I do understand what you are doing, you know, I do.
I could say I was sorry for cheating on you, that I caused you so much grief and anger, but right now I unable to feel anything but rage against you. What you have done to me is in no way comparable to my betrayal.
All right, so you caught me in flagrante with Samantha Brace, the buxom slut from Idaho!
There I was, the distinguished CEO, father of one, ramming my dick into my secretary, and you just stood there, seeing your world fall apart.
This is what power does to a man, you know. Deep down we are still apes, trying to become the alpha male, the top of the tribe, and when we do make it to the top of the ladder we want to mate with as many females as possible.
That's not an excuse; that's an explanation.
It's just evolutionary logic, and you, the great medical doctor, should understand that.
Instead you had Columbian gangsters kidnap me and ship me to Columbia.
Or at least, that's where I think I am. I don't see many people here, but those I see speak Spanish, mostly.
The house is out in the wilderness somewhere. I doubt if I would get anywhere, even if I found a way to get outside the fence. I would probably die of hunger, or been eaten by wild animals. I am not stupid, after my first futile attempts at escape I stopped trying.
I tried to resist the treatment. I had to, for the sake of my self respect and my self worth as a man, but it didn't help. There were always more of them than me, and they weakened me with drugs.
Now, of course, I am no match for a strong man. I am sure that was one of the lessons you wanted to teach me.
The operating theater is in the basement. State of the art. Clean. I got my first shot of my "medicine" down there.
It didn't make much of an impression at first, but when by beard stopped growing and my chest started to change, I definitely took notice.
It was after the first "drug attack" that I started to grasp what they were up to, or what you were up to, I should say. Only you have the medical expertise to pull this off.
When I woke up one morning, with the worst drug induced hang-over you could think of, I noticed that nearly all my body hair had gone. They had used both wax and electrolysis, I believe, because my skin was smooth as a baby's ass.
My beard was gone, as where my old clothes. All I found were panties and a pink dress.
Oh yeah, they were trying to change me into a girl, all right. I yelled, I fought, I destroyed furniture, but to no avail. The same evening they forced a new shot of your hormone cocktail into me, and a new one the next. And the next. And the next...
By the eight week, I had developed breasts. My skin was getting softer and more sensitive, and I grew a fatter and more prominent ass. I had horrible mood swings, and I started to cry myself to sleep.
I never cry!
Your behavioral therapy was a stroke of genius. Giving me DVDs with woman oriented porn, chick flicks, fashion magazines, Cosmo, romance novels. I had nothing to do but go through that crap, and I know now that it affected me.
As did your night time hypnotic tapes.
Oh yeah, I noticed. There were barely noticeable female voices whispering to me things like "I want to become a sensual woman. I love sensual lingerie. I want to serve my man in humility. I want feel a hard dick inside me."
By the third month I had to ask for a bra. My tits had reached a D cup.
You know, I couldn't help it. I was totally fascinated by them. If anything, it was those two mounds of flesh that made my change real to me.
For me breast had always been the utmost sign of womanhood. Yeah, I admit it, I was a tits and ass kind of guy. Which is why, of course, I was banging Samantha in the first place.
Now I had two of my own, and I couldn't stop touching them.
It was the feelings I got from touching those stiff nipples that started my new fantasies. Fantasies of having someone suck them, bite them, play with them. Women, at first. Sexy, buxom women like myself. But after four months I had to stop myself from including men in those day dreams.
At night, I had rough dreams of being violated, penetrated, and fucked by men, and I always woke up aroused and confused and with cum on my stomach.
That's when you introduced Herman. Strong, hard and stupid Herman.
He is definitely not Columbian and his English is as bad as his Spanish. He is not the kind that talks a lot. One day he just walked into my bedroom, tied me face down on the bed, lubricated my ass and started to fuck me. God, that hurt! From then on I was his bitch.
The last day of the fifth month, I believed I could hear you voice. I was sure it was you, but I could not find you.
Instead I was drugged again, and when I woke up I was tied to the bed to stop me from hearting myself. My crotch had bandages and someone had inserted a catheter.
I was in pain for days, and delirious with fever. I was castrated and emasculated, and you had brought in some expert from Thailand, I believe, to give me a vagina.
I have healed now, and I am indistinguishable from a natural woman. Herman is so pleased. He has now three holes to stick his dick into now, and he is fucking me daily.
I am starting to like it now, which has made me realize that your victory is complete.
There is nothing left of the man inside me. I no longer feel a need to conquer women. I have become the passive one, harboring girly dreams of a prince coming to save me, hold me, comfort me. That will never happen, of course, which is why I have begged them to send you this message.
I am not asking for your forgiveness. I am not out to get revenge. I just want to get out of here. To go home. I want to see my kid, as a stranger maybe, but still. I want to live a normal life, a boring life, as a woman, as fate will have it.
I am not going to bother you. If you can get me new identity papers, I'll find myself a job and a place to live.
But whatever you do, at least stop the treatment. They continue to give me the hormone shots and my breast are still growing.
Herman is beside himself of joy and has clearly convinced the doctor to increase the dosage, but I am getting scared. My libido is through the roof, my back hurts and they find it hard to get me bras in the right sized.
If nothing else, please let them stop the treatment.
I got your message. The treatment continues. I am not satisfied until you have become one of the whores you like so much.
The hypnosis therapy and the hormones will change you into a sex craving slut, and not the peaceful and modest woman you dream about.
In two months you will be moved over to a brothel in Nevada. Then, and only then, will your tits and ass stop growing.
By then you will have become an sex goddess of a woman, whit a body that will make men pay anything to fuck you.
You will serve their clients of the Pink Pussy Club for the next ten years. When that period is up I will send you your identification papers. Not before.
I am sure you will have saved up enough money by then to keep you through old age.
I have spent a lot of time and money on this, Paula. It has been worth every penny!
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