It’s been months since I physically broke out, but I’m still
not sure I’ll ever really escape her clutches.
I thought she’d just be another pick up at a bar and figured
when she invited me over to her house, I’d get lucky. When I woke up chained in the basement, she
was standing over me with a crazy look in her eye. She was ranting and I’m not sure she even was
fully conscious as she told me I was going to pay for all the guys that had abused
her. All the guys who had picked her up
for some quick sex and then dropped her like yesterday’s news.
I tried telling her that I had no intent of our time
together being a one-night stand, but she saw right through that lie and just started
working on me. At first, I thought the
drugs she was injecting into me were just to keep me compliant. I mean, they must have been doing that too
as I couldn’t put up a fight or even a basic struggle to anything she did. But they had to have some combination of
hormones and other feminizing drugs because there’s no way her hypnosis
sessions could do this to my body.
She stripped me bare and would only give me the flimsiest of
feminine wear when I’d beg her. By
keeping the basement cold she ensured I’d plead for anything to provide warmth. Any masculine action I took was met with
beratement and humiliation. Any feminine
effort I took was rewarded with kindness and affection. Hours spent in front of the mirror as she criticized
any manly reflection and praised any femme echo made me only feel good about
looking like a girl. The same treatment
made me feel unnatural and naked without perfectly applied makeup.
The headphones were the worst. Any time I’d refuse her role plays she’d
strap them to my head and I’d have to listen to hours of screaming and sounds
of torture. But they were also used as a
reward as any time I was good for a day I’d get to listen to soothing calming
music. I didn’t know that both
punishment and award were underscored with her feminizing chants and
triggers.
And the role plays?
Oh God, I think I had to live out each and every one of her embarrassing
dating encounters. I had to play shy and
nervous while she was acting as some arrogant asshole pick up artist. I was made to please ‘him’ while she reveled
in taking advantage of the ‘innocent’ me.
There was the time that she picked me up only to make me perform sexual
favors on ‘his’ three friends. She of
course played each role individually with separate strap-ons. There was the time she ‘brought me home’ only
to fuck me silly and throw me out on the street. And yes, she actually threw me out. Maybe I could have ran away then, but her
programing was so strong that I banged on the door and pleaded for her to let
me back in. She just laughed as she
unlocked the door and reminded me that she had done the same exact thing.
I’m not sure what exactly changed. I’d been her personal revenge target for a
couple years at that point. My soft skin
and curves were real as were my little breasts.
My penis couldn’t get hard which helped my panties always look smooth
and feminine. My makeup was perfect
which just accented the frilly dresses and heels I wore all day. I cleaned up her house and cooked her meals
and was always ready for any task she’d throw out. I hadn’t been chained up for at least six
months and I’m not sure she had to use any punishments on me for that same time…
except for the spankings. Those started
as part of her scenarios I had to play but I think she just grew to liking me
draped over her knee as she painted me ass red with her bare hand. By that time, I’d grown so used to her
control that I never fought back.
I’m not sure why I left that day. She’d been leaving the door unlocked for weeks. She’d even sent me out to the store alone
several times… being called miss by the check out guy made me blush with a
mixture of shame and pride. She’d even
gone on a long weekend trip to New York while I just stayed home alone. So, I’m not sure why I decided to just get
dressed, put my makeup on, and walk out.
But I did.
I escaped.
I found my apartment just the way I left it and my bank account
with the same amount of money in it. I’d
of course lost my job and my car had been repossessed, but everything was there
for me to pick back up. So why did I
tell my landlord that I was my own sister as I paid all the back rent? Why did I empty my accounts only to open new
ones in my new femmy name? Why did I
scour the internet until I could find a realistic birth certificate with which
I established a new feminine identity? I
did get another programming job but spent so much time flirting with the guys
there that I just ended up being the secretary for the office.
I didn’t have to wear makeup all the time, but anytime I was
without it I grew anxious and nervous. I
could look in the mirror and see the echo of my masculine face underneath the
soft skin and full lips. I probably could
have cut my hair short and presented myself as an androgynous kind of guy, but
even thinking of that made me feel sick to my stomach. I wanted to… but I just couldn’t to it. I couldn’t even hide my small breasts away
and instead did anything I could to enhance them. Push up bras, low cut tops, and of course
immaculate posture which pushed them into anybody’s view.
I didn’t have to dress so feminine. I couldn’t have gone all masculine with baggy
jeans and button up shirts, but I could have worn hip hugging jeans and t-shirts. But holding those clothes in my hands at the
store just made me feel that same unknowable anxiety and nervousness. Every time I tried to buy clothes like that
or reasonable shoes I’d just end up with another cute dress or skirt and top
with some sexy new heels.
I could be myself in my free time… but trying to watch The Mandalorian
on Disney+ just resulted me in watching Snow White and Cinderella. I went to the theater to watch Terminator:
Dark Fate but ended up gently weeping as I watched Last Christmas all
alone. And the alone part really bothered
me. I used to enjoy my alone time, but
now I’m constantly seeking companionship.
I’m always trying to go out in public and when I do, I’m always trying
to get the attention of the cute guys.
Last night might have been my lowest moment. Deep down I knew nothing good could come from
going out to a bar, but I just felt restless and the thought of getting a drink
and maybe meeting a man was the only thing that seemed to provide a
respite. I easily caught the eye of just
about every guy there. I was proud of
myself when I turned down the first drink and instead bought one for
myself. The guy was cute and accepted my
denial with a gentleness that I’d forgotten men could offer. But when the next drink was laid out in front
of me and I saw his cocky grin… I couldn’t say no. My eyes flitted down as I gently thanked
him. I listened to him talk about
himself, his gym workout, and his high paying job trading stocks all the while
I felt him put his arm around me and pull me up close. When he took me out to dance, I let him
manhandle me even while I just wanted to run home. His hands on my ass pulled me into his
growing cock poking into my stomach and his hand on my breast made me shiver
and moan in delight.
It was one of her roleplays all over again, and I couldn’t
stop myself from playing the part she’d always laid out. No matter how small he made me feel or how
grand he made himself out to be, I’d just agree and flirt back. Me agreeing to go out to see his convertible
sports car was as inevitable as me allowing him to pull my head into his lap
and blowing him. As realistic as her
scenarios were, I’d never tasted a man’s cum until that night. Her unconscious training must have thought
about it though as even though it was disgusting and demeaning, I couldn’t stop
myself from cleaning him up with my tongue and licking up the streams that had
escaped my plump red lips. I shouldn’t
have been surprised when he let me out of the car and then just drove away. I was surprised when I ended up at home
crying over the situation. You see as
much as I wanted to rage and hate what she’d set me up for, I wasn’t crying
over that. My tears and sobs were because
a part of me knows that if I’d been a little more appeasing to him he might
have asked me out again.
No, that was a very low moment, but tonight is worse. I know what's going to happen when I go back to the bar, but I'm still getting ready to do so. I now know why I’m feeling compelled to go
out. Why I’m feeling forced to wear
these reveling clothes and present myself as a little shy minx. Why I’m imagining a cock between my lips as I
apply this sultry red lipstick. I know why
I’m going to go back to the bar and repeat some variation on last nights
adventure or some other version of her roleplaying scenarios.
I’m feeling these conflicted emotions,
acting out these embarrassing situations, and making myself up to be the girl
who will do anything for her man because I didn’t escape. I may as well be locked up in her basement
because she’s done exactly what she wanted.
I'm paying for all the guys that abused her.
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I fell in love with that last image as soon as I saw it on fuskator and felt almost this entire story. I briefly thought about making it into a short cap with maybe a single paragraph about his change and escape, then a second paragraph about his new life and his realization of not escaping. But two lines into writing this out and I knew I could fall a little deeper into this story.
I wrote out the story with the intention of only using that last image. I knew it would be him making himself up for a second night out after fully realizing he was going to live out her role plays over and over again in real life, but when I finished the story and went back to snag the image I saw all the other great ones and realized they'd fit in as well. I didn't even have to change the story to make them fit, although to be honest I probably could have made them fit better with a little editing.
Anywho, I really like these images and really like the story. Let's see how I feel about it tomorrow.
wow, amazingly well written.
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