*This is a story I worked on a short while ago, a realization of a fantasy on paper. I realized shortly thereafter that I could not actually do anything with it, so I will instead post it anonymously across seven days. I am not necessarily looking for notes or anything, because I can’t quite sell this, because I am a published writer and it would be ill-advised to have my name connected to this. I will however welcome comments and anything else.*
Day One
He was walked into the room, seemingly unaware that this would be the last time he would be able to walk under his own power for a week. Well, he was clearly aware. After all, he had agreed to it, even paid for it. The room would suggest impending doom in any other circumstance, adorned with a desk and nothing else. A door led into an unseen room. His mistress for the next seven days stood before him. She was much shorter than him and yet she demanded respect immediately. He was immediately hypnotized by her large piercing eyes, dark irises bordering on black, full lips thickened by her black lipstick, all accentuated by her beautiful sharp nose. She was shapely in all the right ways. Big protruding tits, a hint of a belly, wide hips and the thickest thighs he had ever seen. This is all he could make out at the time as Mistress was covered in a skin tight latex bodysuit. He had just walked in: he hadn’t so much as earned a peek yet.
“On your knees, worm,” said Mistress, as he got down on his knees. She walked around him, inspecting the new meat. She wasn’t pleased, but it was particularly difficult to please her. “Get back up.”
He stood up with his arms behind his back and his chest puffed out. He didn’t quite know what she wanted of him. Her outreached hand gave him his answer.
“Oh, right,” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing over the envelope to Mistress. She didn’t even count it. She *knew* he wouldn’t try to steal from her. “Take it off,” she said.
He began to slowly unzip his pants and lower them, before realizing his shoes were still on. He got down to one knee to untie the shoes. This was all getting to be a bit much for Mistress. At this rate, he would be naked by day seven!
As he stood up, she lunged at him, pulling his pants off with a force that dropped him to the floor. As he lay on the floor, she walked over to the desk and reached into a drawer, pulling out something that he couldn’t see until she was straddling him. It was a knife!
She had his money. Was she planning to murder him? His question was answered when she stuck the knife under his shirt and pulled up, tearing it away from him and getting off more quickly. She pulled the knife down his torso towards his crotch. He began sweating as she caught his briefs off as well. He was now laying in his tattered clothing, completely nude.
“Stand!” He complied, as she walked him through the door and to a full body restraint, something similar to a St Andrew’s cross, except for the fact that it gave her access to his whole body. She shoved him towards it—she was very violent and he was into it—grabbing his hands and cuffing them, one per side, before cuffing his legs as well. He had no idea where this was going, but he was happy. He wouldn’t be when he saw where this was going. Here’s the thing: he was particularly hairy. He had shaved that morning, but he hadn’t shaved anywhere else. His chest was hairy, his back was hairy, his paunch of a stomach was hairy, his round ass was hairy. There was hair on his arms, his legs and a jungle on his crotch. This would not work with the current state of things, which is why Mistress returning with waxing strips, baby oil and a wax warmer. She had already started warming the wax.
She stuck a tongue depressor into the wax and placed it across his chest, covering it with a waxing strip and pulling. A small part of the canvas of his body was now bare. There was still so much work to be done. He had been waxed once before and swore never again. Well, he had no choice this time. One more across his chest. And another. And another. This continued down his stomach, across his back, on his arms, his legs and butt cheeks. About halfway through his chest, Mistress realized this would be hard work, so she brought in a couple of her submissives as assistants—if you ever think submissives would have sympathy for another submissive, you would be very wrong!
After what seemed like days, he was finally bald below the chin. Well, almost. A submissive left the room as wax was applied in the centre of his ass crack. It was already hurting and nothing had even happened. A strip was attached, pushed down and pulled. He felt a sense of relief before the submissive came back. She was holding a pair of scissors. He could tell where this was going and, unfortunately, he was right. His crotch was trimmed, the scissors coming close to castrating him more times than he cared to think. He wanted it, but not this way! Fortunately, it eventually ended. Unfortunately, wax was then placed around his newly trimmed crotched, one on his side of his cock, both of which were then forcefully removed. He now had a landing strip across his cock, but they seemed to stop there. He was alright with that, but why?
His arms were freed, which shockingly caused him to drop to the floor. Turns out endorphins don’t mean your body is not in immense pain! His body felt like he had just gone through an intense round of interrogation. He tried to stand back up but found the attempt useless. Mistress was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them.
“Lift him to his knees,” Mistress said, to which the submissives immediately complied. As he attempted to say something, Mistress shoved a pill down his throat. He knew exactly what this was, as he felt his penis shrink and retreat into his body. He had heard talk of an underground company working on gender-reversal pills. Their original plan was to create a pill for trans people, but the result only bordered on gender reversal and even then, only for MTF people. FTM people who tested the pills complained of deflated chests and malformed penises. FTM people were happy with their new tits and hairless faces, but their genitals were not what they expected: they got smooth doll-like crotches instead. The company—which cannot be named due to fear of a lawsuit—has since tried several other formulas, but the last one led to a few deaths. They have promised to keep trying, but, in the meantime, these pills had found a new audience in fetish markets. After all, who else could possibly want no genitals?
As the pill began to go down his throat, he began to feel the effects. His chest began to grow, as his crotch began to shrink. Even his face began to change, as if his bone structure was shifting ever so slightly, his hair growing out just a bit beyond his already glorious mane. He looked down but couldn’t see much, his vision blocked by the second most glorious pair of tits he had seen today. While he couldn’t see it, he could feel his cock retreating into him, leaving just a patch of hair where it used to be.
As if to test him, Mistress walked towards him and kicked him between his trembling knees. The strike hurt, sure, but it did not have the same sensation it used to.
Mistress grabbed the baby oil and poured it across his body, the submissives rubbing it in. This was meant to remove the stickiness of the wax but it also functioned as a baptism of sorts. When he was covered in it, Mistress grabbed the hair on the back of his head and pointed his face towards hers. “You’re a girl now. You will be a girl for the next seven days. You will never be a woman, though. The best you can hope for will be to be a good slut by the time I’m done with you. I hereby name you cunt.” As if to complete the ceremony, she spit into cunt’s face and walked away. “Show her to her sleeping quarters. We will begin tomorrow.”
Cunt was led to a small room, which resembled a jail cell: a bed, a toilet, a sink and a small window. This seemed to be the room reserved for those going through the week-long training. One of the submissives warned her to do her best not to have breakfast and to never be seen wearing clothes that were not chosen by Mistress, before leaving her to sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day. Cunt fell asleep reading the messages scrawled on the walls of her room. “Pain=love.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/f5e7g3/the_story_of_cunt_day_one_serial_bdsm_forced