The Making of a Her/man
Pt 1 the sissy story –
He had been begging his Domina to change him into a woman for some time, to better serve her needs.
Finally she sent him to the Castle. It was a femdom dungeon. Solely for this type of journey. He was told it was a spa that specialized in CD transitions.
Well it was, and it wasn’t…
Domina was told to go shopping with him for his outfit and then send him to them, when they had things all set.
On the shopping trip, they picked up all the trimmings of a Victorian lady. From bustle and undershirt with lots of skirts to a fabulous dress and hat and hooked boots to go with it. Even a shawl.
He tried everything on to be sure it fit, then packed it all into a dress bag. He kept checking it between the day they bought it and the day he was supposed to attend the Castle.
The day finally arrived…
Domina escorted him to the door of the Castle. She greeted the head Mistress of the Castle and turned over his keys. She allowed him to kiss her hand goodbye and watched as he was escorted away from her. He thought she would be leaving him with them. But she had been invited to watch the transformation. As was the policy at the Castle.
Domina and the head Mistress went into a small observation room where they could watch him being bathed and waxed, until his skin was smooth as a newborn’s.
Domina liked long hair on a man, so while they had been together he had been growing it out, and today they gathered it into a French braid and put flowers into the plaits. Then he was made up until he looked like a gorgeous woman.
Gel packs were bound to his chest and to his buttocks and a slip was put over them till he had the figure of a slender woman. He was beginning to smile and joke with the male slaves who were attending to him. And they were looking at each other, fully aware of what his day wa going to be like from now on. Because they had been thru the process themselves. Wishing they could warn him, but knowing they were being watched. Every second.
When they had him looking female as he had always wished for, they sent him out to the waiting area.
It seems there was going to be a party that evening. Ladies and gentlemen arrived in the latest fashion, so he stood out in a major way. As the head Mistress had known he would. Everyone knew who the evening’s entertainment would be.
Tonight he would be a Victorian prostitute. Any man who wished her services would be given time with her in a small room. Where she was to engage in any sex he wished. Where she would be beaten and tortured over and over again.
And at the end of the night, there was a surgeon waiting to finalize his transition into womanhood, in a way that he could hardly take back.
He would lose the penis and get his permanent fixings for curves. Surgically.
The head Mistress gave the signal and her first booking helped grab him and take him into the first room…
At that second he saw his Domina, his loved Domina and knew. Something was intended that he didn’t know about.
Something that’d change his life forever. Domina was a strong believer in the phrase of the devil, “Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it!”
the sex slave –
After the time as a Victorian prostitute, his Domina came to him and made certain his wounds were cleaned and he was given his fave meal. They had an evening together in a sitting room, then she left him feeling like it was all over and he had done well.
But that wasn’t the case…
It was a recess if you will. To be sure he had a chance at surviving the rest of the journey. Or at least the next stage.
Domina called for a postponement of the castration. She didn’t think he was yet a “woman”. The head Mistress agreed.
The next morning, he was dragged out of bed and taken to the dungeons of the Castle.
He was going down in some bizarre class reversal system. As if he had been too comfortable and needed to be clear that he was simply a chattle.
The fine gentlemen no longer thought he was worthy of them. And he was now given to the house servants as a toy. As the scraps from the Mistress’ table. The leftovers from the party. And the guests were given a new entertainment.
The discarded prostitute was hooked to a chain and given a dog bowl and water. Fed some can of barely warmed gruel that smelled as if it was about to go off. And kicked everytime they wanted him to move. Called names that attacked him as human being, as a man, and used like a snot rag when you have a cold. With no consideration for his needs or wants. Because he didn’t have any. He was a hole to bang into. A sex slave.
He was meant to whimper, to beg, to whine, to moan and cry for their pleasure. And to take their seed however, wherever they wished it to go, as if it was a tasty treat.
Then he was meant to scream, and was made to do so. With fire, with pain, with humiliation. Until he had no screams left in him. Untl he was nothing that separated him from their desires.
At that moment, he was branded. Marking his breast tissue and buttocks with the Castle’s brand.
The next morning he was showered and put into a robe and taken to a dias with other survivors of the dungeon.
To someone they were well aware intended to harm him. Who was known among rough circles to be even crueler than them. Whose brand easily fit over the Castle’s, as many cattle rustlers had done in earlier days. So only the trained eye would discern the marks of the two separately.
He kept looking around for Domina. But she was nowhere to be found.
When they arrived at his new owner’s place, which he heard called the Redroom, he was placed in shackles and a neck ring. And tied to the four rings on the concrete slab.
Several of the slaves who had brought him in started kicking him till he passed out. He was woken with a dousing of cold as ice water. And it began again. Kick, black, ice showers. And again.
Finally he was left alone and he passed out for a bit.
Till he was dragged to another room. Where a design was carved into his stomach, which took hours at a time over days, to get the exact layer of healing they wanted for the scar. Then it was cauterized to seal it. All he could do by the end was whimper. He had no more tears to cry though. As swollen and puffy as his eyes were from crying, and as sore as his throat was from screaming, he couldn’t have leaked out even a tear or scream. And he was weak as a newborn. Laying there with no resistance to whatever was wanted by his oppressors. Unable to move on his own.
And it was at that moment, he had a bone broken in his foot. Yet all he could do was shudder. Even though he’d never broken a bone before in his life.
When the swelling had gone down, he was sent out to the work yard and harnassed to a wheel that milled corn for the house.
The following day, he was reigned to a carriage and sent into town for supplies for the Redroom. With nothing but a thong on. The town folk were used to their odd ways and all they asked for decency was that the slave’s groin be covered when in town.
And the third day, he was sent out to the field to plow it.
And at the end of each day, the tenders were allowed to use him as a sex slave and as a toilet.
He didn’t get much sleep. The little he was allowed was dream-filled with his Domina sitting in a chair, laughing at him and saying, “Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it!”
Pt 3 -the lure story –
He was exhausted, defeated and sore from head to toe.
And craving just a moment of respite. Which seemed to be in the mind of his masters too when he was taken to a bathing shed and cleaned and shaved thoroughly. Then he was primped and pampered till his skin glowed and he smiled (wearily) for the first time since his ordeal began.
His face was made up and he had a very pretty summer frock put on. Then his feet were shoved into those torture pumps that very few women love, but most have had in their closets at some point in their lives. And his other foot was broken to match the stance of his healing one. He was given his master’s arm to hold and they walked slowly into the village.
They stood out at the bus terminal and waited for waifs and strays to enter the town. He was meant to reassure them that his master was a good, happy man. Who was no threat to them. He offered any and all help that a gentleman would offer a young woman travelling on her own. Places she could go for food or shelter, a roof over her head that was reputable. And a fun place to hang out while they were here. And to any young man, he offered a place they could find young women who were a little (wink wink nod nod grin) easy on the eye, the pocketbook and with easily spread legs.
And the master handed his card to them with the address of the Redroom on it. Being careful not to let the “lady” with him see the address. He let her think he was being the usual hypocrite. out to atone for his bad deeds by doing good ones.
He seemed like some version of the tourist bureau of a small town. The citizen who took time to volunteer as a guide of what the town had to offer.
And was kept under this delusion, until she arrived back at the Redroom, and saw the crowd of young people she had chatted with so easily at the station. But before she could alert them to what lay ahead, the doors behind them were barred. The “lady” fainted dead on the floor. It was her fault.
And again she heard her Domina say it,
“Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it!”
…. Pt 4 the thing stage –
The next stage was … I have no one word to describe it. Maybe thinging? She was a statue, a mannequin, a doll?
She was sat in the corner to perceive what she could in her state of shock and denial. They dressed, bathed, fucked, beat her thru these days. Not really allowing her recovery. All she felt though was the horrible waves of guilt at what she knew the people she had led here were experiencing. Against their wishes. Or so she thought.
The Master of the Redroom didn’t need all these as slaves and so he sent them out the back door to a hotel that had everything they needed, everything they had sought. I guess that was his line between cruel and evil?
He figured he might see some of them again some day. But they’d return thru places like the Castle or thru their dominant’s house. Prepared in even the smallest way for his chambers. He didn’t condemn the innocent. He left that to others.
But he quite enjoyed condemning those who felt fully debauched and were looking for new thrills. A new level of depravity. Them he enjoyed torturing or shaming into self loathing. Or complete annihilation of self.
And that was this man’s journey into womanhood. By first becoming nothing. By first feeling nothing.
And he might tell you that was where he was now. But he still felt guilt.
In his glorious waxen state of unfeeling, he was taken into another room and made to kick, beat and have his penis used by slave mouths. He was brought back to life in his horror that he was now part of the debauchery. And his penis was enjoying it. Until the guilt and the horror were muted. And he could be counted on to use those under him in any way he desired.
Then he was beaten for his pleasure. And pins were stuck thru his genitals repeatedly. Till he was given to pinning himself. All that had to be done was hand him the pins.
He became numb to the pain he caused others and to himself. Till he had nothing inside him. He was moved from sexual task to sexual task. And if he couldn’t get it up, he was given a dildo to use on the slave.
The slave he thought he had lured here to the Redroom.
And all he could hear was, all he could sense was his Domina saying,
“Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it!”
the wife stage-
The Master of the Redroom thought he was ready for the final stage they were geared for at the Redroom.
He was taken to the baths and shaved and washed. His hair was plaited and put into a chignon. Veils were attached by pins, Gorgeous white silks were placed onto his body, Then blush slips and skirts adorned him.
He was sat down till he stopped thinking of himself as a he…
The slaves were replaced by women who cooed over her, who wished her joy in her husband and family to come. Who put jewels on her fingers, toes, at her belly button, who piereced her nipples and “clitoris”. Who hung a multi-layered chain around her neck and made it choker tight. They reminded her that she was about to become her husband’s and must a “good wife” to him.
Then the bridal dress was put on her. And she was taken to the altar. Her Domina took her hand and placed it in the hand of some man she didn’t know and gave her to him in the eyes of the temple.
Her husband-to-be lifted her veils and grimaced. But he went thru the formalities, once he was assured the bridal dowry was adequate to his needs. But he returned the veils to their previous position. Even though she had been assured she made a gorgeous bride.
She was crest fallen. Yet she said it…
I, Hermoine, take thee, Brutus, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.
Feeling this ominous mood rather than the joy that a bride should have that day.
After the ceremony, she went with her Domina and was disrobed.
She was finally castrated. Now she had a husband, she needed to be a woman for his sake. The gels were set inside her breasts and buttocks, her penis was inverted and formed into labia and vagina.
And shortly afterwards, she was awoken. Stood before a mirror and made to greet her new body. Made to touch it to make it real for her.
Her Domina smiled at the success and she tried really hard to smile back. But there was no joy, just success. Her Domina kissed her goodbye and left her to be taken to her new husband with the phrase winding it’s way thru her head…
“Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it!”
She was now a woman.
She was nothing but a wife.