Chapter Three

The waitress placed a plate of buttermilk pancakes in the center of the table and slid a small pitcher of syrup next to the silverware. Sandra gave the woman a radiant smile and thanked her before pushing the dish across the table. The older woman picked up her coffee cup and took a slow sip, looking perfectly at peace inside the bustling local diner. The morning rush surrounded them with the clatter of cutlery and the chatter of normal people starting their day.

“Eat up, darling,” Sandra said. “We need to put some meat on those bones of yours.”

“I am not eating that,” Chloe replied. “I’m not hungry.”

“You need a hearty breakfast to fill out those skinny hips,” the matriarch insisted. “A woman like you needs some proper curves. You’ve spent too long starving yourself to look like a scrawny boy, and that stops today. Eat the food.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going along with this,” the young woman said. “What you’re doing to us isn’t right.”

“I am simply correcting a mistake,” Sandra stated calmly. “You were throwing your youth away on a dead-end path, and I stepped in to fix it. Pick up your fork, Chloe.”

Chloe kept her hands resting firmly on her lap. She stared at the stack of pancakes, her stomach tied in tight knots. The scent of butter and maple syrup made her feel sick. She looked across the table at the woman who had orchestrated her nightmare, wishing she could wipe the smug satisfaction right off her mother’s face. She wanted to scream for help, to stand up in the middle of the crowded diner and tell everyone that the woman sitting across from her was holding her hostage.

“I should just scream,” Chloe whispered, her voice shaking with restrained anger. “I should call for the police right here and have you arrested for what you’ve done.”

Sandra set her coffee cup down on the saucer and let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

“You’re welcome to try,” the older woman replied. “But I seem to recall that strategy working out quite poorly for you yesterday.”

The memory surfaced in Chloe’s mind, making her stomach churn. Yesterday afternoon, Sandra had forced her to visit a shopping mall to upgrade her wardrobe. Chloe hated the tight pencil skirt and uncomfortable heels her mother made her wear for the outing. While Sandra inspected a rack of expensive blouses, Chloe spotted an older male security guard wandering just outside the storefront near a jewelry kiosk.

Recognizing a fleeting opportunity, she abandoned her mother and sprinted out the glass doors, determined to tell the mall cop about her kidnapped fiancé. She rushed up to the bewildered guard, raising a hand to grab his attention. She opened her mouth to report the kidnapping, desperate to beg the man to arrest her mother.

Instead of a plea for help, a loud moan escaped her red lips. Chloe felt a sudden, terrifying disconnect between her brain and her muscles as her knees buckled beneath her skirt. She collapsed onto the polished tile walkway. Panic flooded her mind when her hands moved entirely against her will, sliding up her thighs and grabbing the fabric of her clothing.

Her fingers dug past the waistband of her skirt, plunging straight down into her panties. She wanted to pull her hands away, but her fingers found her pussy and started rubbing her clit with frantic speed. A violent, forced climax ripped through her body, clenching her vaginal walls. She bucked against the hard floor, thrusting her hips upward while she worked her drenched slit.

“Oh, fuck!” Chloe screamed, her voice echoing through the crowded shopping center. “God, yes! Don’t stop!”

She writhed on the ground, trapped by her own conditioned muscles. She watched her hands violate her body in the middle of the mall, unable to stop the escalating pleasure. Her legs spread wide for the passing shoppers. She felt another climax crash over her, milking her juices into the fabric of her underwear. Her fingers moved up to pinch her own nipples through her blouse, putting on a degrading show for the dozens of strangers stopping to stare at the thrashing blonde.

Pedestrians halted, dropping their bags to watch the girl grinding against the floor. The mall cop stumbled backward, his face turning red. He grabbed the radio on his shoulder strap, stammering a request for medical assistance.

Sandra strolled out of the boutique. She approached the flustered guard, resting a manicured hand on his arm and giving him a sympathetic, maternal smile.

“I’m sorry about this,” Sandra said smoothly. “My daughter has a rare neurological condition. Stress triggers these embarrassing episodes. I just need to get her to the car so she can rest.”

The guard nodded awkwardly and stepped aside. Sandra grabbed Chloe’s arm, hauling the trembling girl off the floor while her legs still twitched with orgasmic aftershocks. The matriarch dragged her humiliated prize out of the mall, leaving the gawking crowd behind.

Chloe blinked, pulling herself back to the present. Her cheeks burned with shame. She knew if she pulled the same trick in the diner, she would soon find herself masturbating on the table. There was no way out.

“You’re a monster,” Chloe whispered.

“I’m a mother who knows what is best for her child,” Sandra countered. “You can sit there and pout, or you can face facts. You can fight me at every turn and end up humping the ground for the world to see. Or you can give in and become the woman you were always meant to be.”

Chloe glared across the table, her fingernails biting into the palms of her hands.

“I don’t want to be some gold-digger,” the blonde girl spat. “I want my own career, mom.”

“You’ve been wasting your life, dear,” Sandra said. “You’ll learn that using your appearance to get what you want is the smartest thing a girl can do.”

“What about Matt?” Chloe asked. “Just let him go. He hasn’t done anything to you.”

Her mother’s warm maternal act vanished. Sandra leaned across the table and stared directly at her daughter.

“That boy is exactly where he belongs,” the older woman stated. “He’s learning his new place in the world. I’ll offer you a compromise, darling. The more you cooperate with me, the less time I’ll need to spend punishing that sissy you call a fiancé.”

Chloe swallowed hard. She pictured Matt trapped in that basement, locked in a plastic chastity cage and forced to wear ridiculous pink dresses. The young woman still felt guilty for how she spoke to her fiancé the last time they were together. I couldn’t control myself, she thought. If her mom would go easy on the man in exchange for Chloe’s compliance, then it was a sacrifice the barista would have to make.

“Eat your breakfast,” Sandra commanded. She slid the syrup pitcher closer to the edge of the plate. “We have a lot of appointments booked for this afternoon, and you need to put on some weight to support those new assets we are buying.”

“Buying?” Chloe gasped. “No way, Mom. I couldn’t put anything like that inside me.”

“Don’t be a drama queen,” Sandra complained. “You agreed to cooperate, Chloe. Don’t make me remind you what happens to Matt if you decide to be difficult today.”

Chloe looked down at the stacked food, her hands shaking. She was cornered, and the young woman knew that whatever she decided, she’d come to regret it.

“I’ll do it,” the young barista said. “I’ll eat the food and go to your appointments. Just leave him alone.”

“Good girl,” the older woman praised. “Now, pick up your fork and finish your breakfast.”

Chloe wrapped her fingers around the silver handle. She cut a piece of the pancake, dragged the dough through the thick puddle of syrup, and lifted it to her mouth. She chewed slowly, forcing herself to swallow the sweet breakfast. This is just the beginning, she realized.

Sandra watched her daughter take another compliant bite. A triumphant smile returned to the matriarch’s painted lips. She picked her coffee cup back up, satisfied that the young woman’s rebellion had been properly quelled for the morning.

❖

“Should I turn it up a notch, princess?” Prissy asked. The pink-haired sissy rested an acrylic nail on the treadmill’s digital console and smiled.

Matt barked a muffled curse through the ring gag wedged between his teeth, marching on the moving rubber belt and struggling to keep his center of gravity. His wrists remained bound behind his back inside a pair of leather cuffs, stripping away his natural balance and forcing him to rely entirely on his lower body to stay upright. The task proved agonizing since his captors had forced his feet into hot pink six-inch patent stilettos and locked the ankle straps with metal padlocks, leaving him no choice but to adopt a brisk, mincing walk just to avoid snapping his ankles. He focused on placing one heel directly in front of the other, hating how the unnatural footwear forced his hips to sway with every step he took.

The spare bedroom had been stripped of its normal furniture and converted into a home gym, leaving a large open space for the running machine. Sandra had forced her captive into a humiliating workout uniform consisting of a pink sports bra that stretched tight across his chest and a pair of matching spandex shorts, tightly displaying the outline of his locked cock. A jeweled anal plug lodged inside his rectum shifted with the jerky movement, making his ordeal even worse.

“I think you can handle a faster pace,” the joyous sissy announced, pressing a button on the dashboard to accelerate the motorized belt.

“Nnngh-ffmmph!” Matt grunted, forcing himself to quicken his step. He shortened his stride and put more weight onto his toes to keep the thin spikes from catching on the rubber track, feeling his calves burn from the unfamiliar exertion.

“Look at you go,” Prissy cheered. “Your prancing has gotten a lot better over the last few days, and Mistress wants you to have a beautiful, dainty stride.”

Prissy trailed a sparkling pink fingernail along the handrail, leaning closer to inspect the sweaty captive.

“You need to burn off all that ugly bulk,” the feminized doll continued. “Mistress put you on a special diet for a reason, and we are going to starve those muscles away to leave you nice and willowy like a proper waif.”

Matt knew the sissy spoke the truth since Sandra had restricted his meals to tiny portions of leafy greens and vitamins, leaving his stomach constantly growling for real food. The lack of protein drained his overall stamina, but his frame still retained its shape. He possessed enough strength to fight back, provided he could get his hands free, so he focused his rage and waited for an opening.

“I think you need some encouragement,” Prissy purred, stepping behind the moving treadmill and raising a hand.

A sharp smack landed directly on Matt’s spandex-clad ass, echoing loudly in the small room. The blow caused Matt to jolt forward, almost losing his footing on the tall stilettos as he scrambled to catch the pace of the belt.

“Grrrgh-fffck-yhh!” the mechanic yelled through the plastic ring.

“Such a silly mouth,” Prissy scolded playfully as she stared at Matt’s pink-painted lips. “You need to learn to appreciate the attention, because soon enough real men will be lining up to use that cute little bottom.”

Matt focused his eyes on the wall ahead as he shuddered. I’d never let another man touch me, he thought, terrified by the realization that the feminized sissy was his fiancée’s missing ex-boyfriend. I need to get out of here. If I can just get my hands free and bolt for it, I know I can overpower him. He breathed through his nose, pacing himself, making sure his muscles stayed primed for action.

The timer on the console chimed a cheerful melody, prompting Prissy to clap her hands together and press the stop button. The motorized belt gradually decelerated before coming to a smooth halt.

“You’ve had enough exercise for one day,” the sissy declared. “Mistress doesn’t want you getting sweaty before your next appointment.”

Prissy stepped onto the back of the treadmill and fumbled with the metal buckles securing the bound man’s cuffs. Matt felt the restraint loosen around his wrists, and the leather gave way, allowing his arms to fall free to his sides.

He didn’t hesitate. The mechanic twisted his torso with a sudden burst of power, pivoting on the balls of his feet to bring his right arm up in a tight arc. He clenched his fingers into a fist and threw a solid punch, connecting squarely with Prissy’s painted jaw. The strike packed enough force to lift the sissy off the ground, sending the doll flying backward to crash onto the carpeted floor in a tangle of floral fabric and blonde hair. A rush of adrenaline hit his chest, making him feel like his old self again as he fought his way out of the trap.

Matt ignored the downed sissy and lunged for the ajar door, driven by the desperate need to escape. He pushed off his back foot to make a run for it, aiming to clear the hallway and find an exit, but the tall stilettos ruined his efforts. The unnatural heels proved impossible to run in. The thin spikes caught against the carpet the second he tried to push his pace, twisting his ankles outward and tangling his bare legs beneath him.

He tumbled forward and slammed his shoulder into the floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He gasped for air through the ring gag and tried to scramble onto his hands and knees, but the tall footwear made it impossible to find proper balance. He kicked his legs to push himself up, only to have his ankles twist again and send him back down to the rug.

Matt rolled onto his back and looked up. Prissy stood over him, looking perfectly composed. The sissy smoothed a hand over her floral dress and patted her blonde hair back into place with a long, well-manicured nail, acting as if the punch had barely bothered her. She didn’t look angry, just mildly disappointed as she stared down at the helpless man.

“Mistress told me if you tried to run, I could punish you,” the doll said in a flat voice.

Prissy’s lips contorted into a sadistic grin as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a glass syringe, aiming the metal needle directly at the young man’s neck. Matt kicked his legs, trying to scramble backward away from the needle, but the sissy held him down. Prissy dropped to her knees and pinned the kidnapped man’s chest to the carpet, utilizing an unexpected strength that easily overwhelmed the horrified mechanic. The feminized doll grabbed his shaved head with one hand, holding his skull firmly against the floor while Matt thrashed and bucked beneath her. He swung a desperate fist, but his awkward position made it impossible to put any real strength behind it.

Prissy drove the needle directly into the side of Matt’s neck and pushed the plunger down.

A numbing cold flooded his veins, causing his arms to grow heavy and drop uselessly to his sides. His racing heartbeat slowed to a crawl as he stared up at the face of the creature holding him down. He realized he was entirely at the mercy of a brainwashed bimbo, feeling a deep sense of despair just as the edges of the room began to blur.

“Sweet dreams,” were the final words he heard before a manic giggle echoed in his ears. The drugs pulled him under, dragging him deep into another enforced sleep.

❖

“Are you sure you want to go through with all of this in one go?” Dr. Robert Allen asked.

Chloe sat in a plush leather chair across from a white desk, keeping her hands resting awkwardly on her lap. She stared at the man in the white coat, her stomach churning.

Before she could answer, the young barista felt the unfamiliar weight of her new golden blonde hair brush against her shoulders. Sandra had dragged her straight from the diner to a beauty salon in Santa Barbara for a morning of pampering. The matriarch spared no expense. A team of stylists had stripped away Chloe’s natural dark blonde color, bleaching her strands and weaving in long extensions until her hair flowed in loose waves down her back. Estheticians had scrubbed her face with chemical peels and hydrating masks, leaving her skin unnaturally smooth. A manicurist had filed her natural nails down and glued on long, sharp acrylics painted a glossy red.

Chloe hated the additions to her body. She pressed the red plastic tips into the fabric of her skirt. Her mother sat right beside her, looking over at the golden waves and the smooth skin, visibly thrilled with the salon results. The older woman wore a smug smirk, taking pride in the fact that her daughter was finally starting to look like a proper woman. Chloe felt miserable, forced to follow along with her mother’s deranged plans.

The doctor tapped his pen against a folder resting on his desk. The file contained the enhancements Sandra had booked for the afternoon. Chloe had no idea what alterations were written on those pages, but whatever they were, she knew she would despise them.

“We’ve discussed it many times, Dr. Allen,” Sandra intervened. “This is what she wants. I couldn’t talk her out of it even if I tried.”

“I apprecia—” the doctor started before Sandra continued.

“She just doesn’t feel like she’s reaching her true potential in her own body,” the matriarch said. “It’s commendable, really. A woman who knows what she wants.”

“As I was saying, I appreciate your input, Sandra,” Dr. Allen said. “But for ethical and legal reasons, I need to hear the consent directly from the patient’s mouth.”

“Why?” Sandra replied defensively. “I am her mother, and I know exactly what she wants. She’s a little shy and nervous, which is why I’m here.”

“It’s standard medical practice, ma’am,” Dr. Allen answered calmly. “I can’t perform these procedures on a patient without her explicit consent. I need to know she understands the scope of what we’re doing today.”

Sandra shifted in her seat, masking her annoyance behind a tight smile. She knew she wouldn’t win this argument. She turned her head and looked directly at her daughter.

The older woman’s maternal act dropped for a second. She shot Chloe a silent warning glare, a clear reminder of what was at stake if she decided to play the part of the rebellious feminist today.

Chloe swallowed hard. Her mind drifted to Matt, picturing him standing in her old bedroom. He had been through so much already. It’s all my fault, she thought. If she could put a stop to his suffering by following a few orders, she knew she had to do it.

She dragged her gaze away from her mom and looked back at the doctor, forcing herself to sit up straight.

“Yes,” she lied, keeping her voice steady. “We talked about it, and this is what I want.”

Dr. Allen searched her face for a moment, looking for any hesitation before giving a curt nod.

“Are you sure, Chloe?” the doctor asked. “There’s no rush if you need more time to think it over.”

“I’m positive,” the blonde girl replied, staring at the humiliating nails resting on her lap. “I know all the risks.”

“Excellent,” the doctor said, picking up his pen to sign the bottom of the intake form.

Sandra reached over and patted her daughter’s knee, allowing her triumphant smile to return now that the damage had been done. She leaned close, whispering words of encouragement that sounded more like a victory lap.

“You’re making the right choice, sweetheart,” Sandra purred. “You are going to look breathtaking, trust me.”

Chloe ignored the praise and stared blankly at the wall. A nurse stepped into the consultation room holding a clipboard and a folded hospital gown, instructing the young woman to follow her into the preoperative wing. Chloe rose from the leather chair, feeling the golden extensions sway against her back.

She walked out of the office and followed the nurse down a sterile corridor, leaving her mother behind. As the attendant guided her, Chloe reached out and grabbed the redheaded woman’s shoulder.

Please, call the cops. My mom is a psychopath who has abducted me and my fiancé, was what she intended to say.

“Please,” she purred instead. “I’m a needy whore who needs all of my holes filled. Please help me.” She sounded desperate, and the lustful moan at the end certainly didn’t help.

The nurse looked alarmed at first, before letting out a subtle chuckle. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said affectionately. “The men are going to love the new you.”

Chloe was mortified. She couldn’t do anything to talk her way out of this nightmare. Whenever she tried to ask for help, she sounded like a desperate slut begging for more.

The nurse guided her the rest of the way into a small prep area and pulled a privacy curtain shut. Left alone for a brief moment, Chloe stripped off her skirt and blouse, folding the garments into a neat pile before slipping the flimsy hospital gown over her bare shoulders. She climbed onto the edge of the medical gurney, letting her newly pedicured feet dangle over the side.

The attendant returned with a medical tray and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her bicep, pumping the bulb to check her vitals. Chloe stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, barely registering the sharp pinch on the back of her hand as the nurse slid a needle into her vein and secured the intravenous tubing with tape. Dr. Allen stepped into the enclosed space a minute later, offering a polite smile as he checked the equipment and instructed the nurse to begin administering the anesthesia.

The woman pushed a syringe into the IV port, sending a potent sedative straight into the young barista’s bloodstream. A warm flush spread through her chest and traveled quickly up her neck, replacing her panic with a heavy lethargy. Chloe mumbled the number ten as her tongue grew thick and uncoordinated, keeping her final thoughts focused on Matt before the drugs pulled her under into a deep, dreamless sleep.

❖

This isn’t me.

Chloe sat upright in the recovery bed and stared into the small handheld mirror. The swelling had gone down enough for the results to show, leaving her to confront the irreversible alterations carved into her features. She studied the unfamiliar woman trapped inside the glass. Her stomach churned as she cataloged the changes, unable to accept that this hyper-feminized stranger was actually her own reflection.

She tried to furrow her brow in anger. Nothing happened. The skin across her forehead and around her eyes refused to crease. The Botox injected into her muscles kept her features frozen in place, stripping away her ability to scowl. Her upper face remained smooth and unbothered, creating a mask that made her look like a high-maintenance trophy wife.

Her eyes drifted lower. The surgeon had shaved down the bridge of her nose and refined the tip, leaving behind a significantly slimmer profile that took up a smaller area of her face. It looked dainty and designed. She reached up with a trembling hand, tapping her red fingernail against the altered cartilage. The lingering numbness was unsettling.

The most drastic and humiliating change sat just below her nose. Her lips had been plumped with excessive amounts of filler, transforming her mouth into a thick, seductively pouty spectacle. The pillowy flesh protruded forward, demanding attention and practically begging to be used. Chloe pursed her lips, pulling the swollen muscles inward to try to thin them out. She could actively stop the exaggerated pout if she focused all her energy on holding the pose, but the tension burned in her lower face. The moment she relaxed her muscles, the thick cushions naturally returned to the same inviting, cock-sucking expression. Her resting state was now permanently sexualized.

“Well, what do you think?” Sandra asked from the side of the room.

Chloe lowered the handheld mirror and turned her head. Her mother sat in a plush visitor chair beside the bed, crossing her legs and resting her designer handbag on her lap. The matriarch wore a smug grin, clearly thrilled with the outcome.

“What the hell have you done to m—” Chloe gasped and placed a hand over her plump mouth as her brain registered her new voice. It was definitely her, but it came out a little lighter and gravelly. It reminded her of the voices of 50s pinup models. They altered my voice?

“Stop being so melodramatic,” the older woman replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “You look gorgeous. I paid a fortune to give you that face, and you should be thanking me instead of whining like an ungrateful brat.”

“I sound like a fucking phone sex operator,” Chloe said. She heard the raspy, breathy tone shape her words and hated the seductive purr it naturally produced. She touched her throat, feeling the vocal cords vibrate in a foreign, manufactured pitch. “You paid someone to destroy my voice. This isn’t me anymore.”

“You sound like a proper lady,” Sandra countered smoothly. “Men pay good money to hear a voice like that. You just need to get used to the upgrade. Get out of that bed and get a proper look at yourself in the mirror over there.”

“I don’t want to look at it anymore,” the blonde girl spat, though the intended venom morphed into a breathy whine as it passed through her swollen lips. “I want them to reverse what they’ve done to me.”

“You agreed to all of this, remember?” Sandra stated, keeping her tone perfectly even. “The doctors were just doing what you asked for. You gave them verbal consent, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Chloe wanted to argue her mother’s ridiculous point, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t have the energy to fight, and whatever she said would have been twisted by Sandra anyway. She tossed the handheld glass onto the mattress and pushed the blankets aside. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. She stood up, adjusting the fabric of her gown, and took a hesitant step across the room.

She walked toward the large windowed mirror mounted on the wall. She stopped a few feet away from the glass and stared in disbelief. It really was her staring back, though the reflection belonged to a stranger. The golden blonde extensions fell over her shoulders, framing the frozen, flawlessly smooth skin of her face. Her arched eyebrows gave her an unapproachable aesthetic, while her new pout turned her resting expression into a perpetual sexual invitation.

Chloe raised her hand and placed her palm flat against the cool glass. Her new nails clicked sharply against the surface. She traced the outline of her reflection’s slimmer nose, mourning the independent woman she used to be. The girl who poured coffee, wore baggy t-shirts, and had her own independent thoughts was buried beneath layers of bleach, filler, and paralyzing toxins.

Sandra stood up from the visitor chair and walked across the room. The older woman stepped behind her daughter and rested her own manicured hands on Chloe’s shoulders. They stared at the reflection together.

“This is just the beginning, darling,” Sandra whispered, leaning close to Chloe’s ear. “We fixed the face today. Next time, we can put some real womanly curves on you.”

Chloe dreaded the promise of further surgeries. She hated the idea of what her mother was capable of, and wondered if protecting her beloved Matt was worth the sacrifice. She wanted to pull away from the touch, but she kept her feet planted on the floor.

“I just need to check on something, honey,” the older woman announced, giving her daughter’s shoulders a final squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Take all the time you need to admire yourself.”

The matriarch turned and strutted out of the recovery room. The door clicked shut, leaving Chloe alone with her distorted reflection.

The young woman barely registered her mother leaving. She kept her hand pressed against the windowed mirror, fixated on the horrifying changes. She dragged her red nails down the glass, worrying about what Matt would think of her when he finally saw the alterations. She worried he would look at her golden hair and her swollen lips and feel the same revulsion she felt for herself. He fell in love with a natural girl, and her mother had forcibly erased that person from existence. She pictured his rugged face and his warm smile, wishing she could hide.

Unbeknownst to Chloe, her fiancé was currently much closer than she thought.

❖

Matt blinked his eyes open and groaned. A dull headache throbbed just behind his temples, making the room blur around the edges. He shifted on the unfamiliar mattress, feeling a heavy sluggishness weigh down his limbs. He ran a hand over his face, expecting to feel the rough stubble of his jaw, but his skin felt unnaturally smooth and tender.

“Take it easy, sweetheart,” a female voice said.

Matt turned his head. Sandra sat in an armchair right beside the recovery bed, crossing her legs and resting her hands neatly on her lap. Prissy stood obediently behind the older woman, keeping her fingers clasped in front of her yellow sundress. The brainwashed sissy stared blankly ahead with an eerie, serene smile.

“What—” Matt stammered. “What happened?”

“You have been through a lot, darling,” Sandra replied, her tone falsely affectionate. “I want you to take your time waking up and adjusting to the changes. The surgeons did exceptional work on you while you were asleep.”

Matt ignored the sickly sweet tone from the crazy woman and pushed the hospital blankets aside. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, determined to get away from this bitch. He placed his bare feet on the cold floor and pushed himself upright, intending to march straight toward the recovery room door.

A sharp jolt of pain shot up his calves the second he tried to plant his feet. His heels refused to touch the floor. He stumbled forward as he lost his balance, his arms flailing as he scrambled to stay upright. Sandra stood up and caught his arm, steadying him while he wobbled on his toes.

Matt looked down in horror. His heels were physically forced upward, leaving him stranded on his tiptoes. His arches were locked into a steep curve, refusing to flatten out no matter how much pressure he applied. His tendons had been shortened, stripping away his ability to stand flat-footed. He tried to force his heel down, but a searing pain shot through his ankle, confirming the modification. He stood barefoot on the floor, yet his body acted as if he wore invisible stilettos.

“Careful now,” Sandra smiled, running a manicured hand down his bare arm. “You will find it a lot easier to walk in high heels from now on, sissy. You are built for them.”

The older woman motioned to the floor. Prissy stepped forward and knelt beside the bed, holding a pair of five-inch pink fluffy slipper stilettos. Matt tried to pull his feet away, but his lack of balance made him entirely dependent on Sandra’s grip just to stay upright. Prissy slipped the fluffy footwear onto his altered feet. The steep incline of the stiletto heels perfectly matched the new structural arch of his soles, instantly providing him with the support his locked joints required. He stood up straight, hating the undeniable comfort the women’s shoes offered his mutilated feet.

“Now, let’s go look at your pretty face,” Sandra instructed.

She grabbed his arm and guided him across the room toward a large wall mirror. Matt took short, mincing steps in the fluffy slippers, his treadmill training paying off, letting the older woman lead him forward. He stopped in front of the reflective glass and stared at the horrifying reflection staring back, his stomach churning with revulsion.

His face looked distinctly rounder, stripped of the masculine jawline he used to possess. The sharp angles of his bone structure had been shaved down, softening his entire profile into a passive, effeminate shape. He turned his head slightly, noticing his ears had been pinned back and somehow reduced in size. They sat against his skull, giving him a dainty appearance. A tiny, sloping button nose replaced his prominent bridge, looking precise and undeniably feminine.

Matt swallowed hard, watching his throat shift in the mirror. His Adam’s apple had been shaved down, leaving only a slight, barely visible bump behind to remind him of his former manhood. The procedure explained the raw soreness burning in his throat and the slight rasp in his breath.

He blinked, noticing a dark fringe bordering his eyes. His lashes were remarkably long and thick, making his eyes look even larger.

“I just love your new natural eyelashes,” Sandra remarked affectionately. She reached out and traced a painted nail along his cheekbone. “They look beautiful, don’t they? They frame your eyes perfectly and give you such an innocent, pretty sissy look.”

All of that took a backseat as Matt couldn’t pull his eyes away from his mouth.

His lips were obscenely engorged. The top lip had been lifted and stretched to expose his upper teeth, while the bottom hung heavy and flush with fresh volume. They were colored a deep, saturated pink, making his mouth look constantly aroused. The sheer size of the alterations made it impossible to press his lips together, leaving a wet, parted gap that practically demanded a dick to fill it. It was the mouth of a brainless bimbo, designed solely for sucking and servicing.

He stared at his brow. His natural hair had been plucked and scraped away entirely, replaced by high, thin tattooed arches that gave him a submissive, surprised expression. Dark ink lined his eyelids with a sharp cat-eye flick, ensuring he could never scrub his new identity away.

“The permanent makeup is deep in your skin,” Sandra explained, catching his panicked stare in the mirror. “It is a wonderful baseline. It’s subtle enough that you can still try out all kinds of different trashy styles on top of it, but you will never wake up looking like an ugly little boy ever again. You are a pretty little sissyboi now. Still think you’re good enough for my daughter?”

Matt ignored the comment and dragged his eyes down his torso. He still possessed a male frame, but his physique looked smaller. The manly shoulders and defined chest his time in the gym had cultivated were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a softer, less defined shape. The strict diet of rabbit food and the stiletto training had starved his muscular bulk away, leaving him looking weak and pliable. His biceps lacked their former peak, and his torso looked smooth, devoid of the rugged definition he once took pride in. He felt fragile and defenseless against the two women standing beside him.

How long have I been out? He wondered to himself as he stared in horror.

Sandra stepped back, crossing her arms as she admired the emasculated figure in the glass.

“Your body is coming along nicely,” the matriarch noted. “But your waist is still far too blocky for the wardrobe I have planned for you.”

She turned away from the reflection and walked toward the exit. She paused near the door and looked over her shoulder at the obedient, exaggerated sissy standing nearby.

“Get him dressed, Prissy,” Sandra commanded. “He has a date tonight, and I expect him to look perfect for it.”

Matt turned his head, his altered lips parting in fresh bewilderment. “A date?”

Sandra ignored his question and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. Prissy stepped forward, holding up a pretty pink corset adorned with heavy boning and long nylon laces. The doll flashed a serene smile, ready to dress the captive like a proper princess.

❖

Matt sat at the counter inside The Bear Club and stared straight ahead at the rows of liquor bottles on the shelves. He kept his hands folded on his lap, trying to make himself as small as possible while the music thumped through the floorboards. Men packed the gay bar from wall to wall, drinking and talking over the loud noise. Matt felt dozens of eyes burning into his back, stripping him bare and judging the humiliating attraction Sandra had turned him into.

His captors had dressed him in a hot pink sequined mini dress that ended just below his hips, leaving his smooth, bare legs exposed to the open room. Sparkly rhinestone straps dug into his shoulders to hold up a tight bodice that squeezed his reduced pectorals together, creating the pathetic illusion of cleavage. A thick layer of pink glitter coated his cheekbones and eyelids, drawing extra attention to the permanent makeup inked onto his skin. Even if the patrons somehow missed the surgical feminization of his face and failed to notice that he was a man dressed as a woman, the slim pink leather sissy choker buckled around his neck broadcast his title to every man in the building.

Derek sat on the adjacent barstool and nursed a glass of whiskey. The chubby older man had already paid Sandra for this date, and he intended to get his money’s worth out of the young feminized mechanic. Derek wore a button-down shirt that stretched tight over a prominent gut, and his receding hairline glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He dragged his gaze up and down Matt’s sparkly pink outfit, eyeing the artificial cleavage and the glittery makeup with blatant lust.

“You look like a real piece of ass in that dress, ladyboy,” Derek grunted, leaning his elbow on the counter. “I bet a mouth like that knows exactly how to suck a cock.”

Matt swallowed hard and gave a subtle nod. He kept his eyes locked on the bottles behind the bar, hoping the sleazy older man would stop talking. He counted down the seconds until he was allowed to leave, and hoped he’d get out of this encounter with a shred of dignity left.

A sharp electrical shock suddenly ripped through the metal prongs hidden inside the pink choker.

“Ah!” Matt yelped, jolting upright on the barstool.

The sudden pulse of pain sent a burning spike down his spine and caused his chest to heave. He whipped his head around and scanned the crowded bar. He searched the faces of the patrons, looking for the two people who had made it their mission to antagonize him. He couldn’t spot Sandra or Prissy anywhere in the room, but he knew one of them had to be standing in the shadows holding the remote control. They were monitoring his date and demanding his cooperation from a distance. Disobedience would result in pain; they made sure of that.

“What’s the matter?” Derek asked, raising a bushy eyebrow at the outburst. “You think you’re too good to answer a compliment?”

Matt hesitated, his mind racing for a way out of this.

Another shock bit into his neck, burning hotter and longer than the first one. The punishing electrical current continued to shock his body until he complied, and eventually the feminized man relented. He let out an airy giggle, his cheeks flushing as he forced the reaction. The invisible watcher sent a clear message. He had to play the bimbo role he was dressed for, or they would fry his nerves right here in front of everyone.

“Thank you, Derek,” Matt forced out, letting the rasp in his voice shape the words into a breathy, feminine purr. “That is sweet of you to say.”

Derek smiled and slid his stool closer. He pressed his thick thigh against Matt’s bare leg, trapping the heavily made-up man against the bar. The older man reached down and ran a bold hand straight over Matt’s crotch, pressing his stubby fingers into the sequined fabric. Derek found the hard plastic outline of the chastity cage secured beneath the dress and squeezed the device against Matt’s pubic bone.

Matt flinched at the invasive grab, but the memory of the electrical shocks kept him planted in his seat.

“I fucking love it when you sissies are locked up and helpless,” Derek whispered. The older man leaned in close, letting his sour breath brush against Matt’s cheek. “It means you are here to pleasure others. Your mouth and your ass are your assets now. Come on, slut. We are getting out of here.”

Before the feminized man could react, Derek grabbed Matt by the wrist and yanked him away from the counter. The sudden pull forced the mechanic to catch his balance on his tiptoes. His altered tendons ached as he scrambled to follow the chubby man through the crowd. The bar patrons parted for them, watching the sleazy man drag his sparkly pink date toward the exit.

They stepped out into the cool night air. Matt struggled to keep up as Derek marched across the pavement. The steep incline of the six-inch pink stilettos forced Matt to sway his hips in a degrading strut just to stay upright. Derek stopped beside a muddy pickup truck and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. The man opened the passenger door and shoved Matt inside the cab.

Matt landed awkwardly on the upholstery. His dress rode high up his thighs, exposing his chastity prison for a moment. Derek climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, sealing them inside the quiet vehicle. The older man unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers with a loud metallic rasp. Derek pushed his pants down his thighs and pulled out his thick, semi-erect cock. He gripped the meat in his fist and stroked it a few times to coax it into full hardness.

“Get over here, femme boy,” Derek ordered, pointing a finger at his lap.

Matt stared at the exposed flesh, his heart pounding. He wanted to throw a punch and run away, but the pink collar around his neck guaranteed instant punishment, and the rapid escalation had stunned him into paralysis.

Before Matt could make the decision, Derek’s hand grabbed onto the young man’s wig and forcefully guided his heavily made-up face down toward the glistening member. Matt tried to clamp his mouth shut, but the shape of his new lips made it almost impossible to keep them pursed tight, and the older man forced his cock inside.

The thick shaft pushed past his teeth, filling his mouth and scraping against his tongue, making him gag. Derek drove his hips upward, driving the blunt head against the back of the sissy’s throat.

“Hrrk-nnngh!” Matt gagged, his body naturally trying to reject the cock.

Derek tightened his grip on Matt’s synthetic hair to hold the mechanic in place.

“Take it all, bitch,” Derek grunted. “Your mouth is built for this.”

The older man established a steady, grinding pace. He pulled his hips back and slammed forward. Matt let his jaw hang open, allowing his fat lips to do exactly what they were designed for. The swollen tissue stretched around the girth, providing a tight seal that milked the older man with every thrust. The sensual pout accommodated the act effortlessly.

“Suck it, you fucking slut,” Derek growled. He thrust upward with renewed force. “You like taking a real man’s dick down your throat?”

“Mmmph-ghck!” Matt whimpered around the obstruction.

Matt raised his head, letting his long eyelashes flutter as he met the patron’s gaze. The tattooed arches and the flushed, swollen lips painted a picture of submission. Derek let out a loud groan and pumped his fist faster. A thick rope of cum shot out from the tip of his cock, splattering directly across Matt’s cheek. Another pulse hit the mechanic’s chin, followed by a final, messy spurt that landed right in the center of his plumped lips.

Matt flinched as the warm fluid coated his face. He started to wipe it away, but Derek smacked his hand away. “Don’t ruin my masterpiece, sissy bitch,” he spat out.

Matt sat frozen over the console, forced to accept the crude man’s salty release as it finished all over his face. Derek slumped back against the driver’s seat, catching his breath while he stared at the ruined sissy.

“Good girl,” Derek chuckled. He reached out to pat Matt on the cheek, smearing the semen into the pink glitter. “You ladyboys always know exactly how to please a real man like me. Now get out of my truck. I have places to be.”

Matt pulled himself back across the center console and fumbled for the door handle. He pushed the metal latch and shoved the passenger door open, desperate to escape the confined space. He stepped out into the night air and planted his feet on the asphalt. He balanced on his tiptoes until the tall stilettos found their purchase against the uneven ground.

Derek slammed the truck into reverse without another word. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle backed out of the parking space, leaving the ruined man stranded in the lot.

Matt stood alone in the dark parking lot, shivering in the cool breeze as the taillights disappeared into the distance. A heavy wave of shame settled in his stomach. He raised a trembling hand and touched his cheek, feeling the sticky warmth of the cum mixed with his makeup. How could I let this happen? He wondered. How could I let a stranger use my mouth? The mere thought of it made him gag. He hated himself for giving up, for letting the shock collar break his will so easily instead of fighting back harder and accepting the pain like a man.

He turned toward the glowing sign of The Bear Club, knowing he had to find a bathroom to clean himself up before Sandra emerged to pick him up. As he swayed his hips and forced his locked feet forward, a sickening thought crept into his mind. What will Chloe think of me if she finds out? he worried. Will she even want me anymore? He feared the natural girl he loved would look at his painted face, his swollen lips, and his ruined dignity and realize he was no longer the same man who had promised to protect her. Worse, he feared he no longer deserved her.

❖

“Thanks, but we’re already waiting for someone.”

Sandra smiled politely and waved a dismissive hand through the air, shooing the stranger away from their booth.

The young man in his twenties hesitated, his confident smirk faltering as he processed the sudden rejection. He had strutted over to their table with practiced swagger, clearly accustomed to getting his way with women, but the older woman shut him down before he could even offer to buy a round of drinks. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his fitted jeans and walked away in defeat, casting one final, hungry look over his shoulder at the blonde girl sitting silently across the table.

Chloe kept her gaze locked on the tablecloth. She felt her cheeks burn with a deep, humiliating flush. That was the third man who had approached their table since they sat down inside the upmarket French restaurant, and she was far too embarrassed to formulate a reply to any of them. Each stranger had stared at her face with the exact same lustful hunger, treating her like a prize they thought they had a chance at winning.

Sandra wanted everyone in the room to get a good look at her daughter. The woman had dressed Chloe in a tight red silk gown specifically to draw this kind of attention from the wealthy men eating their dinners. The thin material clung to her body and plunged low down her chest, leaving her pale shoulders completely bare. The dress acted like a vise around her ribs, pushing her modest breasts up into a high, full cleavage that spilled over the neckline. A slit up the thigh forced her to cross her bare legs tightly beneath the table just to keep from flashing the room. She wore strappy black heels that pinched her toes and forced her calves to flex.

Her new hair fell in thick, golden blonde waves down her back. A fresh layer of bright red lipstick painted her fat, swollen lips, making her mouth look wet and ready to suck a cock. Her forehead felt stiff and heavy. The Botox pumped into her muscles kept her brow completely frozen, stopping her from scowling at the men openly staring at her. She just sat there with a blank, pretty face, looking like a high-priced hooker waiting for her pimp to hand her off to a paying customer. Somehow, that was exactly how she felt.

A waiter walked over and poured sparkling water into their glasses. Chloe waited for the man to leave before wrapping her acrylic nails around the stem. She lifted the glass and tried to take a normal sip. Her fat lips lacked their old feeling, making it hard to close them around the rim. A drop of water slipped out of her mouth and ran down her chin. She quickly grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped it away, hating how her body was now built for servicing men instead of handling basic human tasks.

Her mother chuckled as Chloe struggled to adjust to her new assets. “You’re getting so much attention tonight,” Sandra said, picking up her own glass.

The older woman took a delicate sip and smiled at an older gentleman watching them from the bar across the room.

“You are being such a good girl,” Sandra continued, setting her glass back down on the tablecloth. “You have been a star since we left that clinic. I’m very proud of you, Chloe.”

“I didn’t exactly have a fucking choice, did I?” the young blonde spat back.

Her anger lost all its bite the second it left her mouth. Her altered vocal cords turned the harsh words into a raspy, breathy purr. The new voice made her sound turned on instead of furious. It stripped away her feminist edge and left her sounding like a desperate slut begging for a man to take her home. She hated hearing herself speak. Every word that passed her lips felt like a betrayal to women everywhere.

Sandra dropped her warm smile. She leaned forward over the table and gave her daughter a cold, warning look.

“Watch your language,” the woman scolded softly. “A real lady doesn’t swear, and she certainly doesn’t speak to her mother that way. Show a little bit of gratitude for once in your life.”

Chloe bit the inside of her cheek. The thick flesh made the action clumsy. She wanted to stand up and scream for help, to tell everyone eating their dinners that she was a hostage in her mother’s sick game and the woman sitting across from her was a kidnapper. She gripped the napkin on her lap, holding herself back from causing a scene.

She knew the brainwashing buried in her mind made running away impossible. If she tried to scream for a waiter, her own body would betray her. She would end up dropping to the floor and fingering herself right there in the dining room, humping the carpet until she came in front of all these rich strangers. Her mother had proven the terrifying power of that conditioning at the mall, leaving Chloe with no choice but to sit still and obey orders.

“I did everything you asked me to do,” Chloe whispered, keeping her raspy voice quiet so nobody else could hear. “I kept my end of the bargain.”

“And you look beautiful doing it,” Sandra replied smoothly, her smug smile returning now that she had reestablished her dominance.

“When can I see my fiancé?” the blonde girl asked. “I need to know Matt is safe. I need to see that you haven’t harmed him.”

Chloe felt a knot twist in her stomach as she thought about Matt. Her beloved fiancé was the only reason she went along with this nightmare. She endured the needles and the humiliating changes just to keep him safe from her mother’s cruelty. She pictured his calloused hands and his warm smile, hoping her mother had kept her word and left him alone. She worried about his pride and how much it must hurt him to be locked up while she was paraded around town. She hoped he would still love her for her after he saw what she had become.

“All in good time, sweetheart,” Sandra answered, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the concern. “You just need to focus on your own role right now.”

Chloe opened her mouth to argue, but a shadow fell over their table.

A well-dressed man approached their booth. He looked to be in his late fifties, possessing a head of silver hair and a confident, easy stride that commanded respect from everyone in his path. He wore a tailored navy blue suit that fit his wide shoulders, and an expensive silver Rolex rested on his wrist. He radiated old money and quiet authority. He bypassed Chloe entirely and walked straight toward the matriarch.

“Sandra,” the older man greeted. His deep voice carried easily over the ambient noise of the dining room.

“Evan, it is wonderful to see you,” Sandra replied warmly.

She stood up from the booth and embraced the wealthy man, kissing his cheek before pulling back with a big smile.

“You look as handsome as ever,” Sandra added.

“And you are glowing,” Evan returned.

He turned his attention toward the opposite side of the table. His gaze fell upon the blonde girl sitting in the red silk dress. He looked at her fat, glossy red lips and the frozen skin of her upper face. His eyes trailed down to the exposed cleavage pushed up by her tight bodice, assessing her body with a blatant, hungry stare. He took his time evaluating her curves, looking at her like something to win.

“I don’t believe we have met,” the older man murmured.

Chloe sat rigidly in her seat, feeling the man’s eyes strip her bare. She wanted to cover her cleavage and hide her swollen mouth, but she kept her hands folded on her lap.

Sandra placed a manicured hand on the man’s arm and gestured toward the booth.

“Evan, please allow me to introduce my daughter,” Sandra announced proudly, presenting the bimbo to the wealthy man. “Chloe, this is Mr. Evan Hayes. He is a dear friend of mine, and he has been looking forward to meeting you.”

End of Chapter Three