Written by: vivianne
443 words
The first time your Master talked to you about hormones was on a Sunday afternoon, after an especially rough session with three retired truckers. You were kneeling in his living room, your little dick caged, your panties full of dried cum and your ass open like a mailbox.
“Vivianne,” he said to you, sitting in his armchair, his fat cock hanging between his legs. “You’re a good whore, but you’re missing something. Your skin is still a guy’s. Your tits are a guy’s. You smell like a guy.”
You started trembling. You knew what was coming.
“You’re going to start taking hormones. I have an endocrinologist friend who gives me what I need without asking questions. In six months I want to see tits on you. I want your ass to be softer than a real woman’s ass.”
You couldn’t say no. You never can.
Now, three months later, you get up every morning and inject yourself in the thigh. The estrogens are softening your skin, rounding your hips, making your nipples sensitive. You’re starting to grow tits—small, firm, sensitive. Sometimes they hurt even with clothes on. But he loves it. He makes you send him photos every week: “Show me how those little whore tits are growing, slut.”
And then there are the toys. Your Master has a collection that grows every week. Silicone plugs, each one thicker than the last. Huge dildos—black, monstrous, some the size of your forearm. He bought you a 30-centimeter dildo that he calls “your boyfriend for lonely nights.”
Every night, before sleeping, you have to put one inside yourself. It’s an order. You sit on the edge of the bed, lubricate your ass, and put it all the way in while he watches you on video call. You have to keep it inside for an hour while he jerks off watching you.
“I want that ass trained for any cock I put in you,” he tells you while he watches you writhe. “When I’m done with you, you’re going to be able to swallow a whole arm with your ass without blinking.”
And between the clients, the hormones, the plugs, and the dildos, you’re turning into something else. You’re no longer man or woman. You’re a sissy. A toy. A hole with tits, woman’s hips, and a caged little dick you barely even remember how to use.
Your Master watches you from his throne, fat, sweaty, satisfied, while you sit on a 25-centimeter dildo in front of the camera.
“Very good, little whore,” he says, lighting a cigarette. “Tomorrow a group of Moroccans is coming. Eight of them. I’ve put you in my living room; it’ll be you and two other transvestites I have. Your asses are going to be full all night.”
You smile, your eyes full of tears and your ass full of black silicone.
Yes, Master.
Vivianne... the feminized toy!
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