by: stefi

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, 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.