polish. His feet, naked inside a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals, were decorated with ten adorable little silver toenails. Michael looked up shyly from under his thick lashes, but not

enough to meet her eyes.

"Thank you ma'am," he said.

"I do believe green is your color. It really brings out your eyes."

Kathleen enjoyed seeing Michael's shyness. How different he was now from the brash impudent son-of-a-bitch who thought he could have an affair with her and then just dump her when her emotional involvement became too much for him. He thought all he had to do was declare that he was returning to his wife and she would just vanish into thin air. Michael thought he was in control of the situation. He was wrong. All he had to do was take one look in the mirror to see just how wrong he'd been.

***

"I don’t think we should see each other anymore."

He’d actually had the nerve to tell her right after they made love. Kathleen thought he might be joking at first. But the look on his face told her he was only too serious. He was already out of bed and beginning to get dressed. Kathleen realized he was going back to the office. He was going back to the office as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She gathered the sheet at her breasts to cover herself and stared at him in a state of shock. They had met at her townhouse during lunch hour as they often did. Michael had taken a cab from Wall Street. Kathleen rode the subway from the office where she practiced psychotherapeutic hypnotherapy. The townhouse was their little love-nest. The place where they could come together and consummate their forbidden love until the day it could be made legitimate.

At least that is the way Kathleen had seen it.

"Please don’t be angry sweetheart," he continued. He was standing in his underwear and shirtsleeves, fastening his cufflinks. "It’s better for everyone this way. Especially you."

The condescension in his tone was unbearable. Kathleen was speechless. His sudden change of heart had come on so suddenly. Up to that point, Michael had been promising her that he would leave his wife and that they would have a future together. Kathleen had put her life on hold for sixteen long months waiting. And now, just like that, Michael was telling her they were through.

"Try to understand. These things happen. In a month or so, you’ll meet someone new and forget all about me. You’ll see."

He was crouching down, fixing his hair in the bureau mirror. Kathleen finally found her voice.

"You bastard."

Michael turned towards her.

"I’m sorry Kathleen," he said. "I really love my wife. I can’t leave her. I hope someday you’ll come to understand."

Oh she understood all right. She understood only too well.

Kathleen had no desire to say the usual things one said in these situations. The ease and callousness with which Michael had proposed breaking off their affair told Kathleen all she needed to know. Michael retreated into the bathroom to finish dressing and when he came out he found Kathleen downstairs in her robe and slippers. Michael looked at her questioningly.

"I’ve canceled my clients for this afternoon," she said simply.

There was an awkward silence that Kathleen did not rescue him from. She had made their whole relationship easy for the selfish son-of-a-bitch. She wasn’t going to make this part easy.

"Oh," Michael said. He looked at his watch. "I really should be getting back."

"How about one last drink before you go. For old time’s sake?"

"Look Kathleen, I think its best…"

Kathleen cut him off. "Don’t worry Michael. I have no intention of creating a scene. I just want fifteen minutes to change your mind…"

"Kathleen I’m not going to change my mind."

"Maybe not, Michael. But after everything I’ve been through for you, I think you owe me at least that much. I could have caused a lot of trouble. I still can. But I haven’t. I’ve tried to do the right thing in a very difficult situation. I think you can at least show me the same consideration."

Michael couldn’t argue with that. He sat down at the edge of the couch that he would one day soon get to know all too well and waited as Kathleen returned with a pair of drinks that already seemed to have been prepared. As she approached, her robe opened a little with each step and Michael found his gaze traveling from the tips of her slender toes to the cool white inside of her thighs. He was going to miss that body. Damn, he was going to miss sex with Kathleen. He had never met anyone who was so empathetic in bed. She seem to know everything he wanted without him having to say a word. Was he making a mistake? Did he really want to stop seeing her?

He had to stop thinking like this. He loved his wife. He wanted to save his marriage. Christine had given him an ultimatum. Her—or me. Michael had made his choice. It was difficult but it was final. It was—

He saw the side of Kathleen’s breasts in the "v" of her robe, felt her warmth, smelled her sweet scent—

Kathleen handed him a glass and smiled. Michael looked up with a start and took the drink. He looked into Kathleen’s irresistibly bright blue eyes and sheepishly returned Kathleen’s smile. She didn’t seem upset anymore. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

"I’m sorry," he muttered.

"It’s okay Mona."

"What did you say?"

"Michael…"

That’s a pretty robe, Michael thought as he sipped his drink. It looked so soft and silky. And he loved the vibrant colors so much better than his drab suit. It must feel so good next to the skin. He especially liked the way it fell open as Kathleen sat across from him, knees crossed, one long, smooth leg exposed. Michael didn’t realize it but he was sitting that way, too.

Michael shook his head, confused. What in the world was he thinking? He had to get out of here. He had to get back to the office. He wanted to call his wife and tell her the affair was over.

"Kathleen, listen…"

He started to get up and then sank back down onto the couch. He was looking at Kathleen’s feet. They looked so sexy in those open-toed slippers with the slender high heels. The slippers were totally impractical and had no other purpose but to make Kathleen’s feet and legs look pretty. Michael wondered what he would look like in those slippers. Would he be able to walk in them? How would his shaved legs look? He pictured his toes, painted, tapping the air like Kathleen’s.

"You don’t really want to leave me, do you Mona?"

"Huh?" he said, still staring at Kathleen’s toes.

Kathleen repeated her question.

"No," Michael heard himself saying. "I really don’t want to leave."

Kathleen smiled. Her ex-lover was sitting across from her, legs crossed, tapping his foot, dreaming of what it would be like to be wearing a woman’s robe and slippers.

And that was only the beginning.

"Hey wait a minute…I didn’t mean…Kathleen?"

Michael felt very disoriented. He suddenly realized the way he was sitting, what he was thinking.

"Don’t be alarmed Mona. It’s perfectly okay."

"What—what have you done to me?" Michael said, looking dazed.

Kathleen wanted Michael to know exactly what was going to happen to him. It would be his last chance to know his fate. Once she started his deep re-conditioning, he would only have partial occasional glimpses back to the person he used to be. She had brought him up just to the level of awareness where he had enough of his own mind to understand but not enough to resist her.

 

"I suspected that you wouldn’t have the balls to leave your wife," Kathleen explained. "So I planned for this day."

Michael looked down at his glass. "My drink…"

"You were stupid to take that drink, of course. It contains a very powerful psychotropic drug. I use it in my practice for extraordinary cases. I won’t bore you with the details, Mona. You wouldn’t understand them, and besides, you’ll forget them soon anyway."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What honey?"

"You know."

"No, I don’t. Tell me."

"Mona…dammit…" Michael suddenly pictured himself in a pair of black lace panties. He could feel himself growing aroused. "You’re calling me…"

"Mona."

"Please stop," Michael whispered, unable to shake the image of himself in a yellow sundress and white platform sandals.

"It’s your new name. Don’t you like it? I know for a fact that you do. It was the name of your first real girlfriend. How do I know that? You have no secrets from me, Mona, none."

Kathleen saw the flash of panic pass across Michael’s face.

"That name has a special erotic significance for you. Now, every time you hear it, you will find yourself falling deeper into trance. And since it’s your name, you’ll hear it all the time, even if that is the only thing people know about you. Ingenious isn’t it, Mona? You’re name itself will become your bondage."

Michael imagined his legs in a pair of black fishnet thigh-highs. He slurred his words. "You bitch…"

"There’s no need to be unpleasant, Mona. It won’t help matters any. The important thing is that the drug enhances your powers of suggestibility, and, in your case, trainability. Take another sip."

Michael found himself bringing the glass to his lips. He tried to stop himself, but it was no use. To his horror, he took a sip of the drugged drink.

"See? You will find that you’ve become extraordinarily cooperative. I’m afraid you aren’t going back to your wife, Mona. Ever."

"You can’t do this," Michael sputtered. But he couldn’t stop the images from coming, images that kept him at the peak of arousal. "I’ll make you…pay for this… you can’t…"

"Enough Mona," Kathleen said. "I’m tired of hearing you talk. From here on out, you’ll just listen."

Michael sat rigid, unable to move or talk.

Kathleen cocked her head to one side, enjoying the look of helpless bewilderment on his face.

"Perhaps you’re wondering about these new desires you suddenly have," she continued after a moment’s pause. "Well, Mona, this may come as something of a shock to you…"

Kathleen laughed.

"I guess you are having a lot of shocks about now. But the fact is that these desires aren’t new or sudden. You’ve fantasized about becoming a woman for some time now."

Kathleen could read the internal struggle on Michael’s face. He tried to protest but he could make nothing but a few inarticulate sounds.

"Oh hush, Mona and just listen," Kathleen said. "You see, on some level, your desire to be a girl has been there all you’re life. Remember when you asked me to put you under hypnosis to help you stop smoking? I did more than just help you kick that disgusting two-pack-a-day habit, honey. I took a look into your sexual subconscious. I was quite surprised at what I found."

He had given up trying to fight. And now Kathleen saw the fear in his eyes.

"Don’t get all upset, Mona. It would have surfaced eventually anyway. If not now, then in five years, ten years, and who knows how it would have affected your life. I just hastened along the inevitable. Besides, better now while you’ll still look good in a string bikini."

Kathleen had gotten up off the couch and now stood over him. She reached down, squeezed his cheeks together so that his lips puckered, and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

"You are going to look so adorable darling," she said. "But first, we have to talk."

Michael didn’t remember much of what happened next. He didn’t remember, for instance, standing completely naked in the middle of Kathleen’s living room while his ex-mistress sipped her drink and watched with mild amusement. He didn’t remember being ordered into the shower to shave off his body hair or the hypnotic prompt that caused him to feel sexually excited by the feel of a pair of silky panties. He didn’t remember being told what small genitals he had or that his legs were very pretty in a girly way. He didn’t remember painting his toenails and fingernails "peek-a-boo" red while watching a rerun of "Friends" and sipping a Slim-Fast or being put to bet that night in Kathleen’s guest room wearing a frilly baby-doll nightie. What Michael did remember was the shock of being called downstairs the next morning and finding his wife Christine in the living room of Kathleen’s townhouse.

Christine’s jaw dropped.

Michael wanted to tell her he could explain everything. But, of course, he couldn’t explain a thing. He was naked except for red satin panties and a pair of cute red open-toed pumps with little bows on each instep. His body was completely smooth, his nails were painted, and his cock bulged obscenely inside the cool material of his panties, the pink head actually poking out above the waistband.

"What is the meaning of this?" Christine demanded, having somewhat recovered from her initial shock. "Michael , what’s going on here?"

She was wearing a smart navy blue business suit with matching pumps. Her long dark hair was pulled back from a small, delicate face with a creamy smooth complexion and just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her tiny nose. That pretty face now looked extremely angry.

Michael tried hard to speak, to tell Christine the truth, but all he could do was stutter incoherently.

"Michael, I want an explanation right now.

"Please don’t frighten him," Kathleen said. "It was very difficult for him to admit his desires but its what he needed. He never felt you could accept him for what he was. He came to me with his little secret."

"What in god’s name is she talking about, Michael? Is this true?"

"He likes to be called Mona now," Kathleen said. "Isn’t that a cute name? I think its suits him, don’t you?"

Michael knew there was something wrong with what Kathleen had said, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out exactly what it was. He wasn’t completely sure why he was dressed the way he was, but, on the other hand, he didn’t understand why it was wrong, or why Christine was making so big a deal out of it. It felt okay to be like this; in a way it felt perfectly right. But Christine’s reaction was making him feel very uncertain. He opened his mouth to say that none of this was his idea and the he really didn’t want to be here but something stopped him. He did want to be here, didn’t he? This was his idea. No. No, that wasn’t quite it. He couldn’t find the words. He was so confused and frustrated. What did these women want from him? Michael could feel the tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Michael, answer me. Stop crying for crissakes. Is this what you want?"

Kathleen watched Michael and his wife with great interest. Michael was trying not to cry anymore but he wasn’t having much success. His smooth white shoulders were shaking and his bottom lip was trembling. Kathleen thought how pretty his mouth would look with lipstick. The next time she put him under she would have to instill in him a love for making up his face.

"Can’t you tell he likes himself like this?" Kathleen said.

Michael’s wife kept her eyes on her husband but directed her question to Kathleen.

"What have you done to him?"

"I’ve just allowed him to be what he is. Haven’t I darling?"

Michael found himself nodding "yes."

"This is absurd," Christine said, impatiently. "Come on Michael. Let’s go."

"If you don’t mind me saying so, you can be a little intolerant. I’m afraid he doesn’t want to go anywhere. Michael loves wearing panties and heels, don’t you?"

"Yes," Michael said.

"And he thinks his little toes look so pretty painted like that. Isn’t that right, love?"

"Yes."

"Michael," Christine said, hardly believing what she was seeing or hearing. "I’m going to give you one last chance. Are you coming with me or not?"

Michael could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks once again. This time he didn’t try to stop them and Christine didn’t ask him to. Not that he could have anyway. Michael knew that what he was about to say was going to cost him his marriage, his job, his entire life. But he couldn’t stop the words from coming. He wasn’t sure if what he said next was true or not. He wasn’t even sure what made him say it. He only knew that he had to say what he said next no matter what.

 

"I like the way I look wearing heels and panties. I think my toes look so pretty painted."

His wife was shaking her head in disbelief but Michael didn’t stop.

"I like being called Mona. I want—I want to be a girl," he heard himself say.

"Fine," Christine said. "I give up. I hope you’re happy." She turned to Kathleen. "I hope you’re both happy. You’re welcome to the little faggot."

"I’m so proud of you Mona," Kathleen said, the moment the door slammed behind his wife. She put her arms around the bare shoulders of her weeping sissy. "Come on honey, it’ll be okay. Let’s share a pint of chocolate Haagen Daz and I’ll take you shopping at Sak’s. You can continue your diet tomorrow. Okay?"

Michael sniffed and nodded.

"That’s a good girl," Kathleen said. "Everything’s going to be fine from now on. You’ll see. You just leave everything up to me."

***

"Do you…do you like my hair like this?"

It was a month after the confrontation with his wife and Michael was running a hand through the body wave of his long henna-colored hair. It was an unconscious and totally feminine gesture that Michael had developed quite on his own. Kathleen knew it was important to reinforce his positive self-image. She was aware of how he appeared to himself: the lush curls framing his delicate face, large silver hoops dangling from his ears.

"It's beautiful darling," Kathleen said and smiled. "But what I think I like best of all is the way you fill out the top of your dress. I wish I had breasts that size."

Oh, god, no you don't, Michael wanted to say, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. The breasts Kathleen had given him were just too large. They nearly spilled out the low-cut top of his dress and nearly everything else that he wore. It had taken a lot of time to get

used to them. They always seemed to be in the way somehow and the strange weight of them kind of threw off his center of gravity. Somewhere, in the dim recesses of what was left of his mind, Michael remembered thinking of large breasts as a positive thing. But now, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. They were just so inconvenient and they made him feel so conspicuous. The way men stared at them…it wasn’t sexy at all. It was just embarrassing and demeaning!

Of course, the high-heels that he always wore didn't help his balance either, or the troublesome extra layers of fat that now softened and rounded out his upper thighs and buttocks. But somehow he couldn't give up the high-heels no matter how uncomfortable they were and he couldn’t lose the weight no matter how much he dieted. He had always been considered a thin person; at least it had seemed that way to him. It was almost impossible for him to believe now when life was a constant struggle with his weight. Had he been mistaken all that time? How he longed for those days again! Kathleen tried to tell him he wasn’t fat but he could tell that she was just being nice. No matter what she said Michael was always extremely self-conscious of how tightly his dresses fit over his ass and the way his bangled wrists brushed his thighs and the way he was kind of forced to rock his hips when he walked.

Looking at her feminized ex-lover, Kathleen knew there was only one thing left to do to complete his transformation. There was only one way to punish Michael for what he had done and to make sure that she never lost him to another woman. It might seem cruel, but Kathleen knew that it was both inevitable and necessary. Michael would be happier this way, whether he would have thought so or not. Kathleen was convinced of that. He already seemed so much happier, so much calmer, so much more at ease. Kathleen knew she could make him happy. She had known that from the start. Too bad he couldn’t have seen it for himself.

"Do you like being a girl, Mona?"

"Yes ma’am."

"What do you like about it, sweetheart. Tell me."

Michael stiffened slightly.

"I like looking pretty," he said automatically. "I like wearing pretty things. I like my pretty painted nails and my pretty made-up face. I like my pretty hair and my pretty shoes. I like my pretty life."

Kathleen smiled tenderly. "That’s very nice, Mona. And do you know why it’s important to look pretty?"

Michael looked confused for a moment. He wasn’t used to being asked to think for himself. His expression, Kathleen thought, was extremely cute.

"Think Mona."

Kathleen waited until the befuddled look on Michael’s face turned to one of panic. This was the look she always waited for during their sessions. The look that told her that Michael had given up trying to think and that he was ready to be told what to think.

"Mona why do girls want to look pretty?"

Michael shook his head slowly, either to indicate that he didn’t know, or to ward off the idea that was about to recondition his mind.

"Go deeper, Mona. Go deeper."

Michael’s body relaxed and the panic left his face to be replaced by a totally blank look. He was ready to receive her suggestion.

"Mona, girls look pretty to attract boys. You are a girl, Mona. You want to attract boys."

Michael nodded dully. He seemed to accept this new information with total complacency. Kathleen wanted to make sure he understood. She prompted him to reconstruct the logic, however flawed, in his own mind.

"What are you, Mona?"

"A girl."

"What do girls do?"

"Try to look pretty."

"Why do girls try to look pretty?"

Michael didn’t even hesitate.

"Boys," he said simply.

Kathleen was delighted. This was working out even better than she could have hoped.

"You’re doing fine, Mona. Just a little more and you’ll be finished. You want to be finished, don’t you?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Very good," Kathleen said. She knew that this last part was going to be the trickiest of all. In order for him to fully and truly accept what was to become of him, he had to come to the conclusion on his own. "Now I want you to think, Mona. This is very important."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Are you thinking?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Michael leaned a little forward on the chair, as if that might help him to understand. His hands, still folded over his bare knee, tightened slightly.

"What is it," Kathleen said very slowly, "that girls don’t have?"

Michael sat still for a very long time. Kathleen stared deeply and steadily into his wide green eyes, refusing to let him avert his gaze. She saw the fear, confusion, and uncertainty there and then a slight dilation of his pupils as if to let in the truth he’d been trying to avoid. Kathleen could almost detect a small shudder in his pretty eyes at that moment, a surrender, and then a calm and peaceful softness came over her ex-lover.

"What is it, Mona?"

Michael bit his chubby bottom lip, looking shy.

"Go ahead Mona," Kathleen said softly. "It’s alright."

"My penis," Michael whispered.

"Yes Mona."

Kathleen let her affirmation sink in for a moment. She wanted him to feel good about his revelation. She wanted him to fully absorb and accept this startling new information about himself. And she wanted him to be ready for what came next. Michael looked up at her. He was flushed, bright-eyed, expectant. He looked so innocent that, for a moment, Kathleen wondered if she could go through with it. Then she remembered what Michael had done to her and what he would still do if returned to his old self and she knew that there was no turning back.

"Repeat after me Mona," she said. "I am impotent."

"I am impotent," Michael said.

Kathleen felt the power of the moment. She was taking a woman’s ultimate revenge on the man who had wronged her. She was castrating Michael with a slow and deliberate mercilessness. And Michael was participating. He knew what he’d done was wrong. Deep down, he wanted to make amends. He was not a bad person. He no longer knew whether the words he heard were coming out of mouth or the mouth of his mistress. It didn’t matter anymore.

"I am soft between my legs. I am a girl. I get warm and wet."

Kathleen listened to him repeat her words back. God, it was touching. She had done it; she had changed him. She felt tears in her eyes. Michael was absolutely adorable.

"I am pretty," Michael said, without any hesitation at all anymore. His voice was flat and emotionless. "I like to be pretty for boys. My penis is gone. I like making boys hard. I cannot get hard. I am soft between my legs."

What he said was no longer a revelation to him; it was a simple statement of fact.

I get warm and wet when I give pleasure. I am impotent. I am a girl. I am pretty. I give pleasure. I like making boys hard. My penis is gone…"

Kathleen continued the deep conditioning for nearly twenty minutes. She knew that one session would not be enough to effect a permanent change. She would have to repeat the procedure over and over in the weeks to come in order to complete Michael’s psychological castration. But there was still one last new connection to make. For she didn’t want him truly neutered. Not even Kathleen knew herself if what she was about to do next was merciful or whether it was the ultimate in cruel revenge. She was going to allow Michael to experience sexual pleasure, but in a way that, in his former life, he would have rather been castrated than experience.

"Mona darling, I want you to show me your panties."

Kathleen had programmed her former lover to be extremely shy and to feel an intense embarrassment over any kind of exhibitionism. Still he could not refuse her command. Kathleen enjoyed the conflicting emotions that played across his face as Michael picked up the edge of his dress. With his daintily painted fingers, he pulled the hem up over his smooth thighs and revealed his green silk panties.

"Open your legs, Mona."

Unable to disobey, he complied. Kathleen was pleased to note that there was no bulge in his panties and virtually no sign of his genitals whatsoever, in spite of the fact that she had reinforced his conditioning to be sexually aroused while wearing women’s clothes. If she didn’t know better, Kathleen could almost believe the hypnotic suggestion she had give him and that Michael didn’t have a penis.

"Very good Mona. Now I want you to slip your hand inside your panties…"

Still holding his dress up with one hand, Michael reluctantly slid the other beneath the waistband of his panties.

"…and I want you to masturbate yourself for me."

Michael closed his eyes in shame but he could not stop himself. He began stroking himself with a slow circular motion more appropriate for clitoral stimulation than for a man with a dick. Kathleen hadn’t taught him that. It must have been something he’d seen or read about the way women masturbated. Believing now that he had no penis, it must have seemed to be the logical way to stimulate himself. Kathleen couldn’t help but feel that this was all working out even better than she could have planned.

"Very good Mona. I want you to come for me."

He had pulled his panties down low enough in front that Kathleen could see his hopelessly limp penis as he rubbed it with silver-painted fingers. It was useless—both his organ and his efforts. There was no way Michael could get hard. His penis looked like little more than a loose hood of flesh; his balls were shrunken back into his pelvic floor. Kathleen had never seen a full-grown man so small.

"Pull your dress way up, Mona. That’s it. Now let it go and use your hand to take out your breast."

With the dress hiked up around his waist, Michael was fully exposed. He reached inside the scooped neck of the jersey dress and slipped out his right breast.

"Play with your nipple, Mona. That might help."

Of course, Kathleen knew that it wouldn’t. As Michael rolled and squeezed his hard little nipple, there was no change in his penis. It remained totally flaccid. Michael bit his lip and his brow knit. He was trying very hard but nothing was happening.

"What’s the matter Mona? I told you to come. Are you disobeying me?"

Michael’s eyes opened, wide and terrified.

Kathleen knew she had put him in an impossible situation. He was programmed not to disobey her and yet she had given him an order it was impossible to obey. She could see the tears filling his green eyes. He looked so pitiful sitting there with his dress hiked up, his legs spread, unable to give himself pleasure. He still had one hand inside his panties, the other on his breast.

"You can’t come, can you?"

Michael sadly shook his head "no." She could read the frustration and confusion on his face. He had never had this trouble before.

"Poor baby. Do you need help?"

Michael looked down, blushing.

Would you like me to show you how to come?"

Michael nodded.

"Look at me, Mona."

Michael looked up slowly. His eyes, which seemed to want to look anywhere but at her face, were slowly drawn to hers.

"Say it Mona. Ask me."

Michael felt the words being slowly drawn from deep inside him.

"Please—ma’am--help me—come…"

Kathleen truly did feel sorry for him. She also felt incredibly turned on. To have this much control over Michael, this man who had hurt her so badly, it was more than she could ever have imagined….

"I am going to help you, Mona. I am going to show you how to come. But you must trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Good. You will do whatever I say. You will do it without question. I know what is best for you. This is the only way you will ever be able to come. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Michael looked so eager, so ready, so willing.

"Mona, I want you to touch yourself as you were doing and I want you to repeat after me…"

"I need a penis inside me."

Michael said it without the least hesitation. There was a slight look of alarm on his face, but Kathleen pressed on before what was left of his thinking faculties could be brought to bear. Michael passively said the words he heard coming from deep within his own mind. If he could reason, he would have been stunned at the content of his thoughts, but he would have had to conclude they were his own deeply-buried fantasies. Kathleen could not be doing this to him if it was not, on some basic level, what he really wanted after all. But Michael didn’t have these thoughts. He didn’t have any thoughts at all. He was aware only of the intensely pleasurable feelings finally rising in waves from his pantied crotch and completely flooding his awareness. It was all Kathleen wanted him to be aware of; it was all that it was necessary for him to be aware of.

"I need a long hard penis inside my plump bottom," Michael said, panting, rubbing his soft little penis. The intensity of his arousal overcame his inhibitions. "I want to feel it buried deep inside me. I want to feel it stretch my asshole. I want to feel it thrusting in and out of me. I want to be filled up with cock. I am so empty. Please fuck my plump bottom."

Michael quickened the circular movements of his feminized hand and spread his knees obscenely wide, affording a full and rather immodest view of his crotch. His penis still didn’t get hard but Kathleen could see a dark green wet spot forming on the front of his satin panties. His eyes were shut tightly and he was having difficulty talking as his breath was coming in short little gasps. The brain was the most powerful sexual organ and Kathleen knew that Michael’s body was reacting as if he really were being fucked by a long hard cock. She could hardly keep her own sexual excitement under control. She was fucking him just as effectively as if she had a cock of her own. It was the most intensely erotic encounter of her life.

 

"Oh god, yes," Michael moaned. "Please fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."

His fingers were shiny with the cum leaking from his flaccid member. One hand was squeezing his breast and his head was thrown back in ecstasy. His dress was pulled all the way up and his pantied bottom was squeezing its imaginary cock. Inside his sandals, Michael’s painted toes scrunched up in anticipation of the orgasm that would change him forever.

Kathleen had done it. She watched as Michael’s eyes snapped open and he himself said the words that completed his total emasculation. The hot semen gushed inside him, jet after jet, spurting at the end of each long painful/pleasurable thrust of the hard cock buried deep inside his ass. His own orgasm came simultaneously, of course, forming a new associative imprint in his mind. Now Michael would forever associate his orgasm with the idea of being anally penetrated. His orgasm was different from any other that he had ever experienced. It would be the only kind of orgasm he would ever experience in the future. It didn’t come all at once; it just seemed to spread over him. It seemed to have no real beginning and no definite end. He felt he could do it again. And again. And again. His panties were soaked. He rubbed himself slowly and lazily, basking in the pleasurable afterglow. With a curious and innocent sensuality, Michael brought his sticky fingers to his mouth and tasted them. He didn’t make the connection that it was semen that he was contentedly sucking from his fingertips or that he was being further conditioned to crave the taste of this stuff from the cocks of other men. He only knew that it tasted yummy and it made him feel sexy and he wanted more.

Kathleen gazed fondly and sadly at the hopelessly wanton and indolent sensual creature she had created. He was laying back on the sofa, one hand still in his panties, the fingers of his other hand in his mouth.

"You’re finished Mona," she said, using his real name for the last time. He stopped sucking his fingers for a moment and looked at her. There was just the slightest shock of recognition in his green eyes.

And then it died without a protest.

From here on out Michael was no longer.

There was only Mona.

 

********************************************

Ten months later they were all having lunch together at a small outdoor café in uptown Manhattan. During that time, as the divorce proceedings were underway, Kathleen had managed to establish a friendship with Michael’s soon-to-be-ex-wife.

It wasn’t easy and it took some convincing, but eventually Christine came to realize that Kathleen really wasn’t the enemy and that she hadn’t stolen Michael away from her. Her husband had, apparently, been harboring some very powerful and deeply felt sexual needs that Christine hadn’t supported, nor, if she were honest with herself, could ever have tolerated if she had known.

It was best this way. In the long run, Michael would be happier—and so would she. They had signed the divorce settlement that morning and it was time they all moved on with their new lives.

Christine looked across the table at the man—it was so hard to call him that anymore—who used to be her husband with a certain fondness and nostalgia. It had been a little strange at first to see him in his new role, but the transformation was so complete, that it eventually came to seem perfectly natural. She had even gotten used to calling him ‘Mona," which seemed to make him unusually happy and content.

Christine would miss him in a way. Of course, she no longer had any sexual feelings for Michael. How could she? He had cried at the courthouse when he signed the papers. Christine had never known him to be the sentimental type. But then again, the poor dear had been through so many changes in the last year or so.

Michael was still dressed in the outfit he’d worn to court: a simple but sexy red halter suit with a sleeveless buttoned top and a modest knee-length skirt. On his feet were a pair of red high-heeled sandals with a pair of crisscross straps across his insteps. His toenails were painted with clear lacquer. His longish hair, permed and highlighted, was pulled and clipped in a kind of makeshift up-do, loose tendrils escaping fetchingly at the side of his face. Every once in a while Michael pushed the hair away with a feminine gesture that caused the gold bracelets on his slender and tanned left arm to jangle. Christine noted that his wedding ring had been replaced by a tiny gold sweetheart ring. He was only lightly made-up, just a little bit of eye makeup, enough to bring out his pretty green eyes and a light coat of lip red gloss. Lip liner accentuated his soft, sexy mouth. His hand, the perfectly manicured nails painted with clear lacquer to match his toes, daintily held the fork with which he ate his tossed salad. Kathleen had ordered it for him with the lite french dressing on the side and a Pepsi One.

When Michael excused himself to go to the "powder room", Christine watched him make his way passed the tables, wrists brushing his hips, which rocked gently side to side. She turned back to Kathleen.

"Does he know?"

"That he isn’t a woman? No."

"But the way he walks…"

"He thinks he has 36 inch hips," Kathleen said. "As well as 38DD breasts."

"You mean?"

Kathleen nodded. "When he looks in the mirror he doesn’t see what we see. He sees a sexy, over-developed young woman, not a man in drag."

"Unbelievable."

"Do you remember how obsessed he was with skinny women?"

"Do I," Christine said somewhat bitterly.

"Well you might get a kick out of this. He thinks he’s overweight."

Christine looked astonished. "You’re kidding. He’s flesh and bones."

"He’s certain that he has at least twenty pounds to lose. That’s why I ordered him a salad. You’ll notice that he didn’t even touch his wine, except for a little token sip when I made that toast at the beginning of lunch. Do you know where he’s going now?"

"To the powder room," Christine said with a smirk.

"Yes," Kathleen said. "He’s going there to throw up. I’m afraid Michael is a touch bulimic."

"How adorable." Christine remembered the snide comments Michael used to make about women with eating disorders, including her sister. It serves him right, she thought, and then felt a twinge of old concern for the man she’d shared so much of her life with. "But isn’t that dangerous?"

"It can be. I’ll cure him of it when I think he’s learned his lesson."

Both women laughed.

But the lisp…" Christine said. "How?"

"That was the easiest of all. Same with the feminine mannerisms. Just a little post-hypnotic suggestion."

Christine took a sip of her wine. There was one last thing she needed to know. "So, what will become of him?"

"He’ll become the woman he already believes himself to be," Kathleen said triumphantly, happy to be able to tell her talk about her master plan for Michael with someone who would appreciate it. "I’ve already begun his hormone therapy and laser electrolysis. I’ll have some hair extensions put on until the hormones kick in and he can grow his own. Then will come his breast implants and some cosmetic surgery to his face. Body reshaping will give him the figure he thinks he has now. Finally, I’ll have him castrated and give him a vagina so that he can live as a woman full time. As it is, he can’t function as a man anymore. To make him live with useless male parts is just cruel."

Christine had to agree.

Months ago, Kathleen had proven to her what she said about Michael’s impotence. She had ordered Michael to put on a demonstration for his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Wearing a little black exercise leotard, Michael had slowly unsnapped the material over his crotch with shy painted fingers. Christine watched in amazement as her spouse slipped a large, realistic dildo into his asshole and slowly fucked himself with it as he used his other hand to alternately rub his stiff pink nipples and soft little penis.

Finally, he came, but not like he used to come, quickly and furiously, with aggressive spasms and explosive ejaculations. Instead he came with simpering little moans, his poor asshole clenching around the dildo, his painted fingers pinching his nipples, and then slipping down over his smooth belly to his little penis, which never got hard, but merely oozed a clear, sticky fluid. His orgasm, while not intense, seemed to last quite a long time. Perhaps, most amazing of all, was the way Michael licked his wet fingers clean after he came.

 

Christine wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it for herself. Having witnessed Michael’s impotence went a long way to making the friendship between her and her husband’s former mistress possible. Now that Christine was certain that Michael couldn’t have sex with Kathleen, she no longer felt betrayed, nor was her pride hurt any longer. She didn’t see Kathleen as a sexual rival anymore. Kathleen was simply someone who was willing to love Michael for what he was. And, seeing what her ex-husband had become since their separation and learning how much further he was going to go, that was something Christine was not prepared to do. She wanted a man…not whoever…or whatever…Michael had turned out to be.

"Well, I guess that’s it then," Christine said, taking out her purse and laying a twenty dollar bill on the table. "Tell me, though. Are you going to stay with him through all this?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, there will come a time that I’ll need something more from a relationship than he can give. But he will always have a place in my life."

Christine stood up. "I don’t think I’ll wait for him to get back. It’ll be easier for him this way. He’s had enough goodbyes for a while, I think."

"Please stay for just a moment," Kathleen said.

"But I-" Christine let the thought trail off. She knit her brows together, looking confused, and then a quizzical smile formed on her pretty face. "What was I saying…?"

Kathleen was picturing what she’d look like in a leather corset and collar. She would make a wonderful fetish pain-slut with a few creative modifications. And Kathleen knew just what one’s Christine would most appreciate. After all, Christine had shared quite a few of her sexual fantasies with Kathleen over the last few months. Christine hadn’t the slightest clue. She had only come to hypnotherapy to help her lose weight. Oh, she had lost weight all right. She had already lost her husband. She was about to lose much more.

Kathleen smiled. She had such big plans for the two of them.

"Sit down Christine," she said. "We have to talk."

 

--end—

  

 

 

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© 2001 by Monika Ikon. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.