Feminizing The Belligerent Male

Chapter One

Chapter One

Mornings bring the exhilaration of a new day. In my field, it brings one of excitement... the unexpected. Amongst the thousands of charges at Hempstead Penitentiary, one never knows what silly antics have occurred during the night. Fights... disrespect to guards... contraband... drugs. Such disobedience brings new inmates to join my flock in the disciplinary cells... specially installed well beneath the formidable granite and concrete walls of one of the most secure prisons in the country.

And so thoughts of a new day bring a smile as the dim glow of a rising sun joins the muted sounds of clinking chains. Sammy is so considerate in crawling about under the comforter of my large double bed. Despite his many shackles and slim shiny chains, he tries to remain soundless as he moves about under the covers. It is impossible with so many bindings, yet I applaud his efforts and pretend to remain in slumber.

As a psychologist I know that the symbol presented by thorough bondage is as important as the physical restraint of motion. Therefore Sammy is adorned with an impressive array of metal links connecting neck collar, wrist shackles, elbow bands, waist band, thigh bands and ankle shackles. With the large and more aggressive prisoners, I have them put in heavy... make that extremely heavy... irons. But with my little Sammy such is not necessary. Besides he does need to be granted some degree of alacritous movement in order to best serve me. Still, I can clip various chains at my whim... either together to hobble the feet, secure the wrists and arms... or to various hooks and eye bolts adorning the walls of my apartment. So he understands my power and has long ago capitulated to it.

My thoughts are diverted as I feel the warm wetness of a very subservient tongue part my gluteal cleft and begin the pleasant chore of awakening me.

Yes, Sammy and I sleep together naked, his extensive and never ending c*********s bringing somnolence each and every night... his analingus serving to bring wakefulness each and every morning. I feel the lengthy pink appendage press deeply. I giggle like a girl in love in sensing the bulbous piercing of his tongue rim my sphincter. In lying on my right side I raise my left thigh and bend at the knee, parting my cheeks to offer better access. I emit an involuntary sigh as Sammy knows to penetrate with zeal. He now realizes I am awake and will continue his oral efforts until I utter the command to stop.

“Such a nice way to greet me, Sammy.”

I absorb the many waves of pleasure and feel the moisture within my quim turn to outright wetness. Sammy knows to snuggle his head lower and dutifully capture every drop. A mild orgasm, nothing like the thigh clenchers resulting from my typical evening of c*********s, brings conclusion. Work awaits. I must arise.

“Get some coffee,” my voice firm but pleasant.

Sammy reluctantly withdraws and I reach for the key that hangs as a necklace to release the lock connecting his ankle cuff to the bed chain. Over the months Sammy has come to feel better being under total control. I have psychologically transformed his truculent attitude to complete obedience and acceptance of my authority.

“Scoot,” I command with a smile as I smack his girlish hairless posterior to send him to the kitchen. With my apartment door locked, not to be opened from inside or out, I can trust him for a few unsupervised moments as I use the bathroom.

Within moments, as I sit on the commode, Sammy enters the bathroom with coffee. I gaze at his nakedness... the epitome of forced femininity. His body hair long ago chemically removed, his male hormone levels depleted, he has acquired a wonderful layer of subcutaneous fat that makes sleeping with him quite pleasurable. It’s like having an extra pillow, warmed to a perfect temperature. I have had his hair grown long and simply parted in the middle like a little girl. His pierced ears have rhinestone studs. I insist he practice his manicuring on himself... when his hands are freed to do so. And during those intervals he very much enjoys getting into my make up drawer. His n*****s are perky like those of a prepubescent girl, and in viewing such one expects mammary glands to sprout and begin to form. Yes, I have feminized him to perfection.

“Come,” I beckon.

He has paused, enthralled in looking at the beauty of his governess... the awe of my presence always bringing diverting thoughts of my power... as intended. I have instilled adoration despite the exercise of my unwavering authority and the torment I constantly bestow.

“You look very pretty, Dr. Dawson.”

“Thank you, Sammy.”

As the lithe form stands before me, I seem to tower over him despite sitting on the john. As noted, Sammy is some 5 foot 4 inches. I stand at nearly six foot. Thus while I sit we are nearly at eye level.

“Hold still.”

Sammy knows to continue obediently grasping my coffee while I undertake a quick but very important inspection. My hands move to his pubes where a tiny p***s flops above an empty scrotal sac. With the fingers of my left hand I tug the fleshy folds beneath and then press upwards into the pelvic bone with the fingers of my right. My palpating hands search for the entrances to the inguinal canals, right and left where the sac joins at the pelvis. In finding the right entryway, Sammy flinches as I thrust upwards... quite firmly.

“I can feel one Sammy. They’re still there but quite useless at this point.”

My fingers likewise press and thrust into the left, assuring myself that the male tidbits remain well tucked out of sight. In satisfying myself that the testicles remain well nestled away, the daily examination brings memories of that visit to the infirmary months ago when Dr. Mildred Hofsteter first introduced me to Sammy...