Ch. 1
Looking back, I realize I was taken forcibly. Although now, it really doesn't matter. I'm happy now. Or, at least, I think I am. They tell me I am, so I must be.
And I do have everything a girl could want: security, a beautiful house in which to live. Cars to use. The Boxster is my favorite. I get so many looks, driving it with the top down. Maybe it's the clothes they provide me. Clothes. Oh, the clothes. I guess they do kind of call attention to me. They're everything I ever dreamt of. But, oh, so very kinky. Anyone else wearing them would look like a slut, but I love them. I really do. I know I do because everyone tells me how good I look in them. And THEY tell me, too. THEY tell me that I need to flaunt my curves and reveal my flesh because I want to do that. It's appropriate, THEY tell me, because a slut should look like a slut. And I am a slut. I am their slut.
I want to do anything they want because it is my job to make them happy. I have to be what they want me to be, look as they want me to look, and do what they want me to do. They are my Master and my Mistress.
We met, at first, by Email. Innocently enough, I thought. At least, that's what I thought when I was capable of having my own thoughts. Now, they tell what to think. Which is a great relief to me and relieves a lot of anxiety. Sometimes, like right now as I write this, they let me think for myself. But I get easily confused nowadays. I'm writing this, by the way, because they told me to do so. They wanted my own silly little recollections to be put down on paper for the amusement of some of their friends. They told me that their friends (who have only known me since THEY have owned me) didn't think a ditz such as I even knew how to write.
Hah! I'll show them. I'm real smart. Really, I am. Or, at least, I think I used to be. I get so confused sometimes, now. Thank goodness I have them to take care of me.
Of course, they also told me that at 11:00 PM my ability to have my own thoughts will be gone again, so I have to write quickly.
Oh, yes. The Email.
He had found my ad in a classified ad site in Geocities--personal relationships/"other" category.
"Sweet TG seeking understanding friends," was the ad's headline.
It was such a coincidence. He only lived a half a mile from my townhouse in Chicago.
He wrote, telling me he was a successful businessman, married to a doctor, that he enjoyed the company of tranny friends, that he occassionally endulged his own transgendered fantasies, and that he'd like to meet me casually. He also asked for a picture, one of which I scanned and sent to him, of me in one of my latex halter top and hot-pants.
At the time, I was living both roles--male and female--as required by the situation. I had, taken Premarin for a year and a half, but had stopped six months before, at the request of my very understanding girlfriend. She liked me in both roles but wanted me to be able to remain functional in the male one. Anyway, as a result of the girl juice, I'd grown to an overflowing 36-A and even some of my 36-B's were tight.
I was very apprehensive about meeting the first time and told him that I would not be en femme at our first meeting, that it would be coffee only, no physical contact, and that--IF we got along as friends--maybe later I would let him see my feminine side.
He wrote back a cheerful letter, saying that was all fine, that he was just looking for a friend. He suggested a time and date at a local bar/restaurant. I wrote back agreeing to meet him.
I was pretty anxious as I sat in the parking lot, alone, at 10:00 AM.
Although they were opening up for their lunch trade, no other patrons had shown up. I was wearing an Oxford dress shirt, jeans and deck shoes. Beneath, I wore peach-colored satin panties, but no bra. With a bra on, my fleshy breasts would be unmistakable.
As I waited, I took off the nylon spring jacket I wore, to make sure my breasts weren't obvious. Looking down, I felt that they were. The starchy material, rubbing against my nipples, had stimulated them to hardness, making them all the more obvious. Hastily, I started to put the jacket back on. At the exact instant I was reaching my arms backwards to do so, there was a tap on my car window. I glanced up, only to see him staring at my tits, straining against the fabric of my shirt.
I quickly brought my arms back down, letting my jacket fall on the seat. He smiled as I rolled the window down.
"Stefi," he queried?
"Hi," I said shyly as I opened the door to get out. Taking my hand, he helped me from the car, then reached inside, picking up my jacket. Rather than helping, it made me all the more uncomfortable, being helped from my car--a man--by another man.
"Here, sweetie," he said. "Let me help you on with this. I don't want you to embarass yourself."
Oblivious to the fact that, one guy helping another from his car then helping the other on with his jacket might seem rather strange to an observer, I accepted his assistance as, from behind, he assisted the jacket sleeves over my arms. Turning to face him, he smiled. "You're very nice looking, even as a guy. I'll bet you're dynamite in a dress."
"Thank you," I replied, feeling very much out of place.
"Shall we," he asked, geturing towards the door.
I nodded yes. He held the doors for me as we entered, taking a seat in the darkest corner of the restaurant.
The waitress showed up immediately. I thought she looked at me strangely when she asked if I wanted a drink. "Uh, no," I stammered, "it's too early and I have to get back to work."
She was staring at me. I excused myself and went to the restroom. Pulling my jacket open, I looked in the mirror making sure that my breasts weren't showing, then closing the jacket, checked again. There was no way she could have seen, I thought. Why was she staring.
I returned to the table. As I approached, he gallantly stood as I slid into my seat. A drink sat in front of me.
"What's that," I asked.
"Long Island iced tea," he replied. "I thought you looked nervous and I really would like you to be comfortable."
"I really shouldn't," I said.
"Please," he replied. I glanced up. His eyes were locked on mine; deep, pentrating. "Relax," he intoned. "It will help you relax."
"OK," I replied. I took a sip. It was VERY good but their seemed to be a strange, metallic aftertaste to it.
I took another sip, noting the taste again.
"It's very good, isn't it," he asked?
"Yes," I replied, "it's good. But it's got kind of a strange taste. Kind of like it was being served from a puter cup," I said, looking up to see his eyes locked on mine, again. I did not break our gaze.
"It's very good, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," I replied, "except for that...strange...m e t a l l i c...t a s t e..."
He continued to look into my eyes, beyone them, into what--it seemed--were the very recesses of my mind.
"It's very good, isn't it."
"It's very good," I replied.
"You want another," he said.
"I want another," I replied.
"Finish your drink," he commanded.
I drained the glass.
The waitress approached.
His eyes still locked on mine, without looking up, he told the waitress, "She'll have another." He nodded his head and rolled his eyes toward the waitress, indicating to me that I should look at her.
"She?" the waitress said.
"She," he replied.
The waitress's eyes rolled upwards as a look--half disgust and half amusement--highlighted her face. "Whatever," she said, and walked away.
He was again, staring into my eyes, and I into his.
"It's hot in here, isn't it."
"It's hot in here," I replied.
"You feel your chest perspiring, don't you?"
"I feel my chest perspiring," I stated, matter-of-factly.
"You'd be much more comfortable without your jacket. You'd be much more comfortable with your shirt open down a couple of more buttons."
The words made perfect sense to me--simply a matter of practicality. "I'd be much more comfortable with my jacket off and my shirt opened down a couple of more buttons," I told him.
"Very well," he replied, standing, then taking my hand to help me from my seat. "Go to the restroom and make yourself comfortable. Oh, by the way, Stefi," he said as I stood there, "you need to work on your posture. Head up, neck straight, shoulders back."
I really need to work on my posture, I thought to myself. Good posture is very important. I should walk with head up, neck straight, and shoulders back.
I vaguely recall the snickers from some patrons as I returned to our table. Unbuttoned to just below my sternum, while walking with fully erect posture, the taut material of my shirt revealed the outlines of my tits and erect nipples, while the gap in front made the creamy whiteness of my breasts clearly visible from the side.
It seemed some of the people were clapping as I returned to the table, where a second drink awaited me. He didn't seem to notice their ridicule, or simply chose to ignore it. I picked up the glass. It tasted even more metallic than the first as I took a large gulp of it.
"How is your drink?"
"It...t a s t e s--k i n d--o f--- m e t a l l..."
"It's very good, Stefi," he said, again looking into my eyes.
"I t ' s - v e r y - g o o d."
"I want you to shut up, now," he said. "I don't want you to talk. I only want you to listen, except when I specifically ask you for a reply" he continued. "You will nod your head "yes" when appropriate."
I nodded.
"First, I really must apologize. It must be very hard on you, wearing men's clothes in front of all these people."
(nod)
"It's very embarassing having to wear men's clothes in public. You look like some kind of butch dyke wearing jeans and a dress shirt. You would be much more comfortable wearing something more--shall we say--appropriate."
(nod)
"From now on," he droned, "whenever you are with me, you will wear the clothes that you like and that fit your role. Do you know what you like? Do you know what your role is, Stefi?"
(no reply) I was very confused. How could I know?
"That is correct. You do not know. You do not know because I haven't told you yet what your role is. You do want to know, don't you?"
(nod)
"I will tell you. You have permission to speak to confirm your role. You are a slut, Stefi. You are a slut. You are My slut, Stefi. I am your Master. You are stefi, My slut. You are the slut slave of Master and Mistresss. What is your role stefi?"
"I........a m........y o u r...........s-s-s l u t..........s-s-s-s l a v e....."
"Very good. Your role is to please me and my wife in any and every way. To be, act, do whatever we tell you. At all times required, you are to look the part of your role. We take great pleasure seeing our slut in vinyl and latex slut-wear. What is your role?"
"I....a m.....y o u r......s l u t."
"Yes. And, therefore, what do you feel most comfortable wearing? What types of clothes do you adore?"
"I....a d o r e....w e a r i n g....v i n y l.....a n d......l a t e x.....s l u t.....c l o t h e s....."
"Yes, that is correct. I will now give you the rest of your instructions."
"You need our help, stefi, to find fulfillment, don't you?"
(nod)
"You are our slut, slave, stefi. But you are trapped inside an only partially feminized body. I will permit you to think, stefi, for this one question I am going to ask you, which you may answer. You MUST become more feminine. You want to become more feminine. What is the most feminine part about you, stefi? Answer me."
"...m y...t i t t i e s..."
"Yes, your LITTLE titties, my dear. For you to become more feminine, you must have help. You must have larger titties. You want larger titties. You crave larger titties. You must be more feminine. You must have larger titties. Stefi, what do you want?"
"...i...w a n t...l a r g e r...t i t t i e s..."
"Yes, you must have larger titties. You HAVE to have larger titties. You must be more feminine. To be more feminine you must have larger titties. Your Mistress is a doctor, stefi. She will give you larger titties. We will go see her now."
To this day, I recall no more of the rest of the day of our first meeting. In fact, until I was instructed to recall the facts I've just described, I didn't recall them either.
You have no idea how cumbersome it is trying to write. Seated at this school desk which Master and Mistress have provided for me, my titties keep covering the paper. If I push the paper far enough out on the table to uncover it, my hand can barely reach it. And if I let them hang between me and the edge of the desk, I can't even get close enough to the desk to write.
I can't write much longer, it's 10:59. I don't know why I have to stop at 11:00. I seem to recall something...about...but I ...
...do...
...k n o w...t h a t...
...i...
...m u s t...s e r v e.............
Ooooh. i just love the new uniform Master and Mistress bought for me to serve their guests in.
i feel so pretty in the little peach colored vinyl maid's uniform. Oooooooh. I just love being able to pull down the front, lift my great big titties out, and let them hang down. Oh, my! They almost reach my waste now. Mistress must have given me a new treatment and i didn't even notice.
i can't wait for Master's friends to pinch and pet them.
Let's see, now. What is that paper on my desk? Oh, yes. I recall, now. Master told me to bring it down for their guests to read.
MASTER'S NOTE:
stefi will be released next week to continue her story. Chapter 2 will detail her meeting with the Mistress.