Feminizing The Belligerent Male

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I arise from the toilet, point and again slap Sammy’s little cheek, this time the right, to send him towards the shower. There he will prepare a comforting warm stream of water for me while I brush my teeth.

He very much enjoys serving at this point and particularly during morning ablutions when he can gaze at my nakedness without hindrance. At six feet and some one hundred and eighty pounds, to Sammy I am a powerful goddess. With daily workouts I display the muscling he lacks... I am toned and buffed... but keep my pretty maid soft and meek.

Yes, as I brush I can see in the mirror that Sammy is adoring my powerful rump... that which he so obeisantly licks under the covers of our bed. It is one of the ironies in life that I also adore Sammy. Thus I look back and smile.

But for that withered appendage remaining between his thighs, now shriveled to the size of my pinky finger, Sammy would pass for a harem slave girl.

Yes, besides the long parted hair and sparkling rhinestones in his ears, Sammy is attired in chains, strong yet decorative in being smooth and shiny. One emanates from his polished steel neck collar, runs to loop through an eye ring on his right elbow band then continues to end at his right wrist band. The left arm is similarly restrained. Other chains connect from the back of the neck collar to the back of the waist band; front of the neck collar to the front of the waist band; right and left sides of the waist band through the right and left thigh bands, and then to the right and left ankle bands.

The arrangement clinks with the slightest motion and partially hinders most movement. The result of all the metal work is a wonderfully docile serving girl who constantly feels, hears and sees the authority of my governance... and a delightfully stimulating sight for me. I like having transformed boys in bondage.

Plus, there are the more practical aspects... I can bind Sammy anywhere, anytime and in any number of demeaning positions, postures and poses.

I feel more moisture thinking about it all, yet his tongue will have to wait.

“Come here, Sammy.”

In finishing with my teeth, I reach to the medicine cabinet for the daily dosage that keeps my little serving girl physically and mentally malleable. I fill a water glass.

“Open.”

He obeys of course and I slip into his mouth the notable dose of anti androgens that serve to stymie the male hormones. Yes, in addition to the fact that Sammy’s little testicles are slowly withering away while tucked well up into his inguinal canals, I’ve been giving him massive doses of a drug that counters the male hormones. Such will also cause the gonads to atrophy... along with that undesirable penis... that shrinks just a little bit more each and every day.

Delicious!

I hand him the water and closely observe to assure that he swallows. Then I announce...

“Come. Shower time.”

Into the broad stall, specially installed, Sammy and I shower together. He loves soaping, massaging, caressing and then rinsing my smooth but relatively firm nakedness. I can only describe his efforts as indulging in envy... letting him see and feel the physical power I will never let him develop. And I in turn give him a brief scrub... really an inspection more than an effort to cleanse or impart joy. Yes, I like feeling soft fattened flesh, made most effeminate through my efforts... my molding.

As stated, it is my job to change lives. And what more change could I bring to the likes of Sammy?

We exit and Sammy scrambles to find a large fluffy towel warming on a heated towel rack. I stand and part my feet as he returns to pat me dry, again fully exposing myself. I am comfortable with his presence, no longer thinking of him as male, but instead as a neutered beast, a fixed puppy whose normal male lust has been physically and chemically curtailed... replaced with the adoration of a dog for his master.

“Will you let me have some movement today, Dr. Dawson?”

The voice is meek, most servile. And perhaps it is my imagination, but it seems higher pitched than just a few weeks ago.

I smile with the entreaty. Sammy tries, always seeking some level of mitigation from the daily restraint. But I deny, as always.

“No, Sammy. You know that good firm bondage makes you that much more happy to see me when I return.”

He pouts like a child.

“And the stress is good for you. It builds character. Gives you something to be grateful for... my return and your eventual release.”

We return to the bedroom. Sammy places my attire at the ready then dashes off to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast while I dress.

Alluring yet professional, I don’t wear a uniform as with the guards and staff. The tight blouse projects sizable breasts. The skirt could be a tad longer in displaying much thigh. But the objective is to highlight my boots... gleaming black patent leather. In being knee length, such are really jack boots and have come to symbolize my governance. In dealing with the myriad of male mongrels residing at Hempstead Penitentiary, symbols are important.

I stroll to the kitchen and sit. Sammy serves and I teasingly hand feed him some morsels as I eat ravenously. When he refills my coffee cup I reach to his pubes for that tiny strip of flesh swinging about in rhythm with his clinking chains. He smiles with the attention. The organ barely firms these days, but remains a source of joy with the nerve endings continuing to send signals of pleasure.

“Are you beginning to feel like a little girl?”

As a psychologist, I cut to the chase, so to speak. Sammy smiles demurely, indeed like a little girl. Then he silently nods.

I am pleased, but such a humble and courteous response has not always been offered. It brings more recollections...