Full Rigor

Full Rigor, Pt. 06

(Our story thus far: Two middle-aged but fit submissives, Michelle Harkins and George Holmes, decided to live out their fantasies by self-indenturing themselves to their mates, attorney (and sexual switch) Rich Harkins and domineering surgeon Shirley Holmes. George ended up as the boytoy of a widow with dominant tendencies, while Michelle, much to her enjoyment, became a slave call girl for SlutsRUs, the famous temporary agency for sex workers. While both slaves got their brains banged out, their owners were sharing a bed, with Shirley (at Michelle's invitation) dominating and feminizing Rich. I repeat, SPOILER ALERT: Rich still dreamed of living out his own version of Michelle's self-indenture, which involved him becoming a feminized submissive, a "sissy" [not actually transgender] slave. Shirley promised him everything he needed--including breast implants--to live out his fantasy but told him that as a physician she needed a "dress rehearsal" to ensure that he actually wanted and could handle such a radical change.)

(

Rich Harkins viewpoint

)

I almost threw up, but I got through sucking a cock and swallowing a stranger's jism; it made me feel truly submissive, if slightly queasy. OK, OK--it wasn't my FIRST blowjob, which I had given to George when our wives had tied us in a 69 position at the BDSM club, but this was the first time I'd done it for real on a total stranger, as if I were a slave.

Shirley had insisted that I dress as a woman and taught me how to do it, after which I had to freely (if not willingly) fellate a bi-sexual dominant named Gary whom she had found. Yes, Shirley patiently explained, she understood that I wanted to be dominated by women, but as a slave I MUST be prepared to accommodate all "cummers." (I could almost see the quotation marks that she placed around that pun.) Having told me what to expect, my mistress didn't rush me into it before I had a chance to think, but slow-rolled me over a period of a week. (Note: to paraphrase the famous line about living without chocolate, "Being feminized for seven days makes one weak.")

First, she insisted on cinching me so tightly into a full-sized corset that I could barely breathe, then sending me to work wearing that bustier--plus a tiny g-string and thigh-high nylons!--under my suit. She claimed that this would help both my "feminine" shape and my mental preparation, and she was right on both counts. I spent the entire work week trying to breathe and praying that no one would notice how stiffly I was holding myself--nor how stiffly my dick was standing!

Then on Friday evening she got serious--I had to shave my face and underarms, trim my pubes, and undergo two rounds of Nair over the rest of my body below my ears, after which I spread lotion over every inch of reddened skin. She painfully plucked my eyebrows--not all the hairs, just the scraggly ones, and reminded me to re-shave the next morning, plus give myself an enema.

That Saturday morning, she glued false, C-cup breasts onto my chest, which (I have to admit) were proportionate to my height and size. They were actually flexible bags of silicon that moved realistically inside my new bra. The boobs looked great, and I only wished that I could actually feel myself up, but they made me feel off-balance whenever I stood up. So, of course, she insisted that I wear full feminine dress and makeup and walk around her house for hours that Saturday, learning to keep my balance and take tiny steps all while dusting and vacuuming liked a good little submissive. The hardest part (other than my frustrated dick) was remembering not to muss my makeup or wig by touching them--I SO needed to scratch my nose.

The biggest challenge was yet to come: going out in public dressed and acting as a female. When I tried to decline, Shirley pointed out, quite logically, that as a feminized slave I would be in public view, with or without clothing, for an entire year, so if I was serious about living out my fantasy, then going out fully dressed as a woman without a collar should be EASY by comparison. Which didn't mean it was easy in absolute terms! She had drilled me on how to sit down in and stand up out of a car while wearing a dress yet still avoid too much display of my nylon-wrapped legs. My facade of femininity must have worked, because the valet who held my car door while I climbed out at the restaurant eyed me, especially my bust and hem line, like a piece of choice meat. The makeup did a good job of concealing my middle aged face, but I was still surprised (and blushed) to have a young guy visibly lust after me.

For that matter, Shirley's friend Gary, who joined us for dinner and who knew my birth gender, also wanted me--I was DEFINITELY on HIS menu. I did my best to keep up the act of being a brainless bimbo, trying to flirt with him and giggling at his comments. I probably talked more on my first "sissy date" than on any ten social occasions when I had presented as male. A lot of it was nervousness; I finally understood where the stereotypical babbling bimbo had come from.

By the time we finished dinner, I had almost conquered my nerves--or maybe it was just the four glasses of wine I chugged!

After all this stress, I just wanted to get the sex with Gary over with. I might be eager to submit, but that didn't mean I had suddenly conceived a lust for males. No matter how much I was worried about sucking him off, I was even more concerned about having a strange and rather large intrusion into my large intestine. The solution was obvious--bring him off quickly with my mouth before he demanded access to my butt. Which is how I found myself on my knees, frantically cramming his surprisingly-stiff dick into my mouth. At least he was clean and came rather quickly; I even went through the slave drill of displaying his slime on my tongue until he approved. At that point, thank heavens, Shirley declared the test completed "at least for this time" (gulp--since I was swallowing his cum at the time, it was a true gulp!) I still spent half an hour with a toothbrush and mouthwash trying vainly to cleanse my palate and my memory.

Shirley and I cuddled quietly in bed that night, probably both missing our enslaved mates, and the morning brought clarity to both of us. Although I hadn't yet experienced anal sex with a strange male, her rehearsal had given me (and her) a lot more confidence in my ability to pull off acting like a feminized slave without freaking out.

From then on, at a rate of about twice a month, she insisted I appear in public fully en femme, while in private she ramped up her dominance of "Sissy Ricki." She warned me that, sooner or later, she was going to invite Gary back to sample my rear end, and meanwhile she demanded that, whenever I wanted her to get me off, I repeatedly beg an imaginary male to "ram your magnificent cock up my ass, Master." You guessed it--one evening when I was both dressed up and tied bent over a chair, Gary appeared in reality, using my mouth to get him ready and then taking me up on my "offer" of anal sodomy. I was astonished at the difference that a real cock made as opposed to Shirley's strap-on; he was warm and slightly flexible, but that just seemed to increase the sensation of being THOROUGHLY stretched and stuffed. I hadn't expected any physical pleasure from being butt-fucked, but his shaft not only stretched my anus but set off my prostrate, giving me the same physical sensations as if Shirley were using her strap-on. The actual act of homosexual intercourse still bothered me, because almost all males are taught to despise and fear being sodomized, but the sense of being "forced" to do something so dirty just contributed to the psychological thrill of being penetrated sexually. That thrill overcame most of my qualms, making me if anything MORE eager to submit as a slave, even if I still preferred female dominants to males. (Let's face it--to some extent my desire to be a feminized submissive reflected the love and even reverence I felt for women, even though I knew clearly that I was NOT one and could never compete with a real woman.)

To further prepare me for the imminent loss of freedom, she also insisted that I have a series of video-conferences with the same slave shrink my wife had consulted, Dr. Nicola Sheldon. Nikki, as she insisted I call her, was VERY skeptical of my desire to be not only enslaved (like Michelle, a situation with which Nikki could empathize) but feminized and used as a "sissy." Nikki was impressed that I'd already gone so far as to feminize myself and service a strange male, but it took a LOT of talking before we both became more comfortable with the whole idea.

*****

One thing Nikki suggested was that I meet with a former patient of hers, Dan Martinson. Yeah, THAT Martinson, the search engine guru. Nikki insisted that, for both ethical and HIPAA reasons, she could not explain how she knew Mr. Martinson. She did say, however, that she was certain she could arrange a meeting with him. After that, it would be up to me to describe (or should I say confess? admit?) what I wanted to do to myself, but if I had the guts to tell him that, she felt certain that Mr. Martinson would give me some information and even advice that I really needed to hear.

I knew Nikki had numerous connections, but I was really impressed when she called me back with an appointment to meet Martinson in his office (he now ran a small investments firm, apparently just to keep himself busy) the very next business day. Dan was more than cordial, saying that he owed Nikki several huge favors, and asked me how he could help.

After appearing in public and sucking cock while dressed en femme, I had thought it would be relatively easy for me to tell a complete stranger what I intended to do with my life, my body, and my freedom. After I stammered out my plans, blushing furiously, he astonished me by telling me his own equally-embarrassing tale. Five years earlier, while trying to win the love of his life, Dan--as he insisted I call him--had self-indentured himself to the woman for a year and she, in turn, had thoroughly feminized him!! Which involved many of my own fantasies, including working in a glory hole and having his owner pump a strap-on into both of his openings, not to mention using his tongue and (when he was tied down) cock to pleasure her vagina. She had also made him into a transvestite childcare worker, waitress, housecleaner, and even office worker. It said volumes for his trust of Nikki that this famous public figure would tell me all that on first meeting me; he was slightly reticent about how the slave shrink had helped him.

"In fact, Rich," he continued after a pause. "You said you were an attorney, right? Well, one of my roles was to learn, through OJT (on the job training), how to be a para-legal serving a female attorney in a law firm. Which was kinda fun until the day that the managing partner of the firm borrowed me to fix his computer, then decided to borrow my mouth for a cum deposit! He thought I was just another one of the half-dozen feminized slaves who worked there, and who regularly had to service the attorneys so that free women were never harassed. I don't think I'll ever forget the humiliation of sucking him on my knees. Fortunately, for me, I've seen this guy dozens of times since then and he's never given any indication that he recognizes me as "Sissy Danny" who crawled under his desk to fix his computer and suck his cock!" We both laughed uneasily, turning red in the process.

When our meeting was over, I thanked him profusely for his willingness to share his story. As we were shaking hands, Dan said something rather odd. "Look, Rich--neither of us is ever going to admit what we've done to the public. I got that. Do me a favor, though--if you decide to really go through with this idea, let me know when you're going to be auctioned off. I can't promise anything, but my ex-mistress is now my wife, and she might really be interested in buying your contract and using you as a para-legal, just as she did with me. She'd get some real value out of having a qualified attorney do her busy work, and in return she has experience with such a situation. Of course, you'd still have to service her orally, and you might have to put out for the managing partner!" he ended with a grimace.

*****

Meanwhile, once Nikki had given her preliminary concurrence to my self-destructive plan, Shirley began preparing me for breast augmentation. First came a series of small injections in my chest and buttocks--I didn't suddenly grow huge boobs and butt, but the loose skin that developed as a result would make it easier for her to install implants. My nipples also became more responsive, prone to grow erect whenever cold air or my hand touched them. Shirley giggled when I described that reaction, promising that before I knew it, I would have "both a rack and some back, baby" to give me a female figure.

Those small injections, plus even smaller hormonal shots, prepared me for the serious plastic surgery Shirley had promised to perform at cost. I also arranged to in effect take early retirement from my law firm, but neither the "retirement" nor the operation would happen until Michelle regained her freedom so we could discuss my plan as equals.

I don't know which of the four of us--George, Michelle, Shirley, or me--was the happiest when we re-united at the State Agriculture office to mark the end of their 400 days of self-indenture. George and Michelle wore nothing but collars, cuffs, and smiles to the occasion, but my once-and-future-wife had never appeared so beautiful. Living on a diet that featured mostly slave kibble and cum with lots of bedtime exercise, she looked incredibly lean and fit to me, and Shirley made a similar comment about George, who had probably lost ten pounds while wearing a collar. Of course, once our wayward ex-spouses had scrambled back into their clothing, an elegant lunch was the second and last appointment on our joint calendar for the day, the first being a double-wedding civil ceremony at the district judge's office next door to the state office building. We had a lot of fun at lunch, and even more fun when we rushed back to our respective homes for a "nooner" in place of a second honeymoon.

I'd taken Viagra at lunch and kept the lights low in the bedroom, so Michelle and I had some magnificent reunion sex without too many awkward questions. Afterwards, though, as my darling wife lay on my rather fleshy chest, her hands evoked a surprising reaction from my nipples. Not surprisingly, she asked me what was going on, so I knew it was time to come clean.

Michelle had known of and catered to my submissive fantasies for years, so it was easier than I had thought to explain my plan to her. I reminded her that, back when she first insisted on becoming a slave slut, she had agreed that I could have equal time in a collar after she was freed. That said, I also assured her that I could still call the whole thing off if she really didn't want me to do this. And I told her about consulting with Nikki, whom she trusted, as well as the (carefully unnamed) guy who had a similar feminized experience with the love of his life.

I have the best wife in the entire world. She listened patiently, smiling and encouraging me, then kissed me passionately and told me that OF COURSE I had a right to live out my self-indenture dreams. "Just wait until you're getting plowed from both ends, Darling--you're gonna love it!" And she assured me that, as soon as I regained my freedom and restored any hormonal balance, she would be happy to have me back as her husband, although in the bedroom we might have to take turns role-playing horny slave for each other. At least our children wouldn't be surprised by my decision.

After that, my preparations continued pretty much on schedule. I awoke from an operation with a sore butt and permanently-unbalanced chest, but over the next two weeks I got over it, and by the time I went to the Agriculture Office for my own date with submission, I was used to appearing as a busty female in public--although not, of course, as a naked futa slave, which is how she led me back out of that office. We had set up a private corporation to hold our assets, including my retirement share of the law partnership in which I had slaved for decades. One of those "assets," of course, was now my well-padded ass! As an officer of the corporation, Mistress Michelle had power of attorney to sign my rights away and take possession of the newly-enslaved Rikki. We had agreed on a 14-month indenture so that there would be time to train me before she auctioned off my use for two contracts of 6-months each.

Going into the Agriculture Department on the scheduled day, I thought I looked like a reasonably-attractive woman, and I got several stares from the guys who worked there--when you're a middle-aged hermaphrodite, those kind of stares/leers can be flattering. Being led OUT of the office as a cuffed and naked futa was even more shocking than I had expected, of course, including a lot of nasty comments from the workers about my being an "abomination." So once we got off the elevator in the basement of the Agriculture building, my new mistress walked me into the ladies room, uncuffed me, and took my breath away with a reassuring kiss and hug. Then she insisted I use the bathroom and slowly eat a candy bar and drink a few swallows of water before she reasserted control over me. Once I was cuffed again, she produced one of those instant cold packs, where you whack it against something to start a chemical reaction. Damn, that thing burned my dick, but considering how aroused I had been while being led on a leash, it was probably necessary to get my erection under control. Michelle installed a chastity belt that included a removable buttplug, kissed me one more time, and showed me that the key to that belt was clipped to a dangling earing that she attached to my (pierced) right ear lobe, where my cuffed hands couldn't reach it. As if that weren't enough restrictions on my freedom, she installed a fabric gag into my mouth. Then she led her new slave on a leash out of the restroom and over to the loading dock. I saw the attendant's eyes light up as he saw my boobs and shoulder-length dyed-blonde hair, but when he noticed the stuffed chastity belt he lost interest; I actually felt relieved, because I was still getting used to the reality of being everyone's sex toy.

So on my first day of indenture I got the physical discomfort but mental thrill of Poodle Transport--kneeling bound and gagged inside a dog cage with my ankles and cuffs zip-tied to the back of the cage so that I was truly helpless and immobilized. The cage was in the back of a large panel van along with two other similarly-caged slaves. Inside the darkened van I couldn't see them clearly, but both of them appeared to have long hair and rather small boobs, suggesting that they might well be like me--physically male but modified as hermaphrodite slaves.

Unlike most slaves, of course, I knew where we were going--the Pearson Pussy Ranch. Pearson's was famous for training new slave girls to be eager performers in every conceivable sex situation. Two years ago, the Ranch had opened a new three-week class to train "sissy sluts" (forgive the pejorative term) --both genuine transgender women (some of whom self-indentured in return for someone paying for their SRS medical treatments) and others like me who, while retaining an essentially male identity, chose to appear as female in order to be completely submissive.

After an INCREDIBLY long period on my knees, my cage along with the other two was deposited on a small loading dock. A firm voice ordered us to crawl out of our cages, and a new shock collar went around my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that my two companions in this ordeal both appeared to be genetically male, albeit with long hair and breasts (my catty mind couldn't resist noting that their boobs were smaller than mine.) Then came what I understood to be the standard warning for slaves at a new location: