The Last Submissive

As I said, my axis had tilted; I was beginning to feel more like a woman than a man. After several months of this, one Thursday night while I cuddled in bed with Mistress Hunter and we watched a late-night talk show, she dropped the bomb on me. Clicking off the TV, she flipped over on top, smiling, looking down on me fondly, her thighs straddling my waist, my cock limp under her crotch, and she said, “Paulina, I so love having you submit to me as a woman. Don’t you love it, too, darling?”

I stared into those blue eyes, that beautiful face, her gorgeous breasts plumping out of her pajamas, this primal, alpha woman of my dreams, and I replied, not untruthfully, “Yes, Mistress.” She smiled. “I’m so pleased to hear you say that. Because . . . because, dear, I’ve been searching for a submissive like you all my life, I have always wanted to turn a man into my woman and have her that way—forever. You’d be my last submissive. I want you to consider that. I know it’s a big step, darling, but I’d like you to consider a lifetime commitment, becoming a female submissive for me.” I looked up at her, speechless. Then she began stroking my cock, which strangely, for the first time in days, grew hard, hormones or no hormones. Like it was a big clitoris saying, ‘Hell yes, I want this!” Fucking traitor cock. I was putty in her hands. I stammered, “Wha.. what do you mean, Mistress? You want to always wear women’s clothing and treat me like a woman, your sissy slave?”

“Oh love,” she said, “I want so much more than that, don’t you understand?” She kept stroking my big clitoris. My breathing accelerated. I squeaked, “Like what?” “Paulina, darling, I want you to undergo sex reassignment surgery. I want to give you a vagina and breasts. I want you to become a real woman, sharing my bed.” Her face shined. “You would become my masterpiece, the ultimate submissive. Wouldn’t you love doing that for me?” I was growing harder and harder by the second. The idea was so outrageous, so mind-boggling, so insanely crazy and erotic at the same time that . . . well . . . it actually appealed. Or maybe that was my giant clitoris doing the thinking. “Oh, Paulina, you are so hard,” Mistress Hunter cooed. “I bet you’d like to cum, wouldn’t you?” I panted, “Yes, please, Mistress.”

She smiled mischievously. “I tell you what, darling girl, you think about it—think about it with all your heart—and I’ll let you cum. How does that sound, love?” Oh. My. God. I might have been a man, but somehow, I had become a woman, a girl, a vulnerable, submissive and very horny girl who only wanted to please her Mistress, to make her happy. And those words sent me over the top. “Please, Mistress, please may I come?” I begged in a desperation.
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