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Subject: {ASSM} Unknown Waifish Model Page 53 Ch 1 of 3 (MM,TG,MC)
Date: Wed, 10 Sep 2003 15:10:09 -0400
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<1st attachment, "UWM1.txt" begin>
Unknown Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three Ch.1 Copyright 2003 by Couture
We lay curled up to one another in the hotel bed, Sandra and I. I
looked forward to the day we'd no longer have to make do with hotel beds
and the occasional foray to my apartment. Yes, one day soon, she would
leave her bastard of a husband and move in with me.
God, she was beautiful. Her blonde hair was mussed up, as she lay on
the pillow. Her face had the tranquil look that only comes during sleep.
She looked like an angel. I kissed her forehead and went to whisper, "I
love you," in her ear.
What came out was, "You're nothing but a whore Sandra. A piece of shit
cheating whore!"
Where did that come from? I would never say anything like that. It was
my voice, but the accent was different.
"What?" She sat up in the bed suddenly. Her eyes welled with tears.
Why was she crying? She knew I'd never hurt her. I went to apologize,
but again, I lost control of my tongue. "You heard me," I said. "You're a
whore. A two dollar piece of shit. You've just been a hole for me to rest
my dick, but you're all played out."
"Y-you said you loved me." She pulled the bedspread tightly around her
body and got out of bed, searching for her discarded clothes. "We made
plans."
"I used you," I said. It was my voice, but it wasn't me. I could never
sound that uncaring. "It was fun, but now it's done."
Her hurt look changed to anger. "Y-y-you bastard!" She pulled her dress
on and stepped into her heels.
"Y-y-y-you s-s-stupid re-re-retard." I mimicked as the door slammed.
I sat there alone and in shock. What the hell just happened? It was as
if I was a prisoner in my own body. The last few weeks had been weird.
There had been blackouts, but nothing like this. Was I going insane?
"Ha-ha-ha," I laughed a dryly. "God, this is gonna to be fun. . ."
***********
I got the hell out of there. I would try to apologize to Sandra later,
but first I had to figure out what was wrong with me. I needed to make an
appointment to see my doctor. Was this some form of Tourettes? However,
instead of driving home, I turned off at the mall. The problem was; I
didn't want to go to the mall.
I had once again become a bystander in my own body.
It was even worse than at the hotel room. I stopped at the bank and
emptied my accounts. And somehow my savings balance had about three times
more money in it than it should have. I would have been startled, but
honestly, I was numb to everything by this point. Then I went to the
lingerie store and I bought a lot of things. I even tried the stuff on.
Dear God, I even told the sales girl I was buying it for myself. I tried
to stop myself, but I had no control over myself or even the blush that
burned in my cheeks.
Next, I bought dresses, make-up, had my ears pierced, and visited a
hairstylist for a feminine cut. Lord, I even had my nails done. Whoever
or whatever control me was exacting a full measure of revenge. By the time
I was finished, I was twothousand dollars poorer and looked like the
biggest fag in the city. Yet, I still had over a hundred and fifty
thousand from the bank stuffed in my purse.
When I finally got control of my body again, I drove straight home. I
was in a state of shock. I just wanted to lie down, wake up and this bad
dream be over. Instead, I took a bath. Well, I didn't, but whatever or
whoever that controlled me did. I even shaved off all of my body hair.
After I dried, I put on some of the clothes I bought at the mall. The
women's clothes. Then I packed the rest away into a suitcase. I stood in
front of the mirror and smiled. I looked like a whore. My lips pursed and
blew myself a kiss. "Fasten your seat belts Davie, this is where it gets
good," I said to myself. Then I was sure of it. There was some entity and
somehow it had control of me . . . totally.
I went outside and picked up the lighter fluid from my grill and poured
it all over the floor.
"Please stop, please stop. I'll do anything, I begged silently, unable
to so much as move my lips. Then I called a cab. When the cab arrived, I
put my bag clothes in.
"Wait here sweetie," I told the cabbie. "I forgot my tampax."
I went back inside and lit the lighter fluid, then high-tailed it back
to the car.
"I want to go to 1105 Manilla Ave," I told the cabbie. "Please hurry
sugar, I'm running late."
Behind us, the smoke rose. I wanted to do anything, but I couldn't even
scream. I was a prisoner within my own body.
When we arrived at our destination, I got my bags from the car and
entered the building I had never seen before in my life. Once I was
inside, I could tell it was some sort of medical facility based on how some
of the women were dressed. I went to the receptionist. "Hi, my name is
Chrissy. I'm here for my appointment."
"Sure, have a seat," she said. "We'll be with you in just a moment."
I went to the waiting room, picked up a Vogue magazine, and popped a
piece of gum in my mouth.
"Eenie-meenie-miny-moe, you're gonna be a pretty ho'" I said, inserting
a fingernail about mid-way in the magazine and opening it up to pages
fifty-seven and fifty-eight. I'll always remember that page and the
picture of the skinny darkhaired model walking down the runway. She had a
stick figure, long legs that went straight down. The thin fabric of the
dress was transparent, drawing my gaze to the dark pink nipples atop her
fledgling breasts. Her face was pretty, but she had a body that was
designed for fashion designers, not men. My mind was racing. What was
going on? What did the voice that was speaking with my lips mean? I
should be trembling in fear, but instead my foot idly bobbed the heel I was
wearing up and down. I casually blew a bubble and popped it.
"The doctor will see you now," the nurse said, helping me to my feet by
my arm. "Don't worry about the bags honey, we'll see to them."
I took the magazine in with me to the doctor's office. I prayed the
doctor would be able to shed some light on whatever condition was affecting
me.
The doctor was an older woman - petite with graying hair. She looked
very professional.
"Hi," she said, shaking my hand. "I'm Dr. Adams and you must be
Chrissie."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, while inside I screamed, 'No! No! My name is
David. Please help me!'
"Pleased to finally meet you. I really had no idea what to expect from
talking with you over the phone."
I never talked with you before, I wanted to scream. Instead, I said,
"Well, can you help me?"
"I think we can. What is it exactly that I can do for you?"
You can help me get control of my body again. I handed her the
magazine. "Can you do that?"
She looked at it critically for a moment, picked up a pen, walked over
to me, and began to draw on my face. After a moment, she said, "I think we
can come pretty close. But are you sure about this, yes? You are
certain?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'm certain."
She frowned. "This is really not typical. There's supposed to be a
wait. . . and counseling."
"Will this change your mind?" I opened my bag and showed her the money.
She counted out the money I gave her and put it in her desk drawer.
"Are you certain?
"I'm positively positive."
"Okay, let's do this then." She turned and called a nurse on the phone.
What's happening to me! I tried to scream but nothing came out.
Instead, I meekly put on the hospital gown, took a sedative from the nurse,
and was laid down on bed. Shortly, I was wheeled into the operating room.
Don't do this! Don't do this! Whatever you are doing, please don't do
this! But my lips didn't move.
The doctor held the mask above my mouth. "Are you certain?" she asked.
"Do it," I replied.
"Count backwards from a hundred," she said, as she placed the mask on my
mouth.
There was an evil laugh, and the strangest thing . . . it was coming
from me.
**********
When I woke up, I was still hearing the laugh, only this time I realized
it wasn't me laughing.
"Ugh" I groaned as I tried to sit up. Instead, I puked.
A plastic container was thrust into my hands "That's it Dave, let it all
come out," someone said. I recognized the voice. At least I thought I
did, but I had only heard it a couple of times before. Yet, there it was
and I couldn't deny it. It was Sandra's husband Phil!
"What's happening to me?" I asked. I couldn't see and I hurt all over.
"You've just had surgery, so don't try to move. You also have bandages
over your eyes."
Was it all a bad dream? How much was real?
"Something is wrong. I can't control my body?" I croaked hoarsely. I
tried to clear my throat, but couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" Phil asked. "It must be the drugs."
"C-can I go home?"
"Sure. Let me get your stuff and then we'll go."
The nurse at the front desk tried to stop us, but I signed myself out. I
just wanted to get home where things would get back to normal. But, when I
got to the car my head started to clear. I realized I probably should have
stayed at the hospital. I was effectively blind and there was no way I
could take care of myself in the shape I was in and the last thing I needed
to do was to leave with the husband of the wife I had been screwing, I
don't care how rational he seemed.
"Phil," I said. "I better go back in."
"I'm afraid that isn't an option anymore Chrissie. It never was." He
chuckled.
Chrissie? What was going on? What had happened? "Wait. Let me out.
Let me out right now." I tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse
whisper.
He grabbed my head and pushed against me lips. The pain was incredible.
Something had been done to them in the clinic. I was quickly reduced to
sobs.
"Are you going to be nice," he said. I had no choice but to follow his
directions.
I nodded my head.
"Good."
He drove me and I had no idea where we ended up. I found out later. It
was back to his house, down to the basement. I was crying and sobbing in
fear. At least I was able to cry and sob in fear. As long as I could
control myself, there was hope.
"You'll only be secured while you heal," he said, while he cuffed me to
the bed. "After that, I'll let you go."
"Please let me go. Please don't hurt me. I'll never see Sandra again.
You'll never see me again. . . EVER." God, how I meant it. I was more
scared than I had ever been in my life.
"Here," he said. "Let's put these heels on you. Don't you like pretty
heels? And then you'll have to be quiet and be nice, otherwise things will
go very bad for you."
How could someone who sounded so calm and rational kidnap and abuse me
as he had? The calmness scared me and I believed every word he said. Bad
for me? I had no idea what it meant, and I had no intention of finding
out. Several times during the next few weeks I spent in the basement,
whenever he left for work, I tried to scream and shout to get someone to
hear me, but all that earned me was a gag shaped like a small penis jammed
into my mouth the next day. "Just be patient, you don't have but a few
more days before I let you go," he said calmly.
By the end of the three weeks, I had some idea what was happening, but I
wasn't sure quite how far things had gone. I must have had some cosmetic
surgery at the clinic and he was feeding me a daily dose of pills. I think
he might have been tranquilizing me too. He was obviously paying me back
for what I did to his wife.
"Today's the day," Phil said. "Are you ready?"
"Phil, please . . ." My voice had gradually turned higher. My voice had
changed through my ordeal and it was hard to reason with someone when your
voice was so high, especially when you weren't used to it.
I felt him moving the gown away from my crotch. "Phil, please," let's
be reasonable. "I'll pay you anything you want." Jesus, what was he going
to do?
"I'm afraid you are about out of money Chrissie," he said. "So I think
we are going to have to make other arrangements."
He grabbed my penis. "Hold still, this might hurt a bit."
I struggled weakly against him. What was he, some sort of queer? Or
worse, did he plan to emasculate me in revenge? "Please
don't-aaaaaaahhhh," I cried. The pain was sharp, but centralized. I still
had my dick. "Aahhh-gggoood-jesus, that hurts." I felt something push in
and secured around my cock.
"That takes care of that bit. Now let's see what's underneath."
He cut off the bandages and helped me walk to a mirror. I was weak from
inactivity.
The image that greeted me was a shock. I cried out in shock. I was
black and blue and there were multiple scars. And the face, the body, they
weren't even mine. They belonged to the girl from the magazine! I looked
very much like her. The only difference . . . I had a penis. A penis
that had a silver band around it from which hung a tiny bell. But
everything else, from the pixy nose, the high cheekbones, the full mouth,
the breasts, the sculpted abs, down to my firm bottom, was most definitely
female.
"A little bruising," he said, "But on the whole Chrissie, I would say
you're looking pretty good." The bastard cupped my ass. "Except for the
breasts that is. Jeez, why couldn't it have been a swimsuit model?"
"Stop it." I pulled away from him. "Don't come near me you bastard. I
mean it."
He smiled and sat down by the dresser. "You know Chrissie, the whole
time you were with my wife, I wanted you dead. When she wasn't here where
she was supposed to be, I would sit on the sofa and think about her. I
would wonder who my little bitch was fucking when she should be keeping me
happy and my house cleaned. With all my being I wished I could see what
she was doing. . . who she was doing.
Then one time, my wish came true. I saw her. But what I wanted to see
was who she was fucking. I couldn't because you know how I saw her? I saw
you fucking her from your very own eyes.
I didn't believe it at first, but I discovered I could do it - look
through your eyes at will. Not a good thing . . . being able to see
another man screwing your wife, but then one day I discovered that not only
could I see through your eyes . . . heh heh heh, I could make you do
things."
He was crazy. A lunatic. I backed to the door. Just a little further
and I would make my break. He closed his eyes, as I reached for the knob.
Then I calmly walked back over to him. I didn't want to. I wanted to
run. The bastard was doing it. He really could control me. I struggled
to take back control, even as I knelt in front of him. Even as my hands
reached for his zipper and freed his large black cock.
I finally got control of my body and pulled my hand off his cock
hardening manhood. I had been giving him a handjob.
"You faggot. You sick fucker," I accused.
"Faggot?" He laughed. "I'm not the one giving out handjobs."
"You made me do it. You did it to yourself."
"If you say so Sissy Chrissie. By the way, is it okay if I call you
Sissy-Chrissie?"
"Oh yeah stud," I replied in a breathy voice, once again taking his cock
in my hand and stroking it. "What else would you call a sissy like me?"
"Maybe fucktoy," he said, and I had control back again.
I snatched my hand back off his cock.
"Awww, that was feeling so nice Sissy." He grabbed my by the ear and
tugged my face up. "Now I'm only gonna 'splain this once. You cost me my
last wife, even though she wasn't much of one anyway. Now she's gone and
yer gonna take her place whether you like it or not. Yer gonna cook. Yer
gonna clean. And yer keep me satisfied like a good little wifie should.
Yer gonna do everything I say for a year and then I'll let you go back to
being good ol' Dave. Otherwise, I'll grab your mind and do nasty things
like this.
He closed his eyes and I grasped the silver collar around my penis. I
tugged it and splitting pain shot up my spine. "Arggg! Oh God please," I
begged, when I could
speak again.
The monster opened his dark menacing eyes. "And that was only a taste.
I could make you cut it off you know. I could make you go downtown and
turn yourself over to a pimp. Make you take herion. I could even make you
kill yourself, but that doesn't sound like it's as much fun. So let's try
again.
Chrissie, it really felt nice when you were stroking my cock."
This time he didn't enter my mind and force me, but the threat was
there. Either he would make me and do worse, or I would do it by choice. I
took a deep breath, grabbed the bastard's cock and stroked it. Never in a
million years would I ever have imagined I would have another man's cock in
my hand. It was hard and throbbed. It was damp with sweat. The piercing
in my cock throbbed in pain. Arousal was the furthest thought from my
mind.
"That's nice Chrissie. A little faster please and cup my balls. You
know how this is done, don't you, you stupid little bimbo."
He closed his eyes again. I grabbed the collar on my cock and tugged
again.
Pain shot out from my cock and wracked my whole body. I squealed and
tears streamed from my eyes. When I had control over myself again, I
cupped his balls as I stroked him with my now quivering hands. I rolled
them around in my hand like some of my better lovers had done for me.
"Now say, Daddy, Sissy-Chrissie is sorry for being such a stupid little
bimbo."
"D-daddy, S-Sissy-Chrissie is s-sorry for b-being such a -s-s-tupid
little bimbo." I knew why Sandra hated this bastard so much. He was one
evil motherfucker. But Sandra could leave and I could not. The bastard
owned me for a year. And if this was any indication, it was going to be a
very long year.
"Don't pout so Sissy-Chrissie. I think even a dumb little cheating
bimbo like you can think of a better use for those pouting lips, can't
you?"
I stared in disbelief. Surely he wouldn't. I shook my head. No -no -
no.
"When I ask Sissy question, Sissy is always to answer." He closed his
eyes.
No I couldn't bear it. Not another tug. I tried to fight him but it
was useless. My hand reached down, grabbed the piercing and tugged. Pain
wracked my body and I screamed.
"S-sissy-C-chrissie can think of a better use for her lips," I forced
out.
"That's much better, but in the future use smaller words and sound
excited. Bimbos really shouldn't try to pretend they are smart. So what
Daddy's little bimbo like to do with her lips?"
Tears streamed down my eyes. Not only of pain but from his twisted
humiliation. There was no escape from this evil bastard. He could get
into my very own mind. I tried to think of a way to reason with him, but
he closed his eyes. No, I couldn't take it again. I couldn't allow him to
make me pull on the piercing.
"Sissy Chrissie wants to suck your cock," I burst out, before he could
make me hurt myself again.
"My-my maybe Sissy's got a little brain tucked away in that vacant head
of hers," he chuckled. "Go on. *Do it.*"
I took his cock and guided it close to my mouth, but stopped just short
of my lips. I could smell the heavy scent of his sex. It was nothing like
that of a woman. I wondered if I could I really do this? What choice did
I have? But-but-there was only one detail that nagged at my mind like a
prickly thorn.
"Will Daddy really let Sissy-Chrissie go after a year?" I had to know. I
just had to. A year. A year I could take. Perhaps. . .
"Only a year, my stupid little fucktoy. In case you don't know, that's
three hundred and sixty-five days. And that's three hundred and sixty-five
days Sissyslut has to wear a collar on her clitty. That should keep her
from fucking around . . . should keep her from getting cocky, cause Daddy
has all the cock she needs. Now start to work you little cocksucker,
before Daddy gets mad."
His cock was much larger than mine, I realized as I moved closer. I
slid the mushroom like purple head into my mouth and sucked. It tasted
partially of sweat and there was a hint of something more bitter. Dear
God, it was official, I was now a cocksucker.
He pulled me off by my hair. "You take the cake for stupidity. Even
the dumbest slut knows ya' gotta lick it first."
Bastard. Didn't he know how hard this was for me? "I'm sorry," I
muttered.
He grabbed my nose and pinched. "Not I, Sissie-Chrissie can't help
being such a stupid bimbo. Now, say it and lick my balls."
Sick fuck! <1st attachment end>
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