i-sissy
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I Sissy

I Sissy

by zannareese
19 min read
4.46 (12900 views)
adultfiction

Content Advisory: Sissification, Feminization, DubCon, Hypnosis, Futanari on Male

Government Sanctioned Feminization. In theory, a crazy woman's dream of punishing any man who dared step out of line. In practice, no one thought it would hold its own. They were wrong. It gained support in the US first, going after various levels of convicted criminals, known sex offenders and harassers. Sure, the politicians fought it because it meant half of them would end up feminized or worse.

However, the "incredible turnaround rate" helped the program gain more steam. Pretty soon, the program worked its way down into the school system as a punishment for "perverted and deviant behavior." It scared some kids back in line, but we all knew the program was going to find a way to go after all men eventually. The smallest infraction could land you in chastity for varying lengths of time. Criminal offenses resulted in full feminization, usually followed by being assigned new jobs. They were normally placed in government run brothels or rented out as maids, assistants and the like. Husbands were turned into legal slaves to their wives who could have them feminized at a moment's notice. Or they went to whatever family member or friend or whoever was willing to claim them.

Those who refused and fought back were allowed to continue leaving as men. After castration. Chemical castration. Either way, eventually any man lived as a sissy slave or worker, or as a eunuch. Either way, they were assigned legal overseas that dictated their lives. Those who managed to slip through the cracks lived in constant fear. The slightest mistake could end up with them being processed and feminized.

I was tired of living in that fear. It sounds insane, but I would rather be processed on my terms. It was better than being turned in over liking a naughty picture online or not overextending courtesy to someone. Or accidentally violating the curfew unattended sissies and unprocessed men had.

So, I gave my story and reasoning to the receptionist at the nearest processing office. I was ushered into an immaculate waiting room with a single camera watching diligently. I could only imagine how big of a joke I looked like to them. Not attractive enough to be set aside as a glorified breeder. Living in constant fear. Willing to just give up and be feminized.

"Well, hello, Mr. Wells." The woman who entered was drop dead gorgeous. Almost glistening silver hair tied up in a neat bun. Sharp blue eyes. Flawless tan skin. Curves bursting at the seams of her suit. "Or should I say Ms. Wells? My name is Lillian Blackwell. I've been informed of your situation. I commend you for taking this brave step. Well, stand up. Let's get a good look at you."

I rose from the chair slowly, flushing and trying to hide my erection from her. She instructed me to strip nonchalantly. I obliged, fighting back tears of frustration and embarrassment. Layer by layer, I peeled away my clothes, silently cursing my hard-on away, but to no avail.

"You don't have anything I haven't seen before," she scoffed, eyeing my manhood. "A good five and a half inches. Not impressive." Her hand lashed out, groping my package. "Average testes." Her gaze swept over me. "Meat in all the right places. A little exercise won't hurt. Hmm. I can see you with a C... maybe a D cup. Get that ass in shape before we give you the serum. Yes, Ms. Wells, you'll make a nice girl."

"What happens next?"

"You'll be assigned an overseer who will be responsible for keeping you in line," she answered promptly. "That shouldn't be a problem in your case. No criminal record. Graduated in the top of your class in high school and undergrad. You should be off the market in a few days."

"And then?"

"Well by then, you should be a few rounds into your behavior adjustment exercises, which usually start the same day of processing," she explained. "Blood tests too. To make sure you're not crawling with icky diseases. Well, follow me. Let's get you sized for your new wardrobe. Leave those rags here."

We exited the room, flanked by two large, muscled futanari security guards. One of them shoved a heavy robe into my chest, rushing me to put it on. I followed Blackwell through the halls, catching glimpses of others at varying stages of feminization. Some resisting makeup. Others struggling with bras. Training to walk in heels--stumbling in heels.

"What about work?"

"Given your clean record, you'll have a few more options than most," she answered. "You graduated in communications. Maybe we can find you a CSR job. Maybe a call center."

The walk ended in what could have passed for a fashion boutique. It was a closet for those beginning their processing. A bubbly blond popped out from the back with a bag full of things already.

"I couldn't help but hear the news Ms. B!" She beamed. "So, I took a peak at the cameras and got Ms. Wells a few things picked out already. And I know you're busy, so I knew you'd want her to have the essentials quickly."

"Thank you, Alice. You're a celebrity already, Ms. Wells," Blackwell added, playfully slapping my ass. "The first man to volunteer to be processed. Well, go get changed. Let's see what you pick out for your first day."

I smiled weakly, accepting the bag from the blond. She pointed toward the dressing room, which was comfortable. Enough to change without bumping into the wall every few movements at least. I dug through the bag quickly, settling on a pair of black and purple boy shorts to go under fitted sweats. They bought an uncomfortable level of attention to my ass and even more to my manhood, awkwardly tucked into the soothing embrace of the fabric. For a top, I found the baggiest t-shirt I could, which still wasn't enough to fall over the pants.

"It's a start," Blackwell sighed. "Now, let's get you into your first round of conditioning. I'll have to note that your sense of fashion has to be molded a bit."

The next walk was shorter with less sights to behold. The conditioning rooms were secluded for maximum effect, she explained. I'd start off with a couple hours of short bursts of conditioning videos. In underwear only. To keep any potential messes from ruining my new clothes.

I was strapped into a slightly worn, leather chair. Eyes rigged open. Headphones secured over my ears. Left in the dark except for the lone screen. The videos started. Seductive whispers of letting out my inner sissy. Giving into the buried need to service my betters. Images of alpha, breeding cocks flashed across the screen. Large, thick with heavy balls full of hot pink. Ramming sissy throats. Crammed into tight, feminized assholes. Cum splattering exhausted sissies. Instructions to give in to a buried hunger for cock and jizz in all my holes. To drop to my knees before my alpha betters. To always be ready and willing to service them.

The first round went by quickly, followed by a slowly creeping silence. The second round started with more intense videos clips. Explaining how the feminized only existed for the use by Alphas in the new world. Pussy was a thing of the past. Throats only existed for ramming and guzzling load after load of spunk. Asses were cum dumps. Bodies were tools for serving and fucking.

The third round intensified still.

Good sissies were ready and willing to service at all times.

Always hungry for cock and cum.

Clitties were useless appendages.

Sissy cum was unneeded--a mess sissies should dive to clean up.

I lost track of time as the videos rolled by. Eventually the lights flashed back on, and I noticed how wet my crouch was. I'd came all over myself several times while engulfed by the footage. I tried to write it off. Being bombarded by all of that. It was only a matter of time. But still, I felt dirty.

"You are going to make a good girl," Blackwell applauded. "Imagine how many repressed sissies are out there, too scared to turn themselves over for processing. Now, clean yourself up, Ms. Wells."

Part of my brain was still struggling to fully grasp when I had made such a mess. Still, part of me moves on its own, stripping my underwear away and scooping smears of my own cum up toward my mouth. I'd never tasted jizz before, especially not even my own, but I couldn't stop myself. To her amusement, I tasted it.

Unknowingly smiling as I slurped it down. It was musty, but not entirely unpleasant. Thick. A bit sweet. A bit salty.

"Wonderful!" She cheered. "Eating your own cum on day one. Someone must have ramped up the conditioning material."

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She glanced down at her tablet computer, a frown suddenly flashing across her face. I started to panic. Had a suddenly failed one of their strange tests?

"Well, this is unfortunate," she said after an uneasy silence. "There appears to be no available handlers for you, Ms. Wells. Do you know what that means?"

My heart raced as my mind flooded with possibilities. I'd heard of the sissy brothels that further funded the program. Being sold into legalized slavery to the highest bidder.

I managed to shake my head.

"I will personally host you and oversee your processing," she said slyly. "Now I can't have a personal sissy who's not absolutely perfect. So, I think I'll ramp up your regimen. It'll be a fun little experiment, don't you think?".

I shrugged.

"Oh, don't be down!" she giggled. "You volunteered for this! Now, hop back in for another round of conditioning while I get everything set up at home for you."

I didn't have much of a choice, but she was beaming as she strapped me back in. Left in the dark, I was bombarded by video clips of gigantic black cocks being worshipped. Heavy, jizz filled balls teased by tongues and nimble fingers. Massive, thick torrents of alpha jizz painting the faces of limp dicked, sissified former males. Filling up tender sissy pussies with animalistic groans of release.

Instructions on giving a proper blowjob flashed across the screen as well as being whispered in my ears. Flashes of sissies being spit roasted and fucked silly. Having faces mounted with dildo gags for the pleasure of their womanly betters. Dressed to be degraded and humiliated. Publicly and privately. Tools for use and discarding.

I was hungry. My nerves had been so rattled, I hadn't eaten in the past two days. It tore at my stomach. It needed to be filled. The hunger coincided with rapidly firing visuals of cumshots. Intense, multi-layered facials. Hungry sissies chugging wave after wave of cum straight from the tap. Slurping it from one another's freshly creamed assholes.

I winced as my cock expelled another miniscule dribble of cum, almost completely drained now. The taste of my own seed came back to mind, my mouth watering and stomach rumbled harder.

Again, the lights came up in the room, and I was freezing from the chair. This time, it was the two guards without Blackwell. I tried to stand on my own, but the hunger pains made me double over into one of them. My stomach rumbled audibly.

"Aw, is the poor sissy hungry?" She asked mockingly. "I bet we should get her something to nibble on."

"Or to suck on," the other added slyly.

"That's a great idea!"

I wasn't stupid. I knew where this was going. The larger of the two was a blond with a buzz cut. Broad shoulders. Muscles rippling under her tight uniform. The other was a more feminine butch. Blue hair. Gingerly applied makeup. Delicately crafted cheekbones. Toned curves filling out her uniform.

"Maybe we should feed her?" The blonde chuckled. "See how well the conditioning is going so far?"

"Great idea!"

There were rumors of the new government trying to phase out males all together with genetically engineered "futanari" breeders and soldiers. They were easy to keep in line with microchips. Similar to robotic laws, they would be unable to harm women, but it seemed that men were fair game. They were the next step into quelling resistance of men. But of course, I thought they were rumors. And now I was at the mercy of two.

I tried to logic it away. The conditioning was still fresh in my mind. Digging its tendrils into me.

I was hungry.

And they were offering to feed me.

I lowered myself onto my knees in front of the blond, her musky, tanned cock and balls bobbing in my face. She was massive, a few inches thick and almost a foot long. Her swollen balls were almost the size of my clenched fists. I tried to fight the urges the conditioning had so easily slipped into my mind. To maintain the last shred of dignity I thought I had. Yes, I turned myself over on my terms. But I didn't have to do this.

But I was weak. Exhausted. Famished.

And now, mentally drained.

Slowly, I opened my mouth, eager to milk the blonde's girth for her spunk. I felt her partner's grip close on my jaw, wrenching it open further, allowing the blonde to ram her first mouthful of her cock in. I tensed up as she showed no sign of slowing down, drilling her girth back into my throat. My unused, virgin throat. The engorged head of her member forcing the first few inches into my throat.

"Fuck! I love breaking in new sissy throats!" She bellowed, thrusting her hips roughly.

I steadied my breathing, ignoring my gag reflex as her cock drilled deeper into me, the first several inches pulsing and bucking inside my tight throat. I could smell her musk clearer now, tasting it as she smeared it along my tongue with every thrust of her hips.

"Time to eat up!"

They held me in place, the blonde's cock bucking wildly. She went off like a buckshot, her spunk rocketed down into my gut forcefully. Her girth swelled again, leaving me anticipating another blast, but nothing. Her member spasmed aimlessly without another drop.

The door to the room hissed open again, as if on some sick universal cue. Blackwell stood there, her presence far more imposing than before. I was discarded, and the guards dressed themselves quickly.

"You two," she instructed sternly. "I'll have your asses by the hour." She turned to me. "Ms. Wells. I'll have you seen to immediately."

She took it upon herself to escort me personally as the guards dismissed themselves. The hunger made my knees weak, forcing me to lean embarrassingly on Blackwell. She was going on about something, probably concerning the other two, but I just couldn't focus.

My mind kept going back to that guard. Her musk still fresh on my pallet. The hot thrusting of her member along my virgin throat. Stretching and filling the space. The smile I hid as her heavy balls slapped my chin under her movements.

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That embarrassingly small amount of cum. Going out of her way to take advantage of a freshly processed sissy. I was probably the latest in a long line of transgressions.

It was a waste of time and effort on both ends.

I was insulted.

After a steaming hot shower, my mind replaying the encounter over and over as I sat in Blackwell's office. The sheer anger I felt at being used for nothing. I knew I shouldn't have felt that way. I should have fought back. I should have called for help. But part of me happily chugged her musky cock, waiting for a belly full of futanari spunk.

I felt a tear burning down my face.

I broke easier than I thought. Probably easier than many.

"I'm so sorry for that incident, Ms. Wells," her voice finally said as she circled around to her side of the desk. "Those two have been dealt with. I'll see to it that no one does anything like that to you again."

"What happens now?"

"Well, first we'll get food. I know you're starving," she giggled, collecting her things. "But I will do the honor of dressing you until you catch on to feminine fashion. You're my sissy. A reflection of me. You will learn what I require you to. You'll behave and look the part. You'll do as instructed at all times. In return, you'll live in the lap of luxury! Sounds like a fair exchange."

I nodded.

"Stand."

Her voice was cold. Methodic now. I quickly learned that was her style. She did everything with a purpose, especially when I pertained to me. That day, I was dressed in a sexy, conservative yet form fitting business skirt and blazer. Tight, silky panties and a training bra. Light amounts of makeup to bring out my light brown skin. Small, one-inch heels.

We rode in the latest foreign luxury model van. Blackwell had a personal driver, of course She handed me a tablet computer with the screen already on a document.

"That is our personal contract," she informed. "I will abide by my duties as your overseer, and you will abide by your duties and expectations as my sissy. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to voice them. You are still your own person. To an extent."

"Well, I'd like to know who you are."

"You'll practice a more womanly voice," she said quickly. "It'll make that part go much more smoothly."

I obliged, repeating my request in a lighter tone. I tried to mimic the subtly sultry tones she spoke in herself, and for a split second, I thought she smiled in approval.

"I oversee the local branch of Fallon Tech and its subsidiaries," she began. "Under my watch it's become the most productive, with people sending men from all over the country to be processed under my watch."

"What about in your free time?"

"That's a question I haven't heard in a long time," she said, laughing softly. "I enjoy reading and watching whatever catches my attention, but I don't have a lot of time to do so."

"Have you had many personal sissies?"

"No. I tried not to, but you're special, Ms. Wells." She gave me a reassuring look. "It would have been insane to overlook your case."

After that, she insisted that I look over my contract in detail, so we could discuss any possible issues over lunch. It was more of what she said before. Administering any services as instructed. I'd have my own personality security detail when not with her. There was a section on what Blackwell herself would not ask of me. Performing sexual acts in public or for "lesser" company. Performing any act, sexual or not, that caused physical or mental trauma.

Modifications to my body would be made with my consent to an extent.

I was expected to be a personal experiment to see how far she could push the process. How it could be altered for willing subjects.

"I want to view you as an equal," she said over our meal. "Because as I said, you're an extension and reflection of myself. Many overseers forget that."

"I've had friends to get processed," I said blankly. "They were worse off. Pretty much slaves."

"I apologize," she sighed. "I want to push policies to curb that behavior in overseers." She paused. "Do you not like the food?"

The food was good. It was the best meal I'd had in days. Weeks maybe. And it was just a simple burger and fries. But I felt so many eyes on me.

"It's because you're so pretty already," she said gently. "The other sissies are jealous their overseers don't take care of them like I'm going to do for you. The other women are jealous they've mistreated them. Do you not like it?"

"I do."

I did. I wanted them to be jealous. I wanted to be the best, prettiest, most obedient sissy for her. I belonged to Lillian Blackwell and the world could eat its heart out.

-----

I worked hard to give her what she wanted. Endured new, experimental conditioning videos. Ones that bombarded the viewer with even more intense subliminal messaging. They made me cum over and over and over. For hours at a time.

I trained in domestic duties. Leaving dishes and rooms spotless. Preparing perfect cups of tea and coffee. Harsh spankings if I failed in even the slightest way. From Lillian herself. She said she didn't trust anyone else with my conditioning. She didn't trust anyone not to take advantage of her personal sissy.

I failed her fashion tests constantly, but it was partially on purpose. I enjoyed seeing her get riled up over it. Feeling her from strikes on my tender ass. Creaming my panties as she took out the day's frustrations on me. Seeing her get hot and bothered herself.

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