Chapter 1

I knelt on the cool bathroom tile while John shaved.

My thighs were spread wide, and my feet splayed out on either side of my buttocks, so my ass was planted firmly on the floor, and I leaned forward slightly, my small hands on the tiles just on the insides of my thighs for balance.

It was the waiting position John had taught me last night, and was different from what I’d been previously taught only in subtle ways – mainly that in leaning forward, my breasts hung under me heavily and I was much more self-conscious about them. My shorn pussy pressed against the tiles, which I knew was supposed to be another reminder of what I was.

Not that I needed the reminder. My body itself was constantly giving me disconcerting feedback, and the fact that I was female was pretty hard to ignore. On an intellectual level I knew that I had once gone through this before, when I started presenting as Stephanie in VR, but my body now was screaming at me that just a day ago it had been male, and the absence between my legs was acutely felt. My breasts felt absurdly soft and heavy, sliding and swaying under my ribcage with my slightest movement.

John shook his razor under the running faucet to clean the stubble out and put it aside. He turned and placed his hand on my head. I was eye level with his hips, and his cock hung between his legs, softened now. Even soft it was seven inches long, thick and meaty. Erect, the thing was monstrous, easily twelve inches and two thick, and I was deeply worried about taking it inside me. He hadn’t fucked me last night – he’d said I needed my slave marks first, whatever they were – but he had made clear that I was now virginal, and that he would be breaking me in every sense of the word.

“Rise,” he said quietly. “Same pose as before: hands behind your neck, tits out, eyes closed. This is called ‘inspection,’” he continued as I rose to my feet, “and when I say ‘inspection’, you will assume this pose. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I swayed slightly as his hands slid along my skin. Last time he was checking for spots missed from shaving; this time I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and said so.

“Imperfection, cunt,” he answered. “Not in your body itself: I’m pleased with the form you’ve chosen. You’re a tiny, beautiful, precious little thing. You’re weak and soft. A creature delightful to possess and control.” He traced a line from my neck down between my breasts to the soft curve of my belly.

“No, Stephanie. You are physically ideal; I instead look for faults in your behavior, in your grooming, your attitude. In that sense you will always come up short, because when it comes to perfect, abject submission, there is always room for improvement. I will always have cause to correct you. You come at this with a distinct disadvantage in having been born a man. Everything will be harder for you, I think. I will expect you to be a perfectly submissive female, and born women are conditioned, for better or worse, from birth to perceive themselves as faulty, imperfect, inferior. They feel this about themselves instinctively because of their cultural upbringing.”

His hand slid between my thighs, and I felt his fingers dip into the soft folds of my labia. I groaned.

“You, on the other hand, cunt, will have to learn how to think this way. You have some re-education ahead of you. Hopefully when I am done, you will internalize the lessons all young girls learn from birth, and the thought of being male will feel strange and foreign to you. I sense,” he added, his fingers shoving into me, “that you find this fate I’ve chosen for you arousing.”

I moaned, “Yes, my Lord,” because it was true, and because I knew he’d catch me out if I lied. There was no hiding here.

He withdrew his fingers and wiped them on my upper lip. I inhaled the feminine musk of my own odor as he took me by the arm and led me back into the bedroom. I kept my eyes closed, stumbling alongside him until he stopped. I straightened and took the inspection pose he’d commanded.

“Resting pose,” he said. “Eyes open, but lowered,” he continued as he guided my body into the position he demy Lorded, “backs of your hands resting on your asscheeks, left leg straight, right leg bent slightly at the knee, just so, and canted to the right. Good.”

He moved out of sight, into his walk-in closet. I waited, swaying slightly, my left leg taking all of my weight. I studied the quilted patterning on the bed coverlet.

When he returned he was fully dressed. I didn’t raise my gaze but could tell as he stood in front of me that he was professionally attired in a tailored grey business suit. He threw a small pile of clothes on the bed. “Get dressed,” he said,” and meet me downstairs.

The door closed behind him, and I heard his footsteps on the stairs.

I relaxed, exhaling with a shudder. It was the first time I was truly alone since I’d been taken out of the VR tank. I picked at the little pile of clothing to see what he’d given me to wear.

A thin white silk buttoned blouse. A grey plaid miniskirt. White lace bra and thong panties. White socks with little cotton balls at the heel. Black patent leather shoes.

I almost smiled even as my heart sank. A school girl uniform. Of course.