The Terrace View Apartments                  by: Sean McBride

 

Chapter 6 - "Kendra"

The days start early for the Terrace View Apartments sex slave staff. Especially the newest sissies that have yet to completely adapt to their lives of sexual servitude.

My first full day as a sissy slut began at 4am when I was yanked roughly out of my cage. My hands were quickly secured behind my back and a short leash was tied tightly around my testicles by my new trainer-- a tall black goddess named Kendra. "Keep Up!" she ordered and we shot off on a brisk run that soon left me gasping for breath. Ordinarily, I would have quit when by body gave out on me, but each time I flagged behind, Mistress Kendra yanked sharply on the leash and the pain that shot through my balls was enough to spur me on for a few more miles.

I ran four miles that first day, five the next, then six, and so on until a ten-mile sprint became my daily wakeup call. At first Mistress Kendra led me along, half-naked around the perimeter of the apartment complex. Within a week, she drove a golf cart along and I was bound tightly to its bumper, forced to keep up or risk being dragged along behind by my balls. It was funny that I had been so willing to be castrated just a few days earlier, but now I worked harder than I had ever exercised before in order to keep my manhood intact.

Within a few weeks, after I started to gain some stamina, I was simply led to a treadmill where I was tethered by the testicles and left to run naked at top speed for an hour, or so. I wasn’t alone in this, as six other sissies in various states of transformation also joined me in my morning exercises. And while we all were forced to concentrate on our workouts or else risk being dragged along behind the treadmills by our scrotums, we still managed to strike up an empathetic friendship. Those six girls-in-the-making soon became my dearest friends in the world, and I began to look forward to my morning workout with my newfound sisters.

Not to mention our late-night encounters, where we would massage the strains of the day out of our aching limbs. We all became very adept at erotic massage, and we six girls would frequently spend our late nights kneading and rubbing each other in an orgiastic mixture of hands and mouths and genitals. We would writhe around in group ecstasy until our trainers finally appeared and reluctantly led us to our individual cages where we would be locked down for a night of fitful sleep until we were awaked once again the next day for our morning workouts.

These daily workouts, combined with a strict protein shake diet had me dropping weight at the rate of three pounds a week. I was weighed religiously, the first thing each morning, and the nurses that staffed the on-complex clinic were constantly adjusting my diet and exercise regimen until I had dropped to 115 lbs. after just a few months.

I must say a few words about my corset training here as well. The drastic loss in weight was directed by my near-constant corseting. I was locked into cruelly boned and reinforced corsets most of the day, only released when I was bathed, shaved or during my morning exercises. And after a few months, when my weight had dropped to acceptable standards, I was still kept corseted when I worked out on the treadmill in high heels for simple "figure maintenance" and "posture training." Thanks to the corsets that I was made to constantly wear, my waist was soon trimmed down to a meager 23 inches.

In contrast, my breasts were growing at a rapid pace due to the hormone injections that I was given twice each day. Two months in to my training, and I had achieved a dramatic 36-23-34 inch figure. To my mind, I looked rather fetching, but the Terrace View patrons demanded perfection, so one Friday without any warning, I was led to the clinic for breast implants that increased my bust to a 40D cup.

While I was under the knife, my nose was bobbed, my chin and Adam’s apple were shaved, and my cheekbones were enhanced. Between the surgery and the daily trips to the on-site beauty salon where my hair was curled and dyed a curly blonde, I had become a wet dream come to life. Add to that the hours spent tied down on a table while electrolysis denuded my body of any hair below my scalp, and a tattoo artist that gave me a permanent slutty makeup job, and I soon looked like a complete woman. The only way you would be able to tell that I was actually a man would be if you were to undress me and see my atrophied penis and balls which now hung useless between my legs.

Useless for erections, but very useful to correct me when my efforts became lax. I don’t know how many of you have ever had your testicles whipped or beaten with a cane by a pissed-off trainer before, but the pain is very intense. Enough to make you pass out, wake up in pain, pass out again and then finally reawaken and be willing to submit to anything in order to not go through the torture again.

Mistress Kendra, in particular, took great pleasure in beating my still-sensitive balls until they ballooned up in swollen agony. I can’t tell you how many submissive lessons I learned due to the threat of having my testicles whipped until raw and bloody.

That’s how I learned to become a human urinal for one of our patrons. He enjoyed using my hot mouth wrapped around his cock as an alarm clock. It wasn’t an unusual request, as we were sent in daily to wake up our guests with oral sex. But when he decided make me swallow his morning piss and I revolted and vomited it back up, he became enraged. So Mistress Kendra became enraged, and she tortured me for 24 hours, and fed me a diet of nothing but urine and testicle torture until I was literally begging to be allowed to become a human urinal.

To prove my worth, I spent three days bound fast in a small room where men and women urinated into my locked-open mouth every quarter hour or so. All of their liquid filled my bladder to overflowing, but I had been catheterized and a tube ran from my penis back down my open throat. Ultimately, I was pissing into my own mouth, recycling urine almost non-stop through my system until the shame of becoming a human toilet became just a minor inconvenience to say the least.

When I was finally released from my bondage, I frantically begged my patrons to fill me up with their urine as I set to work on coaxing a morning orgasm out of their cocks and pussies. On a typical morning, I would arouse 6-8 of our patrons with my oral ministrations, as well as my now-obsessive desire to be their human-toilet. Indeed, I quickly became known as that sissy who preferred urine to cum, and it was a truthful rumor. Within days of my re-training to become a human toilet, I found myself waking up at night, rock-hard and at the point or orgasm, while I fantasized about swallowing a constant stream of piss. Had I not been tied down in my cage, I’m sure that I would have achieved a powerful orgasm with a little stimulation and a few thoughts about swallowing a morning dose of urine.

That’s a good example of how my training went. It was relentless, and designed to turn me into a wanton slut who would do absolutely anything in order to provide pleasure for her master or mistress. I was raped daily, and forced to sexually service the many men and women who lived at the Terrace View Apartments. I don’t know how many loads or orgiastic juice went into my mouth and bowels, but I spent every day constantly dripping from behind and with a musky taste in my mouth.

My first six months passed by in a blur, and I could hardly believe the change in me. Not only did I look and feel like a sexy beauty queen, but I was beginning to think like a woman as well. I would wake up in the middle of the night with my sphincter quivering and imagining that one of our better-endowed patrons was making love to me. Strike that—what I really looked forward to was a good fucking. I didn’t even need lubrication, as I could soon relax my anus on command and take in whoever wanted a quick fuck.

For example, there were days when I was making my daily rounds as a maid when our security staff would detain me. Not just one guard, but the entire force of ten well-endowed men who would grab me, bind me up in handcuffs and fuck and rape me until I could barely hobble away to continue my duties. It probably sounds like torture to many of you, but when you’re being trained to be a perfect little sissy-slut, the idea that so many men want you is nothing but a compliment. Indeed, I soon found myself flirting with the guards, hoping that they would ravish me instead of one of the other sissy-slaves on that day. To my credit, I was usually successful in getting myself raped on a daily basis by our security staff, the janitors, or at least one of our patrons.

It was bliss, but I must admit that it wasn’t all sexual service to our patrons and staff. At night, when we were locked securely in our cages, we would sometimes find ourselves being let out in order to make love to our trainers on the bench in the middle of the training courtyard. Mistress Kendra took quite a liking to me within the first week, and would frequently haul me out of my cage in the middle of the night so that she could sit on my face while my tongue explored her inner recesses.

Some of my favorite memories are of me being bound up on all-fours across the training bench, my neck straining to connect with Mistress Kendra’s sex underneath her skirt while several of the night guards fucked me mercilessly from behind. I could stay in that position for hours, and Mistress Kendra was one of those multi-orgasmic women who required that I put in several hours of personal service on a regular basis.

Needless to say, the maid staff at the Terrace View Apartments didn’t get much sleep, and we were always kept in a hazy, almost-orgiastic state. I personally went three months without an orgasm, which was probably due to the hormones that they kept injecting into my system. And then one day, while I was routinely swallowing one of our patron’s morning load of urine and semen, I suddenly erupted into orgasm and filled my panties with my seed without any stimulation whatsoever.

Needless to say, I was severely punished for my indiscretion, and Mistress Kendra took great delight in locking me to the rack while she whipped me with a cruel flogger. She didn’t remove my maid’s uniform, but by the time she had finished with me, my clothing lay in tatters around my feet and I had passed out from the intense pain of her punishment.

That was the last time that I climaxed as a male.

By now I looked, felt and thought like a perfect female, and more importantly, I had learned how to please any man or woman who wanted to avail themselves upon my personal services. I had been taught to do anything upon request, and I had grown accustomed to my life of abject sexual slavery. I thought that I could not have possibly been pushed any further into my new life, but I was mistaken.

One day, Mistress Kendra informed me that in addition to serving as a sissy-maid at the apartment complex during the day, I would be put to work as a stripper at a nearby club at night. I had hoped to find work at "Surprises," but I was instead taken to a sleazy hip-hop club that where I was locked in a cylindrical go-go cage and left to dance half-naked while countless men reached in and fondled me from top to bottom.

Most of the men were African-American, and rather uninhibited when it came to mauling the little white she-male locked in the cage. Only a few hours into my first night at the club, and one man suddenly reached inside the cage and grabbed my hair and pulled me to my knees. As if on cue, numerous strong hands began to rip my few clothes off of my body, while other mysterious hands began probing my ass, pinching my nipples and slapping my now-exposed genitalia about.

When I was exposed as a man, the mauling became more violent, and I was being bruised and battered as I was thrown about the cage. If it had not been locked, I’m sure that I would have been dragged out and raped immediately. But the horny crowd could not break down the steel door, so they shoved my face and ass against the bars and forced their cocks into my open orifices.

I could not move an inch, impaled in my confining cage by a horde of horny men all wanting to use me as a sex toy. I swallowed their seed as fast as I could, but there were too many of them for just one sissy to appease. When they couldn’t get to me quickly enough, they started to push, and it wasn’t long before the mob surrounding my cage bordered on violence.

It was then that I felt a familiar fingernail snaking into my ass. It was Mistress Kendra, and she quieted the crowd by promising that I would service each and every man who wanted to be serviced before the night was finished. She pulled out a key, and the crowd erupted into a primal cheer. In no time, the door was unlocked and I was dragged naked from my cage. I was manhandled and mauled as I was dragged out of the club and shoved into a waiting car trunk. As we sped off into the night, I heard police sirens coming to break up the mob. But they were too late to save me, as I was already being taken away for a night of forced, but willing, sexual debauchery.

After almost an hour’s ride later, I found myself in a park-like setting somewhere outside of the Houston City limits. I was carried to a picnic table where I was quickly secured, kneeling on all fours and blindfolded. I was shaking in fear, but I felt Mistress Kendra’s calming hand on my flesh, and I knew that she would look after my welfare.

So I accepted cock after cock into my body, trying to give each and every man pleasure that night while mosquitoes buzzed around my ravished body, drawn by the stench of the semen that oozed from my mouth and anus. By the time that morning broke, I don’t know how many men had used me, but I was in an overwhelming sexual haze when I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

I woke the next morning, confused because I was sleeping in a large bed instead of my tiny cage. At first I was worried that I would be in trouble, but then I realized that I was curled up and sleeping cupped up against Mistress Kendra in her apartment. She had been pleased by my earlier performance, and had decided to reward me with a peaceful night’s sleep in her arms.

I had become her pet, and over the next few weeks, whenever she tested my sexual limits with her seemingly unlimited supply of horny friends, I concentrated on pleasing her by pleasing her friends. We became very close, and I felt at peace at night when I would curl up into a ball in her arms.

I would always stink of semen and sweat, but Mistress Kendra could only smell my devotion, and I brought her great pleasure when she finally fell asleep late at night with my mouth locked securely upon her dripping sex.

In the mornings, when I was awakened by one of the other sissy-slaves and led away to start my day of servitude, I always remarked upon on how beautiful and peaceful she looked as she continued sleeping. I knew that I had given her much of that serenity and this accomplishment was enough to keep me motivated as I passed my days at the Terrace View Apartments.

 

 

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© 2001 by Sean McBride. 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.