"I'm your man, am I?" I ask snidley.

She stops sucking on my finger, looks up and gives me a "dirty
girl" leer I know she's been working on all morning. My
feminized beauty nods and slips off my lap and to her knees. I
watch as she gingerly unbuckles my belt, unzips my fly, all the
while licking her moist lips. My cock springs out, staring back
at her at rigid attention. Lily looks up to read my mood.

"Lily, you little whore!" I chide playfully.

She gives me a dainty shrug. "You're my man though. So it's
alright, isn't it My Love?" And taking my silence as permission,
she opens her mouth and takes my man meat within her sweet
mouth. As she takes the head deep down her throat, Lily's
cheeks hollow out, suctioning every drop of the cum now
spurting in her mouth. I let her do the work as always,
watching the red lips greedily draw in every raw strand of my
milky jism from my cock. In a minute it is over. With ladylike
care, Lily draws the flat of her hand gingerly over her lips,
wiping off the residue of my cum.

She is so much better now than she was only a few months ago.
When I first introduced her to the art of oral worship, she was
prudish in the extreme. A few spankings were required to
convince Lily that yes, she would learn to become an
accomplished and pleasing cocksucker for me. Gradually she
accepted the necessity of learning to do it, then doing it to my
satisfaction. Many tears were shed because of Lily's refusing to
deep throat, then swallow, then swallowing whole. And they
were not my tears that were being shed either. But now Lily is
thoroughly proficient at her new skill.

She performs her new duty at least as well as the actresses in
the hardcore porno movies she must watch. Porno movie
watching is Lily's "homework"-- she has dozens and dozens to
learn from. Depending on which area she needs "work in" I
will pick a tape for her to watch. Favorites include "Mouth
Whore," "Lingerie Slut," "Backdoor Bimbo," and "The Master's
Pet Bitch"-- my favorites naturally.

Speaking down to the kneeling girl, I compliment her. "You
are learning your Lesson well, baby. You are making a better
mistress every day. Get up--"

Lily rises, still grinning at my praise. She has missed a drop of
my spunk on her lower lip and it gleams in the glow of the
afternoon light. I cup her chin and she realizes the goo she has
missed. With kittenish zeal, she extends her tongue and draws
it into her mouth, all the while looking at me with her glinty
emerald eyes.

"Let's go into the bedroom, Lily." I pat her butt, which she
wriggles for me and off she goes, prancing into the bedroom. I
follow, enjoying the enticing sight of her exagerrated hip
swivels. Very nice. In the bedroom, she first unbuttons my
shirt and carefully hangs in in the closet. Next she kneels and
takes my shoes, socks then pants off. As she pulls off my boxer
shorts, there is an intensity in her face as she looks at the hard
black mass of my pubic hair. It is moments such as this,
undeniably face to face with the object of her humiliation and
servitude, that Lily my mistress must think of her former life as
my young protege Lyle. Such a promising young executive he
was-- full of vast ideas and plans for the furtherace of my
commercial empire. He was so like me-- ambitious, self-
absorbed, without a trace of pity or regard for others. His
ruthlessness was matched only by his brilliance. He must have
thought he was bound for success when I asked him to join me
on that fateful business trip, the one on which he "died." How
could he know that what I was interested in was a mistress, not
a loyal aide? And how could he know that the very attributes
that made him a merciless businessman could be so easily
turned inside out to transform him into this simpering, sexy
playmate?

The bed is turned down and I slip into it. Lily follows me. She
watches me with the eye of a trained observer. The thoughts go
through her mind-- what will I want first? How will I use her?
How can she accomodate me? Will she displease me and find
herself punished? The riding crop is on the nightstand, a silent
and everpresent reminder of my willingness to "correct" her
wayward performance. I stroke Lily's thighs and she responds
with girlish abandon, her arms on my bare chest, her soft cheek
rubbing against me in rising heat.

All an act. Too bad they don't give out Academy Awards for
being a sex slave. Lily would win one for sure. I know she
really hates it to her core, hates my hands on her, hates this role
I insist she play for me. She thinks that her life is to play the
role of fawning sexpot. What she will soon realize is that her
role is her life. I tell her to assume the position and with a lazy
smile, she rises on her fours, places her cheek on the pastel
sheet and flips her ripe red thonged bottom up into the air
obediently. The dreamy expression on her face anticipates a
deep and hard pentration.

Like cocksucking, Lily has learned to be used like a woman
through many hard and severe lessons. She detested being
penetrated at all when first put through that experience. She
would buck helplessly, screaming in her bonds as I used her
from behind. As in all the other changes she has endured, she
accepted the act in degrees. She stopped struggling, then
sullenly began to take an unwilling part. By then I had disposed
of the bonds-- my dove had been convinced of the
incontrovertible fate that awaited her. Then she discovered I
could be kind if she were more cooperative and she assumed a
pliability, allowing her supple body to be used by me without
too much trouble. Within a few months, she was beginning to
recognize her ability to please me afforded her supreme
opportunities and I noticed her devouring articles in her many
women's magazines about the female orgasm. It wasn't long
before she was actively faking orgams to impress me with her
femininity.

Kneeling behind her, I yank the thong down. She spreads her
legs wide-- as she had been taught-- and braces herself. My
cock is erect now, a missile aimed at her netherhole. I drive it
inward with vigor, grunting as I invade the dainty space with all
my might. Lily gasps as my masculinity conquers and occupies
her plucked and feminized portal, bucks as I plunge in and out
of between her girlish hips. Lily's "Girl Lessons" are proceding
well, so much so that in recent weeks her "orgasms" have
become better and better simulated-- so well in fact that at times
she acts just like a twenty-five year old woman in the throes of
sexual bliss. I feel the internal pressure building up within me
and I prepare to explode in my dainty partner. Lily senses with
her growing feminine intuition that I am ready. She has learned
from her reading that it must be perfect-- for me, not her. She
must "cum" when I do. Her moans and whimpers quicken, my
love victim beginning her own ascent to feigned satisfaction. At
last she has achieved a certain counterfeit grace in mimicking
the ultimate moment of female bliss and as I plunge into her
from behind, we both merge-- master and slave. Lily is a
"moaner" and her sighs are music to me, the soft moans from
which I take pleasure.
     
I withdraw and she slumps forward, a sulky frown on her face
as she feels the cock which has filled her leave her so empty. I
lay on my back and she presses her face to my chest. She
knows it is her place to want to "cuddle" after lovemaking, so
she dutifully rubs her body, slick with perspiration, against
mine. I gently press her head, which is pressed against my
chest, down to my lap. She opens her mouth to protest, but
clamps her full lips closed. She knows what I desire and must
obey. Her loose straight auburn hair falls over my limp member
as she forces herself to clean it with her tongue, my palms
guiding her mouth over the spots where I wish to feel her velvet
ministrations.

As she services me, I reach casually to the nightstand where her
diary resides. I can feel myself grow thick and heavy down
below as I flip through the scented pages, scanning for the more
recent entries. Lily must keep a full account of each and every
one of our sexual escapades-- a little chore that I feel reinforces
her identity as a nubile young mistress. I smile as I read of my
visit just a few days ago.

"My beau has just left and I am already so lonely! I press the
pillow just to smell him! This time was so special, so exciting!
He called from work, saying he was passing by the apartment
and had time for a "quickie" between meetings. I hurried to get
ready and when he arrived I met him at the door on my knees,
ready to give him a great big kiss where I know he wants it! I
had his zipper down and was ready to get to work when Missus
Slatsky passed by! What a sight she saw-- me tricked out just
like a callgirl in my sexy black lace panties, bra, garters and
fishnet stockings on my knees ready to give my lover a
blowjob!

My beau just laughed. "Good day Missus Slatsky!" he said and
shut the door. We both laughed-- how funny! Then he pointed
to his wristwatch and reminded me why he was here. Of course
I got back to work. Then when he said so, I stood up. He took
me in the kitchen, bending me over the table--"

I scanned to the bottom of the page and saw her sticky red
kissmark with the number "124" penned in small numbers. Lily
keeps a strict accounting of the times I use her for my pleasure--
it is absolutely crucial she does so. The number symbolizes the
count toward freedom-- her "quota" if you will. The rules are
strict. She can only count anal penetration-- oral doesn't count.
Thank goodness or she'd already be up much higher that she is.
She can't wait til she reaches 1,000. That's the magic number,
you see. When she reaches 1,000, I have told her that I will
free her-- that I will turn her back into a male and return her to
"the world" with a small bit of money and the chance to leave
this life as my submissive mistress.

Why would I make such a promise? You have to understand
the ambition and efficiency of my former assistant and protege.
Lyle was a driven personality, absolutely fixed on the objective
at hand. Give him a goal and he wouldn't stop til he achieved it.
It was an element of his personality that I wanted to retain in his
new role as my mistress-- one I knew would lead him to
become the perfect sexpot afternoon plaything. Thus I gave
Lily her quota-- she would need to service me like a woman
1,000 times and if she did this I would release her from her
gender. In doing so, I knew she would need to work as hard as
she could to becoming the sextoy of my fantasies.

One thousand.

And so she did. Unwilling at first. I am not a strong man, but I
am not weak either. I found it fairly easy to punish my frail
pretty girl when and however I liked whenever I felt she wasn't
"trying" hard enough. The crop scares her and she fears the
thick black belt I keep in the nightstand. But for the most part,
an over-the-knee, panties-down-now! spanking is sufficient to
lead her back to the light. And so my Lily began to act her role
in earnest. Now she plays the part so well-- the coy "good girl"
who I force to be a "bad girl" in bed-- that I know she will never
regain her male identity again. The swaggering young
executive is gone forever. I know this. She does not.

One thousand.

As my kitten licks me clean, I once again consider my plan to
turn her into my secretary. She won't be an assistant, like all
these young college women demand. Oh no-- Lily will be an
old-fashioned secretary, one that will do all the menial, common
things that powerful men such as myself shouldn't bother with--
fetching my coffee, picking up gifts for my wife, sewing on the
odd loose shirt button, and so on. Sort of like a maid at the
office. I probably won't even have her type or file-- I'll have
other girls do that and keep Lily concentrated on my personal
needs, if you get my meaning.

One thousand.

And like an old-fashioned secretary, she'll dress and act the part.
She'll prance through the halls in tight revealing miniskirts, sheer
blouses, lots of make-up, big hair-- the works. Lily has learned
to strut with the best of them and I'm sure she'll give the
passerbys in the hallways quite a show in her high heels and
long legs. I won't be shy about giving her pats on the fanny in
front of my employees and treating her like a kewpie doll.
She'll hate it inside-- the former hotshot being condescended to
and groped. But she'll smile like a spoiled kid on the outside.

One thousand.

And behind closed doors, well-- use your imagination. There is
only one reason for having a sexy, young single woman as your
very own personal secretary. And unlike wives and career gals,
good little secretaries don't DARE to talk back or disobey.
That's what I've planned for Lily for months and months. And,
believe it or not, she'll be thrilled at the prospect of becoming
my hot, horny secretary. It just gives her even more
opportunities to reach her magic number.

One thousand.

But what will happen when she reaches that final number, right
after the thousandth time she has offerred up her tight, rounded
pantied backside to my needs? Will she rise from her
submission, triumphant in the expectation I will free her? Or
will she realize then that she is unable to escape her
conditioning, that she NEEDS to be treated like the slut she has
become? What will I do as she yanks up her panties? Merely
pull them down again, begin to fuck the bitch for the 1,001 time
and begin the next millenium of her life of rape? I just can't
wait.

Lily raises her head, her tongue now sliding eagerly over the
stretch of my "foot-long" giving me her best Julia Roberts "I'm
hot for you!" leer. I command her to get on her fours and the
feminized executive scampers to obey. So efficient, so erotic
my mistress is. She shall earn two little entries in her diary
today.

THE END