It Isn't Fair

Life is not always fair.  

Bill and I were good buds.  Sure, he was what we called a hangeron.  As in he hung on to my successes without having any of his own.  Honestly, Bill’s best attribute was that I was his friend.  Me?  Well, in high school I was the reigning stud.  I rocked out the track team and won both individual and team events in the state competition.  I’d have got us to nationals if I hadn’t held back, but hey I didn’t want to make the whole team look bad in comparison.  The best parties were at my house and I was more popular than the football team.  I had the pick of the girls at not only our school but all the schools in the area. 

 

Everybody said that college would be different.  And they were right.  First off, while I graduated with honors and was valedictorian Bill didn’t even graduate.  I had to help him through summer school to get his GED and then get admitted into university.  He probably would be embarrassed to find out that I used my fame to help him get in, but hey they really wanted me on their swim team and if they didn’t let him in, I wouldn’t join.  I heard all the stories of being a big fish in a small pond at high school and that changing when I got to the state university, but honestly they were wrong. 

 

I tried to get Bill into better shape, figuring he’d feel better about himself if he had a better figure.  The building blocks were certainly there as he had a good four inches on me.  If he dropped like 50 pounds of fat and built up his muscles he could really stud out.  But he just wanted to hang back to either watch TV or play video games while I hit the gym.  By our junior year we’d both hit our strides.  I’d got invited into a sweet frat and got to move into their off-campus house.  Of course, I got them to make an exception and let Bill in too.  

 

It wasn’t all berries and cream though.  There were plenty of guys that were jealous of Bill and I.  Guys who thought that just because we were from a small town that we didn't deserve everything we got.  They were especially jealous of Bill since they didn’t have a great friend like me to help ‘em out.  Then there was the money problems.  I was living life to its fullest and that didn’t leave much time for money.  Bill, to his credit, got a couple jobs that gave us both some pocket cash but it wasn’t always enough.  So when I saw the advertisement for a summer experiment in attitude adjustments, I thought we could hit three birds with one stone.  We’d get to live for a few months in some off campus resort, we’d get paid a couple thousand apiece, and Bill would actually get the chance to improve his attitude.  Maybe he’d even get enough confidence to get a girl on his own! 

 

The entrance pamphlet to the program was way to big to bother reading and way to technical for Bill to make sense of.  One of the frat brahs read through it though and said it was harmless.  That both Bill and I would come out ‘improved’ and that it would make us closer friends than before.  That sold it for me and it only took a little convincing to get Bill on board. 

 

The first week was all about baseline testing everything about us.  And I mean EVERYTHING.  The written tests we took were harder than the entrance exams to the school.  The physical testing pushed me to the limit and had Bill actually passing out.  They even tested us sexually.  Each night we had to watch these porn videos while we masturbated.  Whenever they had the hot chick subbing to the big stud, I got off quick.  There were two difficult porn tests.  One was jacking off while a woman described how to give a blow job.  It was tough to imagine her giving a blow job as she kept referring to me doing what she was describing but I eventually nutted off.  The last night was rough as after a whole hour I didn’t cum… but I’m sorry I just can’t find it sexy to watch two dudes going at it even if one is almost passable as a girl. 

 

While they kept the results of our tests to themselves, Bill said he saw a copy of them.  They listed me as hypermasculine, confident, dominant, and unlikely to change.   Bills own results showed him as masculine, insecure, submissive, and unlikely to change.  The odd thing was that they seemed happy about the fact that we were both unlikely to change.  But hey, whatever.  We’d get paid even if their experiment failed. 

 

The drugs were a little more worrying.  Starting that second week we got a full daily regimen.  For me it was two injections in the morning, three pills in the afternoon, and five more pills after dinner.  Bill had it worse as he had two injections in the morning, six pills at lunch, at one huge injection every night before bed.  I was a little chagrined when I asked what these all were and they answered by simply saying it was exactly what was in the entrance pamphlet.  I didn’t want to jeopardize our payday by saying I didn’t actually read it so I just went along.  How bad could it be, right?

 

Bill and I got to have our meals together, but the meals themselves couldn’t be more different.  Bill evidently had the great American meal plan.  Breakfast for him was scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and then either pancakes or French toast.  His lunch was a large meat and cheese sandwich with a muscle shake and dinner was a big piece of meat like steak, salmon, or pork tenderloin with a pasta backer.  Me?  I was evidently on the diet plan.  Breakfast for me was a half a grapefruit and plain breakfast tea.  Lunch was a salad of fresh vegetables with no dressing.  Dinner was a low fat chicken or fish along with steamed veggies.  Throughout the day I was offered cut carrots or cauliflower for snacks while Bill had his choice of chips, candy, and chocolate to snack on.  My diet kept me constantly hungry and it was clear I was losing weight.  But with as much as they were pouring down Bill’s mouth, he too was dropping weight.  That was probably the exercise routines. 

 

We each had our own area for exercise and our own trainer.  Bill’s trainer was some German woman who barely spoke any English but pushed and pushed and pushed him to the very limit.  My routine was…. Well, it wasn’t anything like I’ve gone through.  I too had a woman trainer, but she was all about breathing and stretching and yoga.  The odd thing was that Bill was given all manner of clothes to workout in.  He could choose tight workout shorts, loose basketball shorts, t-shirts, sweats, jogging suits… anything he felt like. 

 

I was given a leotard. 

 

Not only was it an obviously pink women’s leotard, it was matched up with “optional” neon blue leggings, pink ankle and calf warmers, and pink head and wrist bands.  Of course none of it fit right, but while it was called optional they made sure I used some of the extra pieces each day.  They kept the room so warm the second day that I had no choice to use the sweat bands.  The next day with the fan running my feet got cold so I agreed to the ankle and calf warmers.  And finally when they just turned up the air conditioning to full blast I agreed to the leggings.  I felt completely humiliated and didn’t dare share it with Bill. 

 

After our morning workouts we had classes in the afternoon.  Bill’s were a combination of self defense courses like boxing and jiu jitsu, and allocution lessons.  They even focused on his eyes, making sure he made direct eye contact.  My classes, on the other hand, were all about society and how to run a house including cooking.  It was kind of embarrassing when I later had to serve Bill the food I’d made, but it was the test in the class. When I failed the test by joking around I had to serve him again, explaining each dish, and referring to him only as sir.  It’s strange as I don’t remember any waiter rubbing my shoulder or neck, but it was “part of properly serving” so I more or less had to give my buddy Bill a massage as I served him a meal.  All in all I think I touched Bill more that one evening than I’d ever done before. 

 

Bill seemed happy with it and while I got a passing grade, I had to serve him his evening meal each Thursday. 

 

The next few weeks kind of flew by.  I found myself wanting more and more to get this done and over with as the changes were clearly getting more extreme while Bill’s and my education was going in opposite directions.  For example, Bill’s hair was cut every three days but it was clearly becoming thicker.  My hair was coming in thicker as well, but it was also lightening up in color all on its own.  My medium brown was becoming more and more blonde.  And for the first month I wasn’t allowed to trim it.  When I was finally allowed to get it cut, it was brushing past my shoulders.  I actually had to thank them for the hair scrunchy they let me use in my jazzercise classes.  The changes didn’t stop there.  I focused on my hips and thighs at first as it was clear they were growing while my calves and ankles were getting smaller.  But later when I looked at one of the photos I saw that the same was true of my arms.  They were distinctly smaller.  Especially when compared to the bumps growing on my chest.  They told me I didn’t have to worry about it when I asked if the bumps were bad.  I only made the connection when I found new clothes in my dresser… a training bra. 

 

They’d given me breasts. 

 

The fourth week photos really showed off the differences.  Before they’d only let us compare the earlier week’s photos to the current one, but when they showed me the initial photo compared to this newest one it was also obvious that my face was no longer masculine.  I’d moved slowly from masculine to androgynous to now closer to actual feminine.  My nose was smaller, my chin and cheeks were softer, and my lips were fuller.  When I saw what they were doing I stormed into the office, feeling more angry as I felt my little budding breasts shake with each step, and demanded to know what was going on.  They tried to calm me down and reminded me the lessons from my classes saying it wasn’t proper to be this loud or out of control but that just pissed me off more.  When they said I needed to settle down, talking to me like a girl, I started shouting.  My voice actually broke making it sound more like a scream, but it was a shout.  That’s the afternoon I learned what discipline was and it was so much worse than what I’d imagined. 

 

Being forced over the headmaster’s desk by the guards and getting spanked was bad.  Getting spanked on my bare ass after they pulled down my shorts was worse, but I still refused to ‘count out the spanks’ as they demanded.  I thought I’d won until the guards forced a ball gag into my mouth and cuffed my wrists.  They carried me over to the locker rooms and said that while this was going to happen eventually, they might as well get it out of the way now.  With my hands tied to the pipes above I didn’t have any option but let them shave all of my body hair off.  I’d have struggled but they were using straight razors and I was honestly afraid of them cutting something.  Next they used some sort of cream that they said would keep my hair from growing back in. 

 

Next they glued some breast forms on my chest held up in a sports bra and pulled up some matching a matching lycra thong.  The thong pulled my cock back between my legs, giving me the impression of being smooth in front.  With the smooth skin, the feminine looking face, the long hair, the breasts and the smooth panty front, I honestly couldn’t disagree.  I looked like a woman.  

 

I thought I was defeated but evidently I still needed to get my spanking in.  When they took me into a classroom though I saw how bad they could make this.   Sitting in the center of the room was Bill with a girl draped over his lap and an instructor giving him lessons on spanking.  The girl got up when they said they had another volunteer.  I tried to avoid moving forward, but the guard whispered in my ear that I either do this or they’ll let bill see it’s me.  Without his eyes, she reminded me, he would only feel a smooth chesty girl on his lap.  Broken, I let them lay me over Bill’s lap as he was given further instruction.  I’m not sure how long I was there nor how many spanks I got as I didn’t actually have to count them, but I’d put the over/under at 30 spanks from my good friend.  All the while his erection was poking me in the belly as he was obviously turned on by this gagged screaming girl on his lap. 

 

They kept Bill and I mostly apart for a month after that. As they sped up our changes.  As I was now aware of my feminine appearance, I was made to dress and act the part of the girl.  Any deviation from their forced feminization was met with discipline.  As I learned to walk and talk like an airheaded girl, my body continued to change.  My breasts continued to grow at an exponential rate, finally stopping at a full perky C cup.  My voice cracked like puberty in the second week apart and never came back the same.  After a week of sore throats I was left with a husky Marilyn Monroe style voice.  And then there were the sex classes.  That original video of a woman describing how to give a blowjob was the core of my classes as it seemed I would be a fairly oral girl. 

 

There’s only so much sexuality you can be surrounded by without getting aroused, even if you’re getting aroused by what they’re turning you into.   When they caught me masturbating they introduced me to a chastity cage.  And it was locked onto me.  When Bill and I finally were allowed to meet in person I had to convince him I was me as he just couldn’t believe it.  I had been given a loose script to follow as I was to defer to him for conversation.  I was thankfully free to tell him about the experiment and that I wasn’t a willing participant in my transformation.  He was angry at what was happening, but we agreed quickly that there wasn’t much we could do but get out.  They had us trapped.  Bill did try treating me like his friend instead of a girl, but when he was disciplined himself that all changed.  He never told me what they did, but I can imagine how bad it could be. 

 

On our first real date I had to serve him a meal “for old time’s sake”.  Afterward we went to the theater where we got to cuddle.  Just after the opening credits he tilted my face up to his and kissed me for the first time.  I knew I had to reciprocate… it was what a good girl would do… but I just couldn’t.  And then Bill took more initiative as he continued to kiss me and guided my hand down to his pants.  He may have moral, intellectual, and spiritual objections to what they’re doing to us and to me specifically, but physically he was reacting to sitting next to what I knew was a sexy sultry looking girl.  His hardness felt large enough to threaten ripping through his pants. 

 

I let him unzip his pants and even let him wrap my dainty fingers around his cock, but I just couldn’t do more than that.  I’d had the lessons and knew that a good girl would stroke and kiss and eventually suck his cock… but I couldn’t.  My nerves had to be evident as Bill’s hand wrapped around mine, making me give him one last squeeze before pulling it up to kiss my fingers.  When he told me I didn’t have to, that he didn’t want me to until I was ready, I knew that while I loved his sentiment I hated his choice of words. 

 

Our date ended soon thereafter, with both of us sexually and morally frustrated.  As I was afraid of, the next morning my training went in the direction that Bill had inadvertently suggested.  I had to want it.  I had to be ready and not afraid of touching him that way.  Of touching a man that way.  I never knew such a device existed but I learned all about “The Grip”.  Both my hands were strapped into the device that held them open, middle finger to thumb, in a gripping form.  And one by one the male guards entered, pulled out their cocks and slide them into my forced open hands. Like a ring gag for the mouth, I could neither grip them to stop their in and out motions, nor could I release my grip to get my flesh away from theirs.  All the while I was strapped into the chair forced to watch the video in front of me.  The video of women giving hand jobs.  Hand jobs to big cocks, hand jobs to small cocks.  Hand jobs at dinner tables, on trains, while their men are driving.  Hand jobs while kneeling before them and while laying next to them.  Hand jobs that end with cum exploding into open air and hand jobs ending with cum painting the face of the girl. 

 

An endless parade of guards came through and had me give them this forced hand job.  They could only change two things on the grips.  They could tighten or loosen my hand to give them the amount of pressure they desired, and they could rotate my wrist to point their cock almost anywhere.  Including at my face.  I ended the day with pools of cum on the floor along with quite a bit on my cheeks.

 

The next day, after another morning of hand jobs, I was introduced to the next step.  I strapped down into a kneeling position with my hands bound behind me and had a pair of AR glasses put on my head.  The headmaster explained that I was going to be given their newest training and that I’d have to match what I saw in the AR or I’d get physical discomfort.  When the glasses turned on and I saw a second headmaster I got what he meant as I had to turn slightly to line the two of them up.  And when he walked to the left I fully got it.  The AR version was centered as the model was moving her head, making me do the same to keep them lined up.  Otherwise I got completely dizzy and nauseous. 

 

The training began when a guard walked into my room and the AR glasses showed Bill walking into the other room.  I had to turn to keep them both aligned as they stepped directly in front of me.  The guard must have a script of motions as he reached out just as Bill did and I could feel Bill running his hand over my cheek.  His words chilled me though as I had to assume he had no idea what was going on.  “So, she just kneels there with her arms behind her and I guide her into giving me a BJ?  That’s it?  Okay, I don’t see how this is going to help me on my next real date, but it doesn’t sound so bad.”

 

For the next several hours I got to bear witness as Bill taught some girl how he liked to have his cock sucked.  He just didn’t know that he was teaching me how he liked to have his cock sucked… that he was teaching me to suck his cock.  All in all I believe I gave Bill a half dozen blowjobs that first day.   And like the forced hand jobs, I was completely turned on the entire time. 

 

We were separated for a full week but in that week I must have given thousands of hand jobs an hundreds of blow jobs.  By the end of the week, however, I could read the guys and give them the best handjobs they ever had without a word from them.  And I knew exactly how Bill liked to be sucked off and could do it with a smile, a thank you, and a happy kiss to his cock afterward. 

 

On Saturday, when our next date came up, Bill was surprised by my enthusiasm.  Evidently he’d done all of his blowjobs in the first day so he hadn’t had sex for all that time.  He was very appreciative even if he still remained a little doubtful.  Afterward, while my head laid in his lap and he stroked my hair he made me cry again.  I know he didn’t intend to, but his message was just devastating and told me we were still a long way away from getting out.  

 

A week later and we’re now living in the same room.  I keep up everything for Bill as they continue to train us.  Bill’s demands are getting more intense and my ability to match them are barely keeping up.  I suck him off at least once a day, but my enthusiasm has diminished leading him to encouraging me.  He’ll tell me how good my hands feels as I stroke him, how slippery and magical my tongue is, and how beautiful I am with his cum splattered all over my lips and chin.  But they won’t be satisfied until Bill does what an Alpha male does with a willing loving slutty girlfriend.  They won’t be satisfied until he fucks me.  Repeatedly. 

 

Each time I fail at convincing him that I want it, they take me for an afternoon of training.  I moved past the dildos quickly and past the machine fucking me.  The guards love it when I fail as they generally team up, letting me practice my oral as I “Get used to getting fucked”.  One in the mouth and one in the ass.  I don’t know how much more I can do to encourage Bill.  I’ve rubbed my ass up against him, moaning about how big he feels and how much I want him deep inside of me.  I’ve even laid over the couch and pulled my cheeks apart, begging him to fuck me, but that was met by a spanking.  By Bill’s own desire to discipline me as a guy is supposed to lead sex, and not have his girl beg. 

 

I’m honestly afraid of what’s going to happen next.   Will Bill accept it and fall in love with taking my ass?  Or will they realize he doesn’t like anal and give me the pussy he’s desiring?