Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2006 18:33:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: lauren westley <fundipity@yahoo.com>
Subject: Suddenly by Lauren Westley Part 1

	(Authoress Comment: All disclaimers to all my writings hold true
here. If you think it was you or any character reminds you of someone then
I hope it?s with fond memories but it isn?t about your or them but maybe
it?s about me. ) This particular story is dedicated to some very special
readers who have urged me on and wished me kindness. To all of you, Thank
You. Also, this story is going to take much more time to unfold. So you
action readers should skip this first part of the story. Hopefully a few of
you will enjoy it. And, I'll be happy if just one person finds it worthy.
Of course like most of my stories is another continuation. Should you
wonder why, it's because life lasts longer then you think?
fundipity@yahoo.com

Blog: 7/13/2006

	Can you imagine coming home from work one evening and finding
someone sitting in your living room waiting for you? Well, that's what
happened to me yesterday.
	I own my home which is located on a quiet street. My backyard has a
deck, a small swimming pool and a little herb and flower garden. I live
high up overlooking a canyon and although the house is not a mansion it had
a couple of great features. First, the view is awesome and second, the
house is situated quite privately. The house is lower then the street (this
happens depending which side of a mountain road you house is on) so the
wall at the street side of my property completely secludes my small
house. Also, I can't see the houses next to me and likewise they can't see
my house since I'm on a little jut (plateau) on the mountain. Anyone above
me can see my roof but neither my pool nor deck area.
	 The climate is desert warm all year round with plenty of warm,
wonderful sun. You may think you've guessed where I live but I am not
giving you anymore geographical information. Although, I'm writing this
blog since it's a part of the deal I made yesterday.
	Well, back to yesterday when I came home and found an uninvited
guest in my living room. He's a big man compared to me and I'm not
small. Actually I'm 5'7" and weigh 155 lbs. so he must have been 6'2" and
over 230 lbs.
	As soon as I turned the lights on in the living room he was sitting
there. Obviously I was shocked and of course a bit nervous since I don't
have a gun. Also I was unprepared for an intruder and therefore only became
aware of him when I turned on the lights. The mail I was carrying was not
much of a weapon.
	"Don't be afraid Michael," he said.
	Standing there like a deer in the headlights I was about to tell
him I was going to call the police. But he continued talking before I got a
word out.
	"Michael, you don?t want to call the police or anyone else
especially after you embezzled those funds last month from your company. I
know how you sent them to an intermediary and then electronically forwarded
them on to your account at the Valley Bank," he continued. His voice was
strong he didn't raise it. He just talked matter-of-fact.
	Well, that stopped me right there. Now I didn't know who he was but
he sure knew about my 'perfect' caper a month ago. I had managed to have
accomplished something that I saw in an old movie but this I had updated to
the current world of electronics. It was fool proof. Or so I believed until
now.
	I don't work for a bank and I won't say whom I work for. However my
company does have numerous on-line customers. My job was updating virus
protection for our customers who paid their bill electronically. I managed
to slip a little applet into my updated software which went to our nearly
two million customers which would siphon off some change from each one I
selected.
	This applet only sent to customers who had decided both to auto-pay
and also had declined receiving paper statements. But we have enough
customers electing these two processes so by the end of the first month
(about a week ago) I had a wonderful supplemental income. Since I haven't
turned the program off I will not elaborate.
	"So, as I'm sure you are aware you've committed several Federal and
local crimes which added up would probably mean a sentence you may complete
by the time most people are thinking retirement," this man said with softly
with a sardonic smile.
	I'm 38 years old, divorced and never had children. I had done the
math before and knew he was talking at least17 years before I would be
eligible for parole if I was convicted. I wondered if he was with the FBI
or the DA's office. But, I also thought he hadn't shown me any
identification so I asserted myself with a, "Just who the hell are you?"
	"Michael," he said softly as he put a manila folder down on the
table, "This is a copy of the proof of your crime and definitely
incriminates you. Sit down and listen to my proposal or you can call the
police. I don't care which but I think you will care more about listening
to me then facing incarceration. Your choice Michael, what will it be?"
	I sat down, with a heavy sigh, feeling quite upset over the
circumstances and listened to his proposal.
	He said, "I'll live here until I want to move. You will do anything
and everything I ask of you. And I mean anything and everything or else
this file will be sent to the FBI. All I'll say is this file will be sent
if you try to harm me. And if you even try to hold me captive it would be
less than 24 hours before the FBI came to arrest you for both the
embezzlement and kidnapping. Oh, and if you think you can kill me, don't;
since that would add murder to your crimes and you would spend life in a
state penitentiary which in this state is considered awful. And if your
life sentence ever came to an end due to probation or any other
circumstance you would have to fulfill the Federal sentence which I am
quite sure would run consecutively. So, shall I continue?"
	Well, that was pretty much that. Whatever he was offering was much
better than the alternatives.
	"Yes," I said with a resigned breath.
	"Good," he continued, "You will come home from work everyday. You
will not talk about this with anyone except for a blog you will write on
your word processor when I tell you to. I'll read your blog and I will
censor what I want. I will upload the finished blog to a site I've
chosen. You're details will be thorough and explicit and you will only
refer to me as 'he' or 'Mr. Smith.' However I expect great details in all
other matters including any physical and emotional observations you may
have. Any questions," he asked in that soft matter-of-fact tone?
	Well of course I had questions but each one I asked he said the
answer was not my business. The only answer I should need is to absolutely
obey him without question when he told me to do something. However he
mentioned I could write anything and everything I wanted in this blog. I
could curse him, hate him, wish for something else but only in the blog and
it would be edited. Finally my last question was, "What do you plan to have
me do?"
	"Michael, that's a good question and you will find out a little
immediately. Meanwhile, your first blog will be due tomorrow night at
10pm. But remember, do not decline what I ask. I want to make it clear your
duty is simply to obey me," he answered. Not once did he raise his voice
but he did speak to me in a dominating fashion.
	"Why don't you go into the kitchen and fix us dinner," he directed.
	My first act of obedience was to walk into the kitchen to make
dinner. Taped to the refrigerator was a menu of what he expected for dinner
and for me to be sure to set the table and call him in when it was ready. I
was to cook it and serve it.
	I kept thinking if there was a way out of this. Maybe I could offer
him some money at dinner. Yes, I thought, that's what I'll do. So, I cooked
the food I found he had brought. I set the table and when everything was
done (you don't want me to tell you what we ate, do you? Ok, it was salmon,
asparagus and a salad.) I called out to the living room that dinner was
ready.
	He answered back from the living room and said, "Never shout
Michael, always walk into the room and demurely say, "Mr. Smith dinner is
ready. Now try it again."
	I was so annoyed but thought I would just do it and then at dinner
try to get out of this. So, I walked back into the kitchen and then back in
the room and said, "Mr. Smith your dinner is ready."
	He thanked me and proceeded to my small dining room and sat at the
head of the table. I went into the kitchen to get the plates and bring them
out. But, when I entered the dining room he said for me to go back to the
kitchen and put the apron on that he had left for me on the countertop and
to never carry two meals at a time. Not even to carry two plates but rather
to bring one plate at a time and to bring his dinner in first.
	I went back in the kitchen. The apron was on the counter I hadn't
seen it before. It wasn't a chef's apron. No it was a pink and white
woman's apron that I had to tie in the back with a bow. But, I didn't think
much about it. I just thought it was there to keep a spill from getting on
me thus without ado I put it on.
	I brought his dinner out (in two round trips) and set it down in
front of him.
	He softly reminded me I should serve on the right and remove from
the left.
	Then I went back to the kitchen and brought my meal out and sat
down. Again he admonished me by saying I should know to take the apron off
and fold it neatly on the chair next to me. He also said from now on at
meals I should say 'good evening' or something appropriate to him before I
sat down.
	With that he said, "Michael this dinner looks lovely. Thank you for
cooking such a nice meal."
	Again I had made a mistake he corrected. Apparently I was to wait
for him to take the first bite before I started eating. This whole thing
was getting to be too much so I started to say something about giving him
money but he stopped me and said we could talk later in the living room
after I had cleaned up and brought him coffee. He said he liked his coffee
black and the coffee he liked was on the counter.
	Biting my tongue and barely eating anything I sat through dinner as
he ate slowly and I just wanted this meal to end. After dinner I put my
apron on and then cleared his plates first and when I came back to get mine
he had already left and gone into the living room.
	There I was back in the kitchen making him coffee. I don't even
drink coffee. Another thing I realized was the coffee was organic. So he's
a health nut I thought. I don't care what kind of nut he was as long as he
was a gone nut.
	When the dishes were washed by hand, I dried them, put them away
and carried his coffee out to the living room. No I don't have a
dishwasher. Why should I since I lived alone and seldom cooked. When I had
a date I went out or I would go to her house and she would cook and clean
up for me. I'd often order out at home or go out to eat by myself. I had
just broken up with my latest girlfriend a week ago. When you get to 38 you
sort of become an adamant bachelor.
	Why keep a relationship going when you reached the point where the
woman started to complain about you? Heck, they would start with, "why
don't you cut your hair?" Or, "I don't feel like doing that let's go to the
ballet instead?" These were signals to bring the whole thing to an
end. And, so I did last week when I told Susan I was moving on.
	So, I brought his coffee out to the living room and realized I
still had my apron on. He was sitting in my favorite chair. I just couldn't
wait for this to be over. As I set the coffee cup and saucer down on the
coffee table I saw a pair of black high heel shoes and a pair of woman's
ankle socks next to them.
	Before I could say a word he pointed to the seat near him on the
sofa and said for me to, "sit down." I began to take off the apron but he
told me to leave it on and sit down since he wanted to talk to me. I said I
had something to say also to which he replied it would be fine after he
talked.
	So, I went over and sat down with the apron fluttering down on my
knees. And that's when it all started.
	"Michael," he said, "You cannot buy me off. You cannot talk me out
of my plan. And you won't change my mind. So, if you try to do that at any
time from this moment on the manila envelope goes to the FBI. The only
thing you can do is to obey me and do what I ask you to. And I expect you
to do what I ask without complaint. Do you think you finally understand?"
	It began to dawn on me I wasn't going to get out of this unless he
decided he was through. So, the best course of action for me was to just
say yes.
	"Good. Now Michael you are probably wondering what these high heels
are doing here. And I don't intend to keep the reason they are here from
you. I want you to remove your shoes and socks and put the ankle highs on
and then the shoes. They are a 9 which is your woman size foot. I'll expect
you to remember that," he said as his blue eyes riveted through me. "Also
from now on you will wear them whenever you are at home unless I give you
permission to do otherwise. Do you have something useful to say now
Michael," he finished with his blue eyes focused right through my temporal
lobe.
	I tried to think of someway out of this but couldn't so there was
nothing for me to say and the only thing to do was to follow his
directions. I took off my loafers and then my black socks exchanging them
for the nylon ankle highs and the high heels.
	"You'll get use to them Michael. I want you to wear them whenever
you are home. That means I expect you to become proficient by tomorrow
nights' dinner or you will trip serving my meal," he said. So, I think you
should get up and walk around to strengthen your calves now."
	Well I tried to stand up but instead I just fell back on the
sofa. It was more difficult than learning to ice skate. But he warned me it
would be better for me to practice from now until dinner tomorrow or he
would be displeased.
	Displeased! How did I feel? A grown man in trousers and shirt with
black woman's high heel shoes and ankle socks on. I was so displeased I was
wishing I was bigger or thinking about how I shouldn't have done the crime
over the next 20 hours.
	Also he informed me that he had taken over the master bedroom and
my room from now on would be the guest room. Shit, when he said that I
wanted to punch him out but as you realize by now I didn't have the size to
beat him nor did I have the balls to go to jail for both my crime and
murder.
	He dismissed me by saying, "Michael you may go to your room now."
It actually sounded in my head as if he had said I'm finished talking now
so get the fuck out of my face. Except for two things, his voice was always
mellow and his words were never curse words. And based on what he had said
my role would be I realized my only release would be this blog. Gosh, I
have to throw up.

July 14, 2006: evening blog.

	So, I've gotten pretty good at walking in high heels and served him
dinner tonight without an accident. I may hate this but it is definitely
better than going to jail. I'll try doing what he wants and hope for the
best.
	After dinner I went to the kitchen to get his coffee. When I came
back into the living room, looking ridiculous in my ankle socks and high
heels with a white and pink apron tied around my waist, he was sitting
there smiling. I carried his coffee on a small tray. Another annoyance he
had requested I use when dinner was finished.
	He said, "It will be nicer if you bring my coffee on a tray."
	What could I tell him, "No?"
	 I went to put the tray on the coffee table and saw a pair of black
satin panties and a matching bra.
	The tray began to shake and the coffee nearly spilled when my
breath left me and my hands started shaking. Here I was standing in a pair
of black high heels and now this. I barely got the tray down on the table
when out of my mouth came the anguished words, "What do you want from me?
Why are you here? What is this? I'm a man. Can't you see that?"
	He just looked up at me and said, "Settle down Michael and I'll
tell you what I want and why I am here. Just sit down."
	Shaking, I managed to sit down. My hands nearly covering my eyes, I
tried not to look, but did; there were the panty and bra lying on the
table. I could feel myself gasping for air. My eyes saw the truth and my
mind obviated it.
	"Michael, look at me," he said.
	I looked up at his blue eyes my green ones pleading.
	"I am going to turn you into a woman," he continued
	My eyes began to well with the start of a tear.
	"Now don't you cry? The only thing you can do to make this easier
is obey me. I really don't want to go through this again as we proceed. You
have your blog which you can use to release these thoughts, but outside the
blog I only want you to listen and obey. You know what disobedience will
bring legally But now any disobedience, and that is for me to judge, will
bring punishment. Now pick up the bra and panties and go to your new
bathroom. I want you to take a hot bath. No more showers for you. Shave all
the hair off your body from your neck down but make sure you leave a little
vertical patch of hair above your pussy. You've seen how woman shave their
pussys. Now also make sure your face is closely shaved as well. Fortunately
you are nearly hairless anyhow. When you are clean and dried put on the
bra, panties, socks and heels and then use the perfume you'll find on the
counter. Then come back out here and we'll start your training as a
woman. Now go," he softly spoke as his eyes coldly demanded.
	A tear now fell from my eye. I felt my past slipping by and a new
present unraveling. It was not a present I had ever thought possible. The
money was so I could take a beautiful babe down to Antigua
and?..and?..and?.now?..I was being turned into ??what?how? I don't even
look like a woman.
	The tear landed on my apron as I rose. I picked up the bra and
panty. My tear settled right on pink border of my apron and left a wet
reminder of my fragility. My knees began to shake and I felt my legs nearly
collapse. What choices did I have? It was either doing this or a long time
in jail. Maybe I'd be sexually forced in jail as well. I knew it could
happen. My size, although still manly out here, might be considered womanly
in prison. Especially since I didn't have much body hair and in prison that
would probably distinguish me. I wouldn't have any control there. Better
here than there I thought. At least I could figure a way out at some point
in the future and I was free.
	I'm sure one of you reading this blog is saying, "no way. I
wouldn't do it." Some of you may think I gave in too easily or maybe one of
you knows a way out. But none of you are me and I didn't think I was giving
in easily. I didn't know a way out. And, I am consigned to doing it. Please
if you are reading this blog try and be kind in your thoughts. I'm sure
more female readers will understand and I beg you males to please not judge
me to harshly.
	My new bathroom (the guest bathroom is now mine) was smaller. Also
it was more gender non-specific unlike the larger one I no longer could
use. And now it d?cor and accoutrement slanted towards a woman's bath.
	I went to put my panty and bra down on the vanity and saw the
following. There were several hair brushes and a can of hair spray to the
left corner of the sink. Behind that was two bottles of perfume. To the
right of the sink (which had more room with a set of drawers on the far
right) there was now a stool. Also a box similar to a tackle box was opened
and in the little slots and spaces there were nail polish, emery boards,
q-tips, a variety of make-up items, something I knew from when I was
married was called a eyelash curler, tweezers, nail clippers and a whole
bunch of other stuff.
	In the far right corner a box of Super Tampons sat end up unopened.
	Next to the sink on the right was a Gillette battery powered razor
called the Venus Vibrance. It was fuchsia and white. Next to that was a jar
of Bathina Sweet Satin Shave.
	There was a note under a bottle of 'Melon Pear Bubble Bath.' It
said, "Something to make you smell sweet."
	Also there was some shampoo called 'Fudge' which said it was
'bubble gum scented.' I screwed off the top and it was purple and smelled
like 'bubble gum' yuck!
	By the toilet was a magazine rack with several 'how to'
magazines. One was called 'New Beauty'. Also there was the current issue of
'Playgirl'. On the right side of the cover there were a bunch of little
items (about what was inside). There was 'Thread Lift', 'Cosmeceuticals',
'Injectable Fillers', 'Botox', 'Lip Plumper's', 'Breast Enhancement',
'Eyelift Surgery', 'Smile Makeovers', and on and on.
	I started my bath and sprinkled the bubble bath and watched the
bubbles form. I wanted to yell out "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck." Instead I just
watched the bubbles with my arms wrapped around me, hugging myself.
	When the bubbles were nearly going over the top of the tub I turned
the water off and got in. It actually felt nice. After nearly two hours I
was completely and closely shaved with all my body hair gone and my skin
was a bit red but he oils in the bubble bath helped soothe me. My hair
smelled of bubble gum and my body smelled like a fruit. I dried off and
then had trouble putting the bra on. It's quite difficult. I was sure what
to do at first but finally figured I had to put it on backwards and turn it
around my body; finally putting my arms through the straps.
	When I looked at the panties I realized they were quite different
than my girl friends had worn. They were shaped like a little satin skirt
and there was a thong which went up my ass crack. There was no way to just
be comfortable in them.
	I walked out of the bathroom in panties, bra, ankle socks and high
heels. When I got to the living room HE was sitting there waiting. He had
me turn around and then told me to lift my arms. Then I had to pull down my
panties. All the while he took some digital photos of me.
	Finally he said, "Not too bad but I want you to pay a little more
attention tomorrow. Now why don't you go write you blog tonight and I'll
see you in the morning."


July 15, 2006 evening blog

	Today is Saturday. Usually it's my day off but not this Saturday. I
always wake up around 7 am even on the weekends. But when I got up this
morning I saw an outfit on the chair near my bed. A note was pinned to my
bra which read, "Put the breast forms on the table in the appropriate slot
in your bra. The note also said for me to wear the outfit on the
chair. Then the note said I was to "check out your closet and dresser and
then come out and make my breakfast." When its ready bring it on a tray to
my room knock and say, 'Mr. Smith your breakfast is ready.' When I tell you
to enter walk in and say, 'Good morning Mr. Smith where would you like me
to serve your breakfast.' When I dismiss you go back to the kitchen get
your breakfast and eat it in the laundry room.
	The note continued to tell me what to make him. I was to make him
two slices of bacon, one egg over easy, a slice of whole wheat toast with a
pat of butter and a cup of coffee. (Later I would learn he was a nut for
organic food and I would be doing the shopping.) The note also said my
breakfast would be a small scoop of cottage cheese and a cup of plain green
tea plus a vitamin and calcium pill which were on the counter.
	Fuck, I wanted to throw up. Cottage Cheese???
	The note also said I would only be allowed water without
permission. Otherwise I would be told what to eat and when. He reminded me
to take another bath. Actually the note said I was to take two baths a day
shaving at both of them. This girl stuff was all consuming. Two baths,
cooking, grocery shopping; I wondered when would I have a break?
	You won't believe the outfit he left me. It was a short satiny day
dress without sleeves and puffy fabric over the shoulders. The dress was
white with colorful blend of persimmon, canary yellow and bluebird blue
wisps. (Shit that was what I learned reading one of the magazines in the
bathroom. Prior to that I would thought it was red, yellow and blue.) Next
to the dress was fresh lingerie. There were white satin full seat panties
with matching bra and white stay up stockings. Also there was an open toed
4 inch heel matching persimmon pair of heels. Fortunately the heel was not
spiked so it was easier to walk in. Everything was very feminine.
	The note informed me to walk in smaller steps putting one foot in
front of me and then the other as a sexy woman would. Finally the note said
this weekend would be without a break. Everything was to make me be seen in
a particular way.
	Well, I finished my bath and sat in my lingerie putting my makeup
on. I tried very hard to get everything right. I had my computer next to
the table and I decided to see if there was any help on lips, eyes
etc. Well, lo and behold, Revlon, Cover Girl and many other cosmetic firms
had tips. I learned how to use a lip pencil to outline my lips and to blot
the lipstick within and not rub it. Also one of them I put information in
and it said the best colors for me etc. Over the next hour I looked up
information. One site showed how to get ready in 5 minutes or 20 minutes
depending on the time you had. Anyhow, not to bore you with the details
when I finished I looked pretty feminine. I had never noticed the features
I had or how to make some features even more feminine looking.
	I walked to the kitchen as instructed; my ass did sway. I could
feel each cheek move a little. I had never really paid attention to the
movement of a woman's feet moving but I had always noticed her ass sway. So
that is how woman make that 'sexy come fuck me' look. And now I was doing
it.
	About a half hour later I was knocking on his (my) bedroom door. He
told me to enter and then on cue I said, "Mr. Smith where would you like me
to serve your breakfast?"
	"On the desk, thank you," he said.
	I started walking out and heard him say, "Much better!"
	Sitting in the laundry room eating my cottage cheese and drinking
my green tea in my permission dress and matching shoes, I felt like a
pussy. I wasn't but certainly I looked like one. I wasn't sure what this
man wanted other then to make a feminine. He only said he had a plan.
	Well, I had a plan and it had gone awry and now I was slowly losing
my sense of self.
	I heard his voice, "Michael would you please come to the living
room."
	Rising from my stool I put the near empty dish of cottage cheese
down and went to the living room.
	I started to sit down but he (I guess Mr. Smith) said, "No
Michael. You will never take a liberty when a man is in the room."
	Again his voice remained strong but calm.
	"Now Michael, this is what is going to happen. So just
listen. Because Michael you have no other choices. We've discussed it. You
know it. And so, this is your fate. You will send your resignation to your
employer today saying you will not even be able to give two weeks
notice. You will not give a reason. Short, curt and to the point that is
what your resignation will say."
	Mr. Smith continued, "Also, you will sign this
power-of-attorney. Over the next weeks all your old things will be
sold. The money will be kept safely for you when your term of service ends
in five years."
	At least now I knew there was a limit. Five years. It was a long
time but short compared to the alternatives.
	"We need to change you name Michael. And I don't mean just for
conversation. It will be changed legally. Your last name is fine. But your
first name just won't do, Mr. Smith continued.
	"I have thought about this and looking at you it seems quite
obvious your name will be Sandra," he said.
	Sandra I thought, why? I thought he was going to say Michelle. I
was taken off guard. But then again I had been off guard for several past
days.
	"Now, Sandra, put this in your left ear," Mr. Smith said as he
handed me a small ear plug.
	It fit snuggly deep in my ear and I didn't even notice it was there
after I place it.
	"Good, now listen," Mr. Smith said as he pushed a button and a
light tone went off in my left ear.
	It was just a tone. Not harsh. Just one note, a single sound, a
ding rang in my ear. Like an elevator when it arrived at a floor.
	"Now Sandra, when you hear that tone you will come to me
immediately. I don't care what you are doing you will just find me and when
you arrive you will say "What do you want Mr. Smith." You do understand,
right," Mr. Smith asked.
	I answered, "Yes Mr. Smith."
	Five years. I can do this.
	"Also, this tone can be transmitted for miles. When you are out on
your own and you hear it ring in your ear, you will immediately use your
cell phone and call me with the same question and in the same tone,"
Mr. Smith stated without any emotion.
	"Now as you know failure deserves punishment. I am the judge and
jury. So if you don't answer immediately, if you don't come and find me
immediately when I call you, if you don't do what I ask immediately without
question from now on, you will be spanked. You will be spanked because that
is how women like you are reprimanded. I will tell you to either get over
my knee, kneel down or all fours or some other position and then I will
spank you. You may cry and you may whimper but you will never yell or
scream or else your punishment will be doubled each time you do. And I'm
sure you know how quickly doubling can add up."
	So, now I was going to be spanked also. I felt like a dog in the
circus. No, actually he was making me a bitch in his circus.
	"Also, after you clean up the breakfast dishes you will drive to
this address," Mr. Smith said handing me a piece of paper.
	Written on it was Janes 511 Hubbard Street.
	About an hour later I was driving my car dressed as a
woman. However, if I was stopped there would be no question I was just a
man in a dress and probably be taken to jail for something. My mind played
over the five years and then freedom. The chorus was 'otherwise the pen for
fifteen.'
	At a light a man in the car to my left smiled. I couldn't tell if
he knew or if he was playing me. Either way it wasn't comfortable. Ten
minutes later I turned onto Hubbard Street and began looking for 511. At
least I was on the right side of the street I thought as I pass 413. After
the next light I saw a small building snuggled between two local
businesses. Slowing down I could see the gold numbers 511 almost glowing
against the green door. Just above the numbers was the word Janes in
magenta italics. There was a parking space just a little up the block. I
parked, got out of my car and waved my little American Express fob over the
meter and started walking to Janes.
	My dress, lest you forget, was quite an eye magnet with the
persimmon, canary yellow and bluebird wisp colors shining in the California
sun. However, no matter how much everything else about me looked somewhat
feminine my hair was definitely not refined enough to go with the outfit
and I could tell the men outside the coffee shop I passed knew I was a
man. One slyly cupped his hand over his crotch. I walked faster to Janes
and rang the bell.
	The green door opened (authoresses note: come on guys, don't even
think it. I'm laughing too. For those a bit younger, Behind the Green Door,
Marilyn Chambers, Procter and Gamble girl) and a somewhat matronly woman
said, "Welcome Sandra" and ushered me in.
	Well, without going through the next 8 hours of each thing I was
taught, let me just say it's fucking hard to be a woman. Hair, makeup,
nails, skin, shaving, shit there's no end to the whole thing. But at the
end of eight hours I had a very feminine hairdo, knew how to wash, set and
brush it and also all the other countless things women do. Five years was
beginning to feel like an eternity.
	Almost on cue, Mr. Smith's little chime rang in my ear. Dutifully,
I called him and said, "What do you want Mr. Smith?"
	"Sandra," Mr. Smith answered, "on your way home stop by the grocery
store and pick up dinner. I will have a porterhouse steak and a nice
salad. Also, buy a good bottle of red wine. For yourself get a can of
tuna. Don't dawdle."
	I had almost said 'Yes Mr. Smith,' but he had already hung up the
phone. What a shit I thought, he just gives me an order, no please, just do
it and then hangs up. I felt a bit of outrage. I wanted to punch him out
but knew I couldn't. How could I get even I wondered?
	An hour and half later I was back in the kitchen fixing
dinner. Mr. Smith had wanted his steak medium rare. Well I cooked it
medium. It just made me feel better. Especially since he had made me eat my
tuna out of the can before fixing his dinner. Water and a can of tuna while
I stood at the counter in the kitchen, I can't tell you how pissed off I
was.
	Of course it didn't end there. After dinner when I served Mr. Smith
his coffee in the living room he motioned me to come stand by
him. Obediently I walked over but when he put his hand just under my dress
on my thigh I twitched.
	"Don't even think about pulling away," Mr. Smith said in his usual
calm voice. "You are not going to be made into a lady my dear. Oh, no, you
are going to be a cunt."
	His words seared through my head like a branding iron. You would
think I had already known what was coming but the actual hand on my thigh
was devastating. His calling me a cunt was stinging. He said it in the same
soft voice but it echoed throughout my brain.
	"But," he continued with his warm hand against my inner thigh, "you
cooked my steak medium and I asked for it medium rare. You've asked for a
spanking and I am going to oblige you."
	Mr. Smith got up from his chair saying, "you haven't earned the
right to be spanked on my knee," and as he spoke he grabbed my wrist,
twisting my arm until my arm was up my back and I automatically began to
bend forward. He didn't do this with fury but instead with just a strength
I couldn't overcome if I wanted to. With his other hand he lifted my dress
up exposing my pantied covered ass and began spanking me with his
hand. They weren't soft but they weren't enormous either, his hand just
came down on my ass cheeks, one and then the other, stinging until he was
finished. I didn't know how many times he had spanked me but I guessed ten
times. More interesting I didn't scream, I didn't even pull back, I
accepted my fate and somewhere near the end I could hear a whimpering sound
wave came out of my mouth and filled the air around me.
	He let go of my hand and said as I straightened up, "that's a good
girl. Now don't go touching yourself. After a spanking you are to just let
the sting remain without rubbing it away."
	After cleaning up I came back to my room and sat my sore ass down
and started this blog about my day. I cried a little. I was so glad
Mr. Smith didn't see me cry. What is happening to me?

July 16th evening blog

	Well, the Lord may have rested on the seventh day but Mr. Smith
didn't let me. Even though it was Sunday I had as much to do as the day
before. Actually I even had more to do now that I knew how to make myself
look not just passable but actually attractive. It was quite interesting
how feminine my face looked. If I lost 25 lbs I may even look very sexy. I
thought to myself, if I'm going to be stuck like this for five years I'm
going to make the best of it. I don't want to ever be stopped while I'm out
with someone thinking I was a man. Especially other men who may think
something I wasn't. How would I explain and of course I couldn't.
	So, I vowed to loose weight, trim up and get on with these five
years the best I could. Heck, I thought, I always pushed myself in whatever
endeavor I had entered. Even in high school when I joined the wrestling
team. I had hated it but I tried my best and was one of the better
wrestlers on our team.
	Therefore, if I could make the best of being a wrestler, I could
easily make the best of being a woman.
	Well, Mr. Smith had made sure today would be taxing to say the
least. After breakfast Mr. Smith had his typical morning talk with me. He
said the next week would make me ready for the next five years of my life.
	"Sandra," Mr. Smith continued, "The reason for your fate is the
inability of the American woman to understand how to be a submissive
object. Instead they have treated by society as victors of wars they never
fought. Historically, the men of Caesar's Rome were the victors. They were
the children of Romulus and the rape of the Sabine women. For hundreds of
years the women were pleasure objects for the men to enjoy without
question. Sex was revered in their culture and many others."
	So, I'm standing there listening to this shit wondering where he is
going with this.
	Mr. Smith's voice droned on, "Caligula and Claudius debauchery was
more then just women, boys and men. Claudius threw his young male minions
onto the rocks of Capri from over a thousand feet up when he was no longer
interested in them. Roman men enjoyed the numerous legal prostitutes of
Rome. Nearly one out of five women in Rome were prostitutes. So, where
Roman eventually went too far in one direction; America has moved to far to
the other side of the fulcrum."
	What was his point? The only thing I understood was that I was
being forced to be something I wasn't.
	"Therefore Sandra, there are men in our society who enjoy a very
different sort of sexual experience. These men are wealthy, powerful and
dominant. Their pleasure is taking someone like you and transforming you
into their forced bitch," Mr. Smith continued. "As you are now aware, I am
one of this brotherhood and you are becoming one of our sisterhood. Over
these five years you will face this sisterhood with both as vulgarity and
sensuality. But, Sandra, you will experience it completely. You were chosen
because you have the features we desire and your mistake gave us the power
to take and change you."
	The room seemed smaller and the temperature hotter as he went on
about what would be expected of me. I would suck cock with the desire to
please the cock with no regard to myself whenever I was instructed. I would
not be allowed to do anything without asking. And, I would not always be
listened to.
	Sunday continued with my learning that I need to ask if I could eat
when I was hungry; if I could pee when I had to go. Household chores were
to be done as per instructions and the only time I could really call my own
would be from the time I was sent to my room at night until the next
morning's chores. Other things I learned today was by next Sunday I would
no longer be in this house but somewhere else. Mr. Smith explained I would
give him full power of attorney over all financial and medical
decisions. At the end of five years my financial wherewithal would be so
significant I could live anywhere in the world quite comfortably for the
rest of my life without worrying about money.
	After a full day I put on my nightgown, sat down (I wasn't spanked
today) and wrote this. I can feel myself reacting differently as my life is
now in Mr. Smith's hands.

July 17th evening blog
	I can't believe it. I swallowed cum this afternoon. Gosh, what is
happening to me? This, the first day I no longer worked. Well, I was
working and it was a job for Mr. Smith but no longer for my on-line firm.
	But first! Shortly after cleaning up the kitchen Mr. Smith told me
to put on the bikini he handed me and meet him "poolside." And do you have
any idea of what bikini he gave me? Yes, you're right it was an 'itsy bitsy
yellow polka dot bikini' that of course I would wear for the first time any
day. You laugh but it had tie strings and all.
	Do you remember that song? Shit?it was running through my mind as I
put the bikini on.
		She was afraid to come out of the locker,
		She was as nervous as she could be.
		She was afraid to come out of the locker.
		She was afraid that somebody would see.
	Ten minutes later I was 'poolside' with Mr. Smith on what turned
out to be a 'too perfect' California sunshine day. Especially after
Mr. Smith handed me some deep tanning lotion and told me to rub it over
every part of my body not covered by the itsy bitsy yellow polka dot
bikini. Actually a smile came over Mr. Smith's face as he handed me the
lotion and said that.
	For the next two hours Mr. Smith had me lie out in the sun. He
would tell me when to turn over and when to put more suntan lotion on. I
was allowed to go for a swim twice but only if I could walk to the edge of
the pool as a sexy woman wearing such a revealing bikini. Obviously the
first couple of times he made me go back and lie down.
	Mr. Smith said, "You cannot cool off in the water until you look
sexy enough to swim. Also, you must try to be feminine when you swim as
well. Soon this will come more naturally but until then I expect to see you
try very hard to please me.
	It's funny, by not raising his voice or yelling he mesmerized me
into learning to please him. (And of course, if you still need to know, the
thought of any alternative to not pleasing him)
	Finally I walked to the pool in my bare feet moving the weight from
one leg to the other so my ass cheeks would rise and fall. It made me
realize all the girls are moving in such a manner as to entice you for sex
yet not giving it out gladly and quickly.
	Of course, this was not going to be my fate. I was about to learn I
would entice, I would put out and I would obey.
	After two hours Mr. Smith had me bring lunch out to the pool. He
had a roast beef sandwich on organic bread (what bullshit) and some fucking
organic beer. Can there really be organic beer. Shouldn't that be an
oxymoron?
	And what was I having? He had me make myself a crappy girly salad
of greens, and half a can of tuna (in water), a sprinkle of vinegar, oh,
and a glass of water.
	Then back to sunning myself, jiggling my ass (I guess by dropping
my hip) and then a girly swim. I must have improved because he didn't stop
me during the afternoon from swimming. But that led to the next thing.
	Mr. Smith called me into the living room (yes by ringing that damn
thing in my ear.), unzipped his fly and said, "Sandra I want you to suck
the cum out of my cock an into your mouth. Then show me and when I say so
you'll swallow it."
	First, I was in my living room in a yellow, you know what. I can't
even get use to being called Sandra and then he expected that I suck him
off? He must have seen the repulsion in my eyes since he said I'd be
punished for the disobedience in my face and I should, "just do it."
	He sounded like a XXX Nike commercial
	I hesitated and he slapped my ass on the skin below the bikini
saying, "after you suck me off you'll stand in the corner with my cum in
your mouth for fifteen minutes or have you decided to change your mind and
go to jail?"
	So, I already knew there was no turning back but that didn't help
my revulsion. Kneeling there with his cock in my mouth Mr. Smith grabbed my
ears and pumped his cock in my mouth. He wasn't mean but of course he
wasn't being pleasant either. No, he was just using me like the Romans he
had talked about. I was an object.
	And then I had my first realization. I had been chosen because?
(This part is deleted by Mr. Smith.)
	Finally I felt his warm cum slosh on my tonsils. Actually it didn't
taste as terrible as I imagined. Mr. Smith pulled out and said for me to
show him.
	"Lean you head back," he said.
	I did and his cum puddled up in the back of my throat.
	"Good girl," Mr. Smith said, "Now go stand in the corner, facing
the wall, with your head back until I say your time is up. Then you will
swallow and come back here and thank me for letting you swallow my cum. You
will always thank a man for using you when he feels it's appropriate. Pay
attention to the signs as to when to say 'thank you'. If you miss the
signal you'll be punished. You are here to serve men, a very unique group
of men."
	Standing in the corner with my head back with his cum coating my
tonsils for what seemed like forever but then he said, "Swallow first girl
and go to your room.
	I can't really write much more. I am really ashamed. Where is
Michael? Who is Sandra?