|Mistress Latexa's Rubberdoll|
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|© Copyright 2015 - tessa|
|Storycodes: F+/m; D/s; latex; catsuits; surgery; bodymod; feminize; hormones; electrolysis; corsets; breast; saline; facial; cons/reluct; X||
|Mistress Latexa's Rubberdoll: The Clinic tessa F+/m; D/s; latex; catsuits; surgery; bodymod; feminize; hormones; electrolysis; corsets; breast; saline; facial; cons/reluct; X|
|Thank you to
Jane D'oh for sending the stories to me.
Part 1: The Clinic
I had been told by Mistress only that I required a regular check-up, to determine how my hormone treatments were progressing. Mistress had insisted that I be put on a massive regimen of oestrogen and progesterone to feminize me irreversibly and completely, and it had been nearly two years since that fateful first day of treatment. The changes began slowly; for the first couple of months I barely noticed them at all. I noted first that my skin became softer and smoother, supple and resilient in ways I had not experienced before. I noticed that my scent changed as well; previously, my male sweat had been salty, tangy and acrid, but now I found that it became sweeter and more fragrant, betraying my former gender.
Body hair began to thin out on its own, though this was not as easy to detect as Mistress had begun my electrolysis program simultaneously. I would like to be able to report that this was pleasant but alas it was not; the electrolysis technician, a rather commanding young woman known to Mistress, was determined to remove each and every follicle from my facial beard and below my neck, making me more hairless than even natural-born women, my skin as sleek and velvety as a baby's, bereft of any roots. Each follicle had to be painfully shocked, battered into death by a merciless charge of electricity that stung, over and over.
I learned from the technician that hair grew in cycles; she would completely excise all the visible hair shafts from my body and I would sigh with relief, thinking at last the tormenting voltage would be no more; but then, alas, a new cycle of hair growth would begin in previously dormant shafts. The beard area was particularly stubborn; even now I wince as I think of the thousands of fibrous, stiff spindles of hair that had to be electrocuted, individually, relentlessly until my jaw twitched from it.
I would plead for the session to end, but no, Mistress would sit in the corner, chuckling, idly flipping through fetish magazines and chatting on the phone with friends as my sessions would last an hour or two more until I thought I would faint from the sharp, interminable pinpricks of amperage against my face and body. Even my eyebrows were not exempt; though not eliminated entirely, they were thinned dramatically and reshaped into slender parabolas of femininity, gracefully arching upwards as to make my emasculation unmistakable to all who would ever see me.
I was told that my head would be kept shaved or waxed while I was masked as a doll; misbehaviour might result in permanent electrolysis of my scalp, while an extended period of exceptional service by me might be rewarded by permitting me to grow my hair out for some period, though it would usually stream outwards in a flamboyant ponytail from the top of my helmet.
The electrolysis of my torso revealed something else, too; my nipples began to darken and enlarge, and within a few months, my breasts themselves began to enlarge. At first, they were merely buds, small egg-shaped ovals of flesh that even obese males possess; but, after the first six months, they began to blossom and ripen, pushing themselves outwards, reshaping themselves into wide, though still shallow globes. Yet they were obviously feminine, albeit shallow and taut, and soon even that changed, as my bosom became more pronounced, fuller, more difficult to conceal. I began to notice that my breasts would undulate slightly as i walked, that genuine cleavage had begun to assert itself. My nipples were no longer tiny buttons, perpendicular to the featureless plains of my male chest; now they pointed upwards slightly, enlarging and stiffening like erasers on the ends of pencils.
But it was not my bosom alone that changed; fat was being redistributed across my entire body. My hips, which were previously indistinguishable and vertical, began to acquire curves, gracefully rolling into my newly rounded buttocks, sculpting me into the familiar feminine pear-shaped template. My stomach diminishes, the tissue redistributed downwards, making my waist narrower and more pronounced, an effect that was dramatically amplified by the rigid, unforgiving corseting in which I was imprisoned at all times save bathing. The cruel, strong embrace of the metal boning was my constant companion now, the endlessly present extension of Mistress's grip upon my very soul. The corsets did more than constrict me into a waspish outline, however, they made my breaths shallow and girlish, they sapped my of my former masculine strength, attenuating me, permitting no resistance to Mistress' perfect and often mysterious will.
More than the external changes, however, I began to note the internal ones. As a male, I had always been reserved to the point of aloofness, having learned early that it was the armour a male was expected to don. I had not cried ever as an adult, not even when my father had died; it seemed the well of deep feeling in me had dried up, leaving only dusty remnants. Yet the coursing flow of female hormones through my veins began to transform me; I began to feel things deeply, differently, in ways I had never experienced; it seemed my entire world had been recast, coloured in deeper and richer hues, and more than once Mistress had comforted me in her powerful and consoling arms, holding my tear-streaked face to her sweet bosom as I sobbed, sometimes for seemingly no reason whatsoever. I had expected, albeit dimly, to experience an external transformation, but I had not begun to conceive of the way the arid, unhappy chrysalis of my formerly male soul would be so transmuted by this biological alchemy into a delicate, fragile feminine butterfly.
The sign on the door had merely said "Albany Clinic", revealing nothing of its perverse purpose beneath its sleek, innocuous facade. Doctor Lensing had bony, Teutonic features, severe and professional, her blonde mane pulled back into a tight bun reminiscent of pinched, middle-aged governess. Though obviously attractive, her features were hidden behind her lab coat and her icy, curt demeanour as I was placed upon the examination table. She noted my nervousness, engendered by her probing fingers and the blinding white environment of the room, offset only by the harsh gleam of metal carts and mysterious devices I had never seen, implements unknown in the world of men.
She seemed to soften momentarily as she gave me a small white pill to relax me. I gratefully accepted this gesture of kindness, to my eternal regret. Soon I could not focus my eyes; the figure of the doctor, and even the unmistakable black-clad form of my beloved Mistress became indistinct and shapeless as I felt strong hands pushing me downward against the table, my mind drifting off into a sweet reverie as I was only dimly aware of the smell of latex, and the sound of monstrous plans being devised for me.
I do not know how long it was before I awoke; I only know it was days, rather than hours, and that I revived only because I felt a dull throbbing in my chest and my face seemed to be afire, though i could not ascertain why. After several minutes, I felt the familiar, rubbery fingers of Mistress raising me to a seating position, and I heard a large mirror being rolled from behind until it was directly in front of me. My eyes were still bleary and clouded, and my vision seemed oddly restricted; I felt numb all over, as if i were inhabiting the body of a stranger, not really present. I could barely hear Mistress , though she was evidently speaking loudly, reproaching me for my haggardly awakening.
The room began to come in focus as my pupils adjusted to the omnipresent glare of the white surfaces in the clinic. My irises narrowed to tiny apertures, enabling me to ascertain the divine, unapproachable form of my sweetly sadistic Mistress and that of the doctor, and yet a third presence; it seemed to be a hideous caricature of a nurse devised by de Sade, wearing a latex blue uniform with a shiny white PVC apron, yet her head looked like a formless melon, broken only by mysterious tubes that sprung from her nose and mouth.
Mistress was clad in a Libidex black rubber cat suit, clinging to her like an ardent lover, her astounding form clearly visible, her head uncovered. I thrilled to that luxurious ash blonde mane of hair, those delicious silken strands, that radiant waterfall of soft tresses that marked her as the most alluring of God's outcast angels, a siren guiding the ship of my soul onto rocks that dashed my former life, leaving no traces.
I attempted to open my mouth to speak, but found my tongue heavy and leaden, unresponsive to my thoughts. I could not articulate words, hearing only the distant hiss of my own breaths. I felt my face burning, searing dully with scars I could not touch, for as i slowly raised my hand I felt only the rough wrap of surgical bandages, mummifying my face save my eyes, nostrils and a small opening for my mouth. I touched my finger to my cheekbone and winced, feeling an unfamiliar contour as Mistress smiled and looked knowingly at Doctor Lensing. "I'm afraid your cheekbones have been reshaped, darling Tessa... we decided to raise them and sharpen their outlines, much like a fashion model's... you'll be very femme indeed!"
At this Mistress and the doctor smiled, noting that my finger dropped to my jaw and chin, where I also felt an unfamiliar new curvature. "Oh, yes, your jaw has been slightly reformed and the cleft in your chin, while cute in a male, simply has no *place* on a darling little rubber maid like you, sweet Tessa! And, if you'll raise your outstretched finger slightly, you'll notice your nose is a little narrower, with more of a perky, upturned tip... why, it's just like a Barbie Doll!".
Mistress and the doctor laughed uproariously at this witticism, seeing me now as a mere canvas upon which their unimaginable project could be realised, that even former friends and family of mine would barely recognise my countenance now. I tried to furrow my brow, but found the skin taut; evidently it had been tucked slightly, raising my eyebrows further into wispy crowns above my eyes.
At this utter transfiguration I was stunned, and I valiantly attempted to will my paralysed mouth into speech, but only blubbered helplessly; I grazed my feminine fingernail across my bandaged mouth and felt a previously unknown curvature to them, a lush, soft fullness that was still tender to the touch.
"Well, precious Tessa, I'd seen you thumbing through my copies of Vogue and Harper's, shamelessly ogling those pretty nymphs like Claudia Schiffer and their dewy mouths... what did you call them? Oh yes... "Fuck-me lips". I'm sure you'll be pleased to know... you now have a pair of your very own! I'm sure my friends and associates will be very aroused indeed when they learn of this... they'll be "Fuck-me lips" indeed, whether you wish it or not! You might recall the collagen-filled needle, if you try hard enough."
I grunted, my mind flashing back to a brief intermission of consciousness when I felt Doctor Lensing's fingers pushing and probing my lips, moulding them as she thrust the elastic thickness of the collagen into my flesh, swelling me painfully.
"But. dearest Tessa, the doctor and I agreed you should be awake for my final triumph... it's just too memorable for you to sleep through! Look at your armpits, my slut." I obediently, painfully rotated my head, and noticed that there was a plastic surgical tube entering me beneath each armpit in a small incision, though I could not feel it, nor much of anything between my shoulders and midriff; evidently, I was underneath the influence of a powerful local anaesthetic. I could hear a rolling stand for a drip-feed tube being placed behind me, and could dimly recognise it in the mirror, though the lettering on the clear bag was too small to read yet.
Mistress observed my terrified squinting and said solicitously, "Perhaps I can be of assistance, Tessa... the labelling on the bag says "Saline Implant Solution". I heard the words but at first could not string them together meaningfully, and then twitched, attempting to shake my head uselessly as the stark revelation thrust itself upon me. I willed myself to form words, but all that emerged was an indistinct, sorrowful moan. Mistress' steely gaze was implacable as she feigned incomprehension. "I *knew* you'd be pleased, Tessa! After all, I want your femininity to be obvious and permanent, so prominent and desirous that all who see you, even masked, will desire you, want to ravish and rape you. And, if I'm in the mood... I might let them. Doctor Lensing, you may begin."
I could hear a valve being opened but could not feel anything at first as the clear viscous fluid snaked its way through the tubing into my breasts, where I vaguely sensed bags implanted, stretchy tomato-shaped containers that began to billow. My breasts were a B-cup, and nearly a C on hormones alone; I was proud of the way they seemed feminine yet demure, properly proportionate and even sweetly girlish. But now these fleshy mounds began to expand, inflated by the saline, jutting themselves from my chest. I caterwauled shamelessly, emitting only pathetic vowels as I ballooned outward, my breasts now clearly larger than a C cup, approaching a D cup, as I became aware of the tugging sensation upon my back muscles, my tendons being drawn downward by this new and unfamiliar weight, the burden of womanhood.
Though I was clearly becoming voluptuous, it was endurable, for the larger breasts did not seem entirely out of place upon my tall, slender frame, but I discovered to my horror that Mistress was not done yet; the gooey gelatine of saline continued to expand deep within me, rounding by breasts, making them almost perfectly spherical, larger in every dimension, bloating them until they were zeppelins of almost pornographic womanliness. I had clearly surpassed a simple D cup now, and I struggled to protest vociferously, but feebly managed only a "oooooooh" sound, unable to form the "N" that I wanted to precede it.
Mistress surely knew this, yet she pretended my expression was one of desire, and ordered Doctor Lensing to continue; I could feel hot, salty tears welling up in my ducts as my skin was stretched tight by their new inhabitants, the firm but malleable cups of saline within me hidden beneath the soft feminine texture of my existing breasts, amplifying them hideously until at last I was at least a DD, if not even more so. Mistress coolly produced a tape measure and strung it about my chest, dispassionately marking the tape at an unimaginable 44 inches as the last of the fluid ran into me, pressing my swollen nipples against the tape.
At last my metamorphosis was entire; I had been altered in a bizarre, Kafkaesque fashion into an enormously top-heavy she-male, my breasts were beyond mere obviousness and prominence, they had been changed into giant melons of tender meat, warm, firm and inviting playthings, pillowy cushions for my Mistress, the final and terrible price of the absolute feminisation that was now Mistress 's eternal bequest to me. I remember her radiant smile last, her sweet hand stroking my masked face, before the shock of my depravity overcame me, and I swooned into lengthy slumbers once more.
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story continues in part 2: The Doll
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