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Pyramid
Two and a half years ago. It seems like such a short time. Yet, for all of this
to have happened, it had to have been at least that long...I think. Sometimes,
it just seems like my head is in such a fog and I just can't remember. But I
told you that. Didn't I?
I'm sorry, hon. You keep staring. Do the boots bother you? Leroy said you wanted
me in them.
I'll move them off your lap then. No? You like them there? Then stop your
whimpering or I'll remove them. Yes you may caress them...if you can bend that
far. But first, you just sit there while I go get my medication. But how silly
of me. You wouldn't be moving anyway all trussed up like that in the stretch
wrap.
Returning: Oh, my! I feel s-o-o-o much better! Let's see now; I believe when you
could still talk you asked me how I ever got to be what I am today.
Well, to some degree I was always this way. I just didn't show it. In fact, I
was married for 20 years to a woman, raised two children through college, and
had a very successful career. I really kept this side of me hidden. Except
occasionally when I was on the road.
Then, in short order, I was divorced, left my job, started a business from home
and did something I swore I would never do again; fell in love with a woman and
remarried. I told her up front what I was but she didn't care. In fact, she
loved my displays of femininity. She also loved to fuck. And since my sexuality
was so tied to my femininity, I was dressed almost all of the time we were home.
And we made love five or six times per week.
But enough of this; Let me get to the grit. Here, let me adjust that vibrator
for you my pet. Poor baby; you can't move your hands can you?
In time, our "fantasizing" during sex started taking over more and more. She
knew what turned me on and she liked me turned on. We started going to gay bars
with me dressed like a slut. She taught me how to flirt, to attract guys like
flames to a candle. She always had me dress in the most outrageous outfits. In
fairly short order, she started selecting guys for me. It usually took only a
few glances, a little bend to show off my cleavage, a flirtatious pose, and I
would have him buying drinks for us both as he clumsily attempted to find an
excuse to touch me.
And I loved it. I loved the attention. I loved the thrill of the hunt.
Like I said, dear, I was almost always dressed at home where I worked
(o-o-o-o-o, it's really starting to hit now...I feel s-o-o-o-o loose). Which I
was when Leroy first saw me. I didn't really think he would. It was so bright
outside and I had no lights on inside. What I failed to understand (I'm just a
slut and not very bright--I only good for one thing) is that from inside the
shaded cab of his UPS van, he could see right into my condo.
I didn't think anything about moving past the sliding door to adjust the volume
on the stereo until I looked out and realized he was staring at me. I nearly
fell off my heels scurrying past the door. He know me, knew my wife worked
during the day, knew I worked from home, and knew--having delivered many
packages to me--who I was.
Peeking around the edge of the door frame, I glanced back out only to come face
to face with his eyes. He was standing on our patio. I nearly ripped the blinds
off the wall as I pulled their closure string but it was too late. As they went
shut, he was blowing me a kiss.
I was terrified. No one who knew me as Steve knew me as stefi. Just then, the
security buzzer sounded. Someone was buzzing my condo. I hit the intercom and
with my deepest voice said "Yes?"
"UPS delivery...Baby," is what he said. I didn't know what to do. I froze.
"Com' on, Momma," he says, "I got something for you. It's all right. I already
seed yo' bitch ass an I don' care. Let me in now, baby, so's I can give ya yo
'livery. If you don' be I gonna tell yo' wife!"
So I pressed the buzzer and let him in.
I had on a red vinyl mini dress, my best falsies, dark hose, and a long brunette
wig. He took one look, cupped by "breasts" in his hands, placed his hand on the
inside of my thigh, and roughly kissed me on the lips, his moustache scratching
me as his lips slid over my painted and glossed lips.
Y'all my bitch now, he says, then he throws me down on the couch (he's so much
bigger than me) and virtually rapes me. I asked him to please stop but he
didn't. He told me that if I didn't do whatever he asked, he was going to tell
my wife that I had tried to seduce him, and he was going to make sure my
neighbors found out too. I was trapped and I knew it. But even as my male side
revolted against being overpowered by a man, I found myself wanting him closer,
and closer.
I stopped fighting him and pulled him closer to me. He was so large and firm and
muscular. I loved the feeling of the muscles in his back as my dainty fingers
pulled him closer to me.
Tha' be good bitch, he says. Yo'mine now. Y'all gon' do whatever I say. Suck me.
And I did. Real well. And I liked it.
I got work, he says. Have yo' white bitch ass ready fo' me ten clock tomorrow.
From that day on, he came at ten o'clock on his rounds. I'd be ready for him,
dressed exactly as he had told me the day before, made up the way he liked. In
short order we progressed from blowjobs me getting fucked in the ass daily.
After just a few weeks, it no longer hurt. In fact, I liked it. In fact, I loved
it so much I couldn't wait to be exactly what he wanted so I could turn him on
so I could get him off. I adored my ability to do so. I even started plucking my
eyebrows for him so they would look more like he desired.
My wife never knew. In fact, she knew only that I seemed to be hornier than ever
and that she and I were making love more than ever before.
Then one day, he came in angry. I had done everything I could to be ready for
him....hair, makeup, the high-waisted latex min and silk blouse he'd told me to
wear, the thigh-high, spiked heel boots he liked. But it didn't matter. When I
opened the door for him, I saw him come in for the first time not wearing his
UPS uniform. He stepped in and slapped me full in the face, knocking me to the
floor.
He started yelling that it was all my fault. I had no idea what he was talking
about but I knew I was afraid for my life. Get up you fuckin' slut, he yelled.
Fuckin' white bitch make me lose my job!
I guess the extra half hour a day or a neighbors complaint had quickly gotten
back to his management.
Baby, I told him, I'm so sorry. What can I do, I asked him?
You and yo' fuckin' white as are gonna BE my job, he says. And he steps over to
the sliding door, opens the vertical blinds, slides open the door and says,
Rodney, get yo' ass in here.
I begged and pleaded with him that I didn't want anyone else to come in but he
back-handed me, knocking me onto the couch. Take yo' fuckin' clothes off, he
says. I kept pleading with him but when he raised his hand, I knew it was no
use. I tediously wiggled out of my mini and submissively removed my blouse.
The bra too bitch, he tells me as Rodney entered. I took it off and started
crying, looking at the floor as I didn't bear to look at Rodney in the face.
He tell Rodney something like, you gon' fuck this bitch, at which point I
collapsed on the floor, groveling at his feet, kissing them and beggin him not
to make me do it. He kicked me in the side of the head and told me to shut up
and get up.
I did.
Look up, whore, he says and I raised my eyes to meet Rodney's. Her tit's too
small, Rodney says. Who'd wan' some flat-chested bitch wit' no ass 'n skinny
legs?
Bro' you gon' have her first then 'morrow we be bringin' the clients if we find
any want' small tit bitch.
That's when I knew what Leroy had decided to do for a living. He was going to
pimp and sell my ass.
I pleaded and begged. I'm not a whore, I told him. You can't make me do this.
Cunt, he says, I make you do anythin' I wan. I knows how make you do ANYTHING.
Rodney, put that bitch on'a couch an' hold her. I started screaming no, no, but
Leroy slapped me again and I shut up.
From inside his coat pocket, Leroy removed an injection vial, then a small
plastic bag and a needle. I started to scream but Rodney grabbed my throat and
told me if I said anything else, he'd rip out my trachea.
Leroy meandered into the kitchen, came back with a spoon or liquid, put the
powder in it, held it over a lighter, then withdrew it into the needle.
Inserting the partially filled hypo into the vial, he withdrew another 5 cc of
liquid from it. Looking at the fear on my face, he laughed, found a vein on my
arm and injected me.
Within two weeks, I was frantic if Leroy didn't show up daily by 10:00. I loved
being humiliated and used by his "friends." So long as I received my daily
medication, I really didn't care about anything.
I didn't care that my home business went bankrupt. It didn't matter. Besides,
Leroy brought me a special clientele and they were willing to pay for my
specialization. Leroy was nice enough to let me keep $50 dollars a day. He
explained to me that he got $350 for each of the three or four clients I
serviced daily. But I realized that if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have
anything. My wife's salary alone couldn't pay for the condo.
You know, I did that five days a week for over a year before my wife found out?
I'm sorry but I can't hear you through that gag. Oh, you want to know how she
found out?
Well, dear, that medication--you remember that part don't you? Just nod. Very
good. The medication was a little heroin high ball with a kicker of estrogen and
progesterone.
Obviously, I thought, she knew something was going on what with the changes in
my daily lifestyle and the failure of the business. But I told her I was picking
up what little extra money I could free-lancing. But when our sex life started
ending, her curiosity was really piqued.
It was pretty obvious to her, I'm sure, but I guess I was so caught up in the
medication and my own little daytime fantasy world that I didn't realize how
obvious it must have been to anyone else.
I simply had no desire to take or initiate sex. All I wanted was to please
whomever Leroy brought me, please Leroy, and get the medication. I hadn't even
noticed, or maybe I didn't care, that my penis had shrunk to about half the size
of my thumb or that skin was so much smoother, that my breasts had swollen to a
full almost a C-cup, that the extra weight I'd put on all seemed to accumulate
in my thighs and butt and that my muscle definition was gone.
Oh, my! You've got an erection again. Good! That means you are predisposed.
Wuffff, did you say wuffff? Oh, wife! Yes we are still together. You see she
still loves me. Besides, we've gotten used to this luxury--the boat, the plane,
this house and all of that. Of course it's nothing compared to what Leroy has.
Let me explain it to you. Actually, we operate kind of like an amway-type
company.
Here's how it happened.
When Leroy realized what a special market there was for people like me, he had
me create a little web page. I started advertising for guys--just like you--who
fantasize about being with a dominant, fetishy, she-male. You'd be surprised how
many guys want us. But I did a little research and what I uncovered was that,
even though the think of themselves as straight, their desire for girls like us
is nothing but a vicarious thrill. They WANT to be us but won't admit it, even
to themselves.
But, believe me baby, there's a LOT of them out there.
So here's what we did.
I started booking clients on the internet offering a $100, one-week stay, with a
she-male (me) with whom they could fulfill every fantasy they'd ever imagined.
If, after the first night, I didn't think they were the right raw material, I'd
kick them out. If I thought they had potential, on the second day I'd persuade
them to play bondage games with me so I could play dominatrix.
Every single one of them agreed.
Once they were physically immobilized, I start them on the same therapy that I
took. By the time we finish the seventh day, they have been fully conditioned
and fully hooked...there is no turning back even if they wanted to which they
don't.
We give them the medication for free. It's got an addictive agent which we had
perfected by a hired lab, which is unobtainable anywhere else or from any other
drug.
Oh, I know what you're thinking. How do we make any money? Well, it's like this:
when our recruits leave here, all they want is there shot and to be as feminine
as possible. We provide both only if they agree to turn four tricks per month,
just like I'm doing with you.
Last year, I turned 52 tricks. The second week of last year I had one girl
"girl" working for me. The second week I had two. The third week I had four and
so on and so on.
Each one gets 1/2 of the money they receive for those they personally recruit
and sends our organization the other half. In turn, they receive 1/2 of the
money taken in by their recruits of which 1/2 of that is sent to the
organization.
No one has ever dropped out although a few have committed suicide. But, hey,
that's capitalism.
You're shaking your head no...or at least trying to. Does that mean you don't
believe it.
Honey, we've got almost a million "partners" out there right now. Don't believe
it? Well where did you think all those "girls" on the internet suddenly came
from? Or all of those recent movies? Or the Holiday Inn advertisement?
Or are you shaking your head no because you don't want to go any further? That's
it isn't it. You're scared aren't you.
Aw, poor baby. That's ok. You won't be. In fact, someday you'll thank me.
Now stop your squirming and just sit there.
I've got to get your medication.
Two and a half years ago. It seems like such a short time. Yet, for all of this
to have happened, it had to have been at least that long...I think. Sometimes,
it just seems like my head is in such a fog and I just can't remember. But I
told you that. Didn't I?
I'm sorry, hon. You keep staring. Do the boots bother you? Leroy said you wanted
me in them.
I'll move them off your lap then. No? You like them there? Then stop your
whimpering or I'll remove them. Yes you may caress them...if you can bend that
far. But first, you just sit there while I go get my medication. But how silly
of me. You wouldn't be moving anyway all trussed up like that in the stretch
wrap.
Returning: Oh, my! I feel s-o-o-o much better! Let's see now; I believe when you
could still talk you asked me how I ever got to be what I am today.
Well, to some degree I was always this way. I just didn't show it. In fact, I
was married for 20 years to a woman, raised two children through college, and
had a very successful career. I really kept this side of me hidden. Except
occasionally when I was on the road.
Then, in short order, I was divorced, left my job, started a business from home
and did something I swore I would never do again; fell in love with a woman and
remarried. I told her up front what I was but she didn't care. In fact, she
loved my displays of femininity. She also loved to fuck. And since my sexuality
was so tied to my femininity, I was dressed almost all of the time we were home.
And we made love five or six times per week.
But enough of this; Let me get to the grit. Here, let me adjust that vibrator
for you my pet. Poor baby; you can't move your hands can you?
In time, our "fantasizing" during sex started taking over more and more. She
knew what turned me on and she liked me turned on. We started going to gay bars
with me dressed like a slut. She taught me how to flirt, to attract guys like
flames to a candle. She always had me dress in the most outrageous outfits. In
fairly short order, she started selecting guys for me. It usually took only a
few glances, a little bend to show off my cleavage, a flirtatious pose, and I
would have him buying drinks for us both as he clumsily attempted to find an
excuse to touch me.
And I loved it. I loved the attention. I loved the thrill of the hunt.
Like I said, dear, I was almost always dressed at home where I worked
(o-o-o-o-o, it's really starting to hit now...I feel s-o-o-o-o loose). Which I
was when Leroy first saw me. I didn't really think he would. It was so bright
outside and I had no lights on inside. What I failed to understand (I'm just a
slut and not very bright--I only good for one thing) is that from inside the
shaded cab of his UPS van, he could see right into my condo.
I didn't think anything about moving past the sliding door to adjust the volume
on the stereo until I looked out and realized he was staring at me. I nearly
fell off my heels scurrying past the door. He know me, knew my wife worked
during the day, knew I worked from home, and knew--having delivered many
packages to me--who I was.
Peeking around the edge of the door frame, I glanced back out only to come face
to face with his eyes. He was standing on our patio. I nearly ripped the blinds
off the wall as I pulled their closure string but it was too late. As they went
shut, he was blowing me a kiss.
I was terrified. No one who knew me as Steve knew me as stefi. Just then, the
security buzzer sounded. Someone was buzzing my condo. I hit the intercom and
with my deepest voice said "Yes?"
"UPS delivery...Baby," is what he said. I didn't know what to do. I froze.
"Com' on, Momma," he says, "I got something for you. It's all right. I already
seed yo' bitch ass an I don' care. Let me in now, baby, so's I can give ya yo
'livery. If you don' be I gonna tell yo' wife!"
So I pressed the buzzer and let him in.
I had on a red vinyl mini dress, my best falsies, dark hose, and a long brunette
wig. He took one look, cupped by "breasts" in his hands, placed his hand on the
inside of my thigh, and roughly kissed me on the lips, his moustache scratching
me as his lips slid over my painted and glossed lips.
Y'all my bitch now, he says, then he throws me down on the couch (he's so much
bigger than me) and virtually rapes me. I asked him to please stop but he
didn't. He told me that if I didn't do whatever he asked, he was going to tell
my wife that I had tried to seduce him, and he was going to make sure my
neighbors found out too. I was trapped and I knew it. But even as my male side
revolted against being overpowered by a man, I found myself wanting him closer,
and closer.
I stopped fighting him and pulled him closer to me. He was so large and firm and
muscular. I loved the feeling of the muscles in his back as my dainty fingers
pulled him closer to me.
Tha' be good bitch, he says. Yo'mine now. Y'all gon' do whatever I say. Suck me.
And I did. Real well. And I liked it.
I got work, he says. Have yo' white bitch ass ready fo' me ten clock tomorrow.
From that day on, he came at ten o'clock on his rounds. I'd be ready for him,
dressed exactly as he had told me the day before, made up the way he liked. In
short order we progressed from blowjobs me getting fucked in the ass daily.
After just a few weeks, it no longer hurt. In fact, I liked it. In fact, I loved
it so much I couldn't wait to be exactly what he wanted so I could turn him on
so I could get him off. I adored my ability to do so. I even started plucking my
eyebrows for him so they would look more like he desired.
My wife never knew. In fact, she knew only that I seemed to be hornier than ever
and that she and I were making love more than ever before.
Then one day, he came in angry. I had done everything I could to be ready for
him....hair, makeup, the high-waisted latex min and silk blouse he'd told me to
wear, the thigh-high, spiked heel boots he liked. But it didn't matter. When I
opened the door for him, I saw him come in for the first time not wearing his
UPS uniform. He stepped in and slapped me full in the face, knocking me to the
floor.
He started yelling that it was all my fault. I had no idea what he was talking
about but I knew I was afraid for my life. Get up you fuckin' slut, he yelled.
Fuckin' white bitch make me lose my job!
I guess the extra half hour a day or a neighbors complaint had quickly gotten
back to his management.
Baby, I told him, I'm so sorry. What can I do, I asked him?
You and yo' fuckin' white as are gonna BE my job, he says. And he steps over to
the sliding door, opens the vertical blinds, slides open the door and says,
Rodney, get yo' ass in here.
I begged and pleaded with him that I didn't want anyone else to come in but he
back-handed me, knocking me onto the couch. Take yo' fuckin' clothes off, he
says. I kept pleading with him but when he raised his hand, I knew it was no
use. I tediously wiggled out of my mini and submissively removed my blouse.
The bra too bitch, he tells me as Rodney entered. I took it off and started
crying, looking at the floor as I didn't bear to look at Rodney in the face.
He tell Rodney something like, you gon' fuck this bitch, at which point I
collapsed on the floor, groveling at his feet, kissing them and beggin him not
to make me do it. He kicked me in the side of the head and told me to shut up
and get up.
I did.
Look up, whore, he says and I raised my eyes to meet Rodney's. Her tit's too
small, Rodney says. Who'd wan' some flat-chested bitch wit' no ass 'n skinny
legs?
Bro' you gon' have her first then 'morrow we be bringin' the clients if we find
any want' small tit bitch.
That's when I knew what Leroy had decided to do for a living. He was going to
pimp and sell my ass.
I pleaded and begged. I'm not a whore, I told him. You can't make me do this.
Cunt, he says, I make you do anythin' I wan. I knows how make you do ANYTHING.
Rodney, put that bitch on'a couch an' hold her. I started screaming no, no, but
Leroy slapped me again and I shut up.
From inside his coat pocket, Leroy removed an injection vial, then a small
plastic bag and a needle. I started to scream but Rodney grabbed my throat and
told me if I said anything else, he'd rip out my trachea.
Leroy meandered into the kitchen, came back with a spoon or liquid, put the
powder in it, held it over a lighter, then withdrew it into the needle.
Inserting the partially filled hypo into the vial, he withdrew another 5 cc of
liquid from it. Looking at the fear on my face, he laughed, found a vein on my
arm and injected me.
Within two weeks, I was frantic if Leroy didn't show up daily by 10:00. I loved
being humiliated and used by his "friends." So long as I received my daily
medication, I really didn't care about anything.
I didn't care that my home business went bankrupt. It didn't matter. Besides,
Leroy brought me a special clientele and they were willing to pay for my
specialization. Leroy was nice enough to let me keep $50 dollars a day. He
explained to me that he got $350 for each of the three or four clients I
serviced daily. But I realized that if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have
anything. My wife's salary alone couldn't pay for the condo.
You know, I did that five days a week for over a year before my wife found out?
I'm sorry but I can't hear you through that gag. Oh, you want to know how she
found out?
Well, dear, that medication--you remember that part don't you? Just nod. Very
good. The medication was a little heroin high ball with a kicker of estrogen and
progesterone.
Obviously, I thought, she knew something was going on what with the changes in
my daily lifestyle and the failure of the business. But I told her I was picking
up what little extra money I could free-lancing. But when our sex life started
ending, her curiosity was really piqued.
It was pretty obvious to her, I'm sure, but I guess I was so caught up in the
medication and my own little daytime fantasy world that I didn't realize how
obvious it must have been to anyone else.
I simply had no desire to take or initiate sex. All I wanted was to please
whomever Leroy brought me, please Leroy, and get the medication. I hadn't even
noticed, or maybe I didn't care, that my penis had shrunk to about half the size
of my thumb or that skin was so much smoother, that my breasts had swollen to a
full almost a C-cup, that the extra weight I'd put on all seemed to accumulate
in my thighs and butt and that my muscle definition was gone.
Oh, my! You've got an erection again. Good! That means you are predisposed.
Wuffff, did you say wuffff? Oh, wife! Yes we are still together. You see she
still loves me. Besides, we've gotten used to this luxury--the boat, the plane,
this house and all of that. Of course it's nothing compared to what Leroy has.
Let me explain it to you. Actually, we operate kind of like an amway-type
company.
Here's how it happened.
When Leroy realized what a special market there was for people like me, he had
me create a little web page. I started advertising for guys--just like you--who
fantasize about being with a dominant, fetishy, she-male. You'd be surprised how
many guys want us. But I did a little research and what I uncovered was that,
even though the think of themselves as straight, their desire for girls like us
is nothing but a vicarious thrill. They WANT to be us but won't admit it, even
to themselves.
But, believe me baby, there's a LOT of them out there.
So here's what we did.
I started booking clients on the internet offering a $100, one-week stay, with a
she-male (me) with whom they could fulfill every fantasy they'd ever imagined.
If, after the first night, I didn't think they were the right raw material, I'd
kick them out. If I thought they had potential, on the second day I'd persuade
them to play bondage games with me so I could play dominatrix.
Every single one of them agreed.
Once they were physically immobilized, I start them on the same therapy that I
took. By the time we finish the seventh day, they have been fully conditioned
and fully hooked...there is no turning back even if they wanted to which they
don't.
We give them the medication for free. It's got an addictive agent which we had
perfected by a hired lab, which is unobtainable anywhere else or from any other
drug.
Oh, I know what you're thinking. How do we make any money? Well, it's like this:
when our recruits leave here, all they want is there shot and to be as feminine
as possible. We provide both only if they agree to turn four tricks per month,
just like I'm doing with you.
Last year, I turned 52 tricks. The second week of last year I had one girl
"girl" working for me. The second week I had two. The third week I had four and
so on and so on.
Each one gets 1/2 of the money they receive for those they personally recruit
and sends our organization the other half. In turn, they receive 1/2 of the
money taken in by their recruits of which 1/2 of that is sent to the
organization.
No one has ever dropped out although a few have committed suicide. But, hey,
that's capitalism.
You're shaking your head no...or at least trying to. Does that mean you don't
believe it.
Honey, we've got almost a million "partners" out there right now. Don't believe
it? Well where did you think all those "girls" on the internet suddenly came
from? Or all of those recent movies? Or the Holiday Inn advertisement?
Or are you shaking your head no because you don't want to go any further? That's
it isn't it. You're scared aren't you.
Aw, poor baby. That's ok. You won't be. In fact, someday you'll thank me.
Now stop your squirming and just sit there.
I've got to get your medication.
