What I (Really) Did on My New Year’s Vacation

Paul curtsied as Gloria entered her private quarters. He was, of
course, standing ready and awaiting her return . . . as a lady’s
maid should.

“Fetch me a Campari and Soda, Pauline,” ordered Gloria crisply.

“Yes, Ma’am . . . at once,” said Paul. This was his new form of
address to his mistress.

He wiggled his way across the room on his high heels. He was
quite used to them by now. Quite used to walking like a woman,
too. It had become second nature. The daily hormone injections
had smoothed his skin so that it was just like a woman’s . . .
and his breasts had developed so much that he no longer needed to
wear the false plastic ones which Delia had put on him. Although
removing them had been a painful process even with the solvent.

It was now only necessary to wear the false ‘vagina’ underneath
which his genitalia were permanently crushed. Paul felt the
tightness of his cincher belt. Felt the stretch of the suspenders
to his stocking tops. Felt the cling of the pretty little panties
he wore. Gloria had forbidden him to wear a brassiere as a
general rule, saying she didn’t consider him sufficiently
developed. Even so, his breasts had become as fulsome as many a
young girl of sixteen and he was constantly aware of the bounce
and quiver of them as he moved about.

“I’m thinking of letting a man have you” said Gloria out of the

Paul shuddered. It was the one thing that he had always secretly
dreaded. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said weakly.

“You like the idea, of course?” she said.

Paul was on a cleft stick, as so often with Gloria. Was the right
answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?

“I am your slave, Ma’am,” he said, “it is not for me to have
likes or dislikes . . .”

“True . . . true . . . Pauline . . . but I guess you would like
it all the same. That’s why I might keep you waiting a little

“When I do give you to someone,” Gloria was saying, “I shall make
sure it is a man who actually thinks you are a girl. But a man
who doesn’t like sex with women in the normal way. A man who
likes to bugger women. Because I suspect that may be the only
avenue of pleasure left to you. I find that idea rather amusing.”

Paul said nothing. What was there for him to say? Anything would
be dangerous.

“Why so quiet Pauline,” Gloria taunted, “perhaps you would like
me to strap on a dildo and make love to you as we women do?”

Paul blushed deeply at the suggestion which seemed to touch a
cord deep within him. Did he really want that, or was it just the
suggestion that his mistress would make love to him? He lowered
his head shamefully unsure of what he truly felt.

Gloria stood up, smiling knowingly. “Undress me, girl,” she

Paul moved forward and began a most familiar – yet ever
nerve-racking task. It occurred to him briefly that he should be
glad his mistress had suppressed his manhood, for at least he
could not offend her in that way.

As item by item was removed with infinite care, the splendours of
his mistress’s body were revealed. Always it gave Paul a sense of
awe. No matter what she had done to him, he idolized this woman.
To have been given an order just to kiss the tip of one toe would
have delighted him.

Naked, Gloria moved slowly and gracefully to her dressing table.
There, while she removed her make-up, he brushed her rich dark
hair. Long and lustrous. This was another delight for Paul. It is
a long time he thought since she beat me. Indeed, the new
smoothness of his bottom was unmarked. Perhaps there is no longer
any need . . . because I am now the perfect slave who satisfies
all her wants. It was, indeed, Delia who had made him writhe in
torment under the rod and lash. He was glad indeed to have
escaped from that vicious, buxom blonde . . . to the haven of a
mistress who punished – but who punished with justice and not
simply for her own amusement and sadistic gratification.

For, whenever my mistress has made me suffer, he reflected, it
was to further my training or because I have truly deserved it. I
have failed her, or disobeyed her, and that is not permitted to a
slave. It merits punishment. Paul felt an almost irresistible
desire to bend and kiss the smooth, creamy-white back so near
him. It would have been an act of reverent gratitude for Gloria’s
principles. He resisted the temptation.

Such an action, he was well aware, would rightly have earned him
a most memorable ‘good hiding’.

“Pauline,” said Gloria, stretching her arms high and wide,
uplifting her voluptuous breasts, “your mistress is feeling a
little perverted tonight.”

Paul’s nerves tingled. “Yes . . . Ma’am?” he said.

Gloria smiled into the mirror, lowered her arms and firmed her
breasts upwards. “Yes . . .” she said, “sometimes your mistress
likes to have a girl to please her. Her maid, for instance. You,
I mean. They call it lesbianism, I believe!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Paul, his pulses now pounding.

So I am now going to bed,” said Gloria. “You girl, will go to
your room and get undressed. Everything but your corset and
stockings, that is. Then you will come to my room and, on your
knees, ask if I am still in the mood for your services.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Paul. There was now true adoration in his

Of course, he had often enough served Gloria in this way in
former days. As a male slave. He was also aware of the regular
attendance of slave-girls to his mistress’s bedroom at night; he
had little doubt as to the service they performed. But he had not
done that for a long while. Now however, he was not really
serving her as before. He was also serving her in a female
capacity . . . and that was different. He remembered vividly how
often Gloria had taken ecstatic pleasure in having her maid
‘please her’ in England. It had always seemed to Paul that his
services were second best. For Gloria was indeed a true lesbian.
Now though, he would be pleasing her as she basically wanted to
be pleased. Because, to all intents and purposes, he was now a

He curtsied and left the room as she moved towards her bed.

* * *

Paul knelt naked by the bed, feeling the hair of his blonde wig
brushing his shoulders. He was glad his skin was now so
hairlessly smooth. Proud of his swelling breasts, now fast
getting beyond the girlish stage.

“Your slave is here, Ma’am,” he said, “ready to serve you as you

Gloria was sprawled elegantly on the top of the black satin
covers of the bed. Her eyes swivelled slowly to him. They were
half-closed, cat-like, slanting. They had a liquid look about
them. Paul got the impression she may have taken some drug,
possibly to heighten her pleasures. His blood was racing at the
thought of being able to please her so intimately. There was
painful pressure on his genital-restraint, of course, but he had
become quite accustomed to that. It was now part of everyday
life. Just as was the impossibility of ever getting any release.
Fortunately, the desire for that seemed very gradually to be
lessening. Probably something to do with the female hormone

Languidly Gloria stretched out a hand and lightly fingered one of
Paul’s breasts. He could not control a shudder. A shudder of

“You’re getting quite pretty, Pauline,” she said “you are growing
up . . . .”

Paul’s head reeled. His mistress had paid him a compliment! Had
she ever done that before? No . . never . . . never! It was an
almost ecstatic moment for him. He bowed his head.

“All I wish is to please you, Ma’am,” he said. “In any and every
way . . . .” He meant it. Absolutely.

“You’d better,” said Gloria reverting to her usual manner. “You
may come on to the bed, girl.”

Heart hammering, Paul insinuated himself into the world of
soft-scented, womanly luxury.

“You will begin with my breasts, using both your mouth and your
hands, ” said Gloria.

“Yes, Ma’am,” whispered Paul. These moments of supreme delight
seemed, at the time, to compensate for all his sufferings. He
bowed his head into the lush warmness of the resilient flesh and
went about his exquisite task. Gloria’s reactions, he noted, were
more pronounced than usual. No doubt because, looking at his
blonde head and feeling the new softness of his hands and his
body, she was actually thinking of him as a woman.

Ten minutes later he was ordered down between the long, luscious
thighs . . . down to the liquid-warm delta of silk in the valley
of bliss. He was not only at the centre of all his desire, but at
the fountain-head of all the female power over him.

Paul could not possibly have been more content.

And, something like half an hour later, one could have said the
same of Gloria. Having ordered her servant from her bed, she
slipped down into a deep, contented sleep . . . while, Paul went
away to dream again of the services he had been permitted to