I lay there in my bed for a moment reflecting on the coming day, my long blonde hair spread across the pillow like a golden halo. At a mere seventeen, I had graduated from college two years before. Now I am working on my PhD thesis on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnets. Mom had always said that I was too brilliant for ordinary education.

"Allie," Mom's voice drifted through the door, smooth as aged whiskey but with an edge that made my stomach tighten. "Time to get up, sweetie. We have much to do today."

I slipped out of bed. My nightgown – pale pink silk with delicate lace trim – whispered against thighs. Mom had recently started selecting my wardrobe, gradually replacing my jeans and t-shirts with far more feminine items. She said they complemented my "ethereal beauty."

The first order of business was always the same. I sat on the edge of my bed and lifted my nightgown to my hips. There, nestled between my thighs, was the device Mom had installed on me last week. A custom-fitted chastity cage of polished pink plastic. It looked more like jewelry than restraint. Only Mom held the key.

My fingers traced the cool plastic, the way they did every morning. The cage was to prevent erection and touching, but it certainly didn't prevent desire, and it did prevent sexual release without Mother's permission. She called it my "promise keeper."

"Did you sleep well, Little Mister?" Mom asked as she appeared in my doorway. She was already dressed for the day in a tailored black pantsuit. Very tasteful. Her hair, blonde like mine, was swept back in a chignon.

"Yes, Mom," I replied a little groggily, keeping my eyes lowered. Even though respect came naturally to me, Mom still regularly emphasized that it was paramount and required. Disrespect earned swift correction, usually verbal, though not always. "You must learn to respect me. Completely, without quibble or hesitation. In fact, it is my goal to teach you...to train you...to respect all females, especially the ones in this family. Obedience and respect must be shown by you. They are to have the right to punish whenever you falter. We will all keep you in line, Missy!"

She crossed the room. Her fingers checked the lock. "Still secure. Good sissy." The praise and her proximity made something warm bloom throughout my body. The smell of her perfume caused my little cock to throb.

"Your Aunt Paula's coming for lunch," she said, her voice casual but her eyes sharp. "We need you looking very pretty today."

Aunt Paula's visits always meant changes. She was another authority figure, but she delighted me and was much more tolerant than Mom would ever be of my moods, opinions, and needs. Given the opportunity, we were compadres. Her visits, however, usually set my mom's imagination to racing. Paula and her together would mean new rules, new expectations, new steps in the direction Mom was pushing me. It was a direction that I didn't fully hate, but it was also one that I had always resisted, gently and ineffectively.

Mom stood and smoothed her pantsuit. "Shower first. Use the lavender soap, not the citrus. And scrub everywhere thoroughly. I'll inspect when you're done."

I hurried to the adjoining bathroom. The en suite was all marble and glass with soft lighting. As I stepped under the warm spray, I washed myself as instructed, my fingers lingering over the smooth plastic of the cage. I was coursing with desire, with no hope for release. The water cascaded over me, highlighting how little muscle definition I possessed. Mother had always discouraged sports, saying they would make me bulky and unfeminine. She preferred my natural litheness. She preferred me weak.

When I emerged, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, Mom was waiting with a short and sheer robe. "Much better," she approved, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Turn around."

I complied, and she ran her hands along my shoulders and back. "You're developing so well," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck. "The hormones are doing their job."

My body stiffened. The hormones were new, prescribed by a doctor Mom had found who was willing to follow her specific instructions. The result was estrogen patches, applied twice weekly, along with something Mom called "feminizing supplements."

"Your skin is softer already," she continued, her fingers trailing down my spine. "And your breasts are budding. Soon you'll need a proper bra. When that happens, it just might make me cry from happiness!"

I closed my eyes, fighting a wave of panic. This was too fast. This whole thing was accelerating lately. Mom had always been controlling, always had her vision for me, but the subtlety was vanishing.

"Mom, I—" I started, but she cut me off.

"No arguments today, Missy. We've discussed this. You want to make me happy, don't you?" Her voice was soft but left no room for negotiation.

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. I always wanted to make her happy. Her happiness was my guiding star.

She smiled. "Good. Now, let's get you dressed. I've laid out something special for today."

In my closet, rows of pastel garments hung in perfect order. Mom had selected a sleeveless sundress in pale yellow, with a short flowing skirt. Underneath, she laid out matching lingerie – a thong and an unnecessary bralette.

"The dress will hide the little cage," she explained, adjusting the straps on my shoulders. "You should be proud to wear that cage. It shows how devoted you are to me. Most of all, it shows respect."

Her fingers brushed against my nipples through the thin fabric of the bralette, and I gasped at the unexpected jolt of sensation. My little penis responded but the cage shut it down.

Mom noticed. "See?" Her voice was triumphant. "Your body knows what it wants. What it needs. It wants to please me."

She guided me to the vanity. "Today we'll focus on your eyes," she decided, picking up a mascara wand. "Paula loves your eyes."

I sat still as she worked. Foundation to even out my skin, concealer under my eyes to hide any shadows from restless nights, a subtle blush on my cheekbones. Then the eyes – shadow in shades of taupe and gold, a thin line of black along my upper lashes, and several coats of mascara that made my lashes look long and lush. I did like being beautiful.

"Perfect," she breathed, stepping back to admire her work. "You're so pretty, Allie. Prettier than any of the natural-born girls around here."

Downstairs, the house delightfully smelled of coffee. Our home in Hollywood Hills was always immaculate. "Sit," she gestured to an armchair in the sunroom. "I'll bring you breakfast. And then we need to talk about what's coming next."

I waited, my hands folded in my lap, while she returned with a tray. Greek yogurt with honey and berries, green tea, and a small dish of pills. One vitamin D, one omega-3, and two of the unmarked "feminizing supplements."

"These will accelerate things," she said, watching me swallow them with my tea. "Dr. Michaels says you're responding well. In another couple of weeks, we should see breast development. And your skin will be even softer."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The supplements made me feel strange – sometimes dizzy, sometimes weepy, always more pliable and sissy-like. And how could I possibly become more pliable and sissy-like? Mother called it "opening my mind to new possibilities." Sheesh!

"Paula's been consulting with specialists in Europe," Mother continued, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "There are new treatments, cutting edge. Hormone cocktails that can produce remarkable results. We're talking about complete feminization, Allie. But better than natural. Enhanced."

"Your academic work can continue," she added, as if reading my thoughts. "In fact, your brilliance will make you even more desirable. A beautiful, intelligent sissy-poet. Imagine the talk in certain circles."

The doorbell chimed through the house, and Mom's face lit up. "Paula's here. Remember to be respectful. She's doing so much to help us."

Aunt Paula swept into the room like a force of nature. At forty-three, she was even more intimidating than Mom – taller, with black hair cut in a sharp, layered bob. Her green eyes missed nothing. She wore a crimson power suit that hugged her athletic curves. Paula was a dish.

"Allie," she greeted me, her voice casual but her eyes appraising. "Looking more lovely every time I see you."

"Aunt Paula," I murmured, inclining my head respectfully.

Paula's manicured fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet her eyes. "The makeup is good. Melinda, you've outdone yourself. But there's still work to do on the posture." She pressed her palm flat against my sternum. "Shoulders back, chest out. You need to show the world what you have to offer."

I adjusted my position as instructed, my cheeks burning with humiliation. They talked about me as if I were a WIP, a work in progress rather than a person.

Mom clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful! Allie, go to my study and bring me the paddle. I think today calls for a little reinforcement of the rules."

My blood ran cold. The paddle was Mom's preferred method of discipline. A very broad hairbrush, really, but she called it her "attitude adjuster." It lived in the top drawer of her desk.

I moved as quickly as I could in the flowing sundress, my heart pounding with each step. The study was Mother's sanctuary – mahogany paneling and a massive desk where she conducted her business and managed my life. I retrieved the paddle, its smooth, heavy surface cool against my hand.

When I returned, the women were seated on the sofa. I stood next to Mom, as was required when presenting her with the paddle.

"Good boy," she approved, taking it from me. "Now lift your dress and bend over the back of the sofa."

Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying only made it worse. I positioned myself as instructed, the yellow dress pooled around my waist, my thong and my ass exposed.

"Ten strokes," Mom decided. "For the hesitation in your voice this morning. For the look in your eyes that suggested doubt. And because I can."

"Oh, my goodness!" Paula exclaimed. She was excited, but her voice contained a hint of pity.

The first blow always shocked me, even though I knew it was coming. The wood connected with my flesh with a sharp crack. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Count, Missy," Mom commanded.

"One," I gasped.

The second followed quickly, then the third. By the fifth, tears were streaming down my face. Each stroke was precise, calculated to sting without bruising.

"Six," I sobbed. I was starting to tremble.

Paula watched with interest, her legs crossed elegantly. "He's learning quickly. Maybe all ten aren't necessary."

"Bullshit," Mother declared, delivering the seventh stroke. "We need surrender. Submission. That's what the new treatments will ensure."

The final three strokes came in rapid succession, leaving me gasping and shaking and tearful. Mom's hand rested on my heated flesh, her touch deceptively gentle.

"There now," she said softly. "All forgiven. Stand up and fix your dress."

I managed to blurt, "Thank you, Mom. I love you so much!"

I struggled to my feet, my body aching, my face a mess of tears and makeup. It was so embarrassing with Aunt Paula watching me like this. She had seen my red bottom! I smoothed the yellow sundress.

"Your punishment is over. Never doubt that I love you," Mom continued.

Paula winked at me, letting me know that she was at least halfway on my side.

"I think that's enough for now," Mother said, noticing my distress. "Why don't you go to your room and rest? Think about how wonderful this all is going to be. How beautiful you'll become."

I fled, my movements awkward in the flowing dress. In my room, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows. The pain from the paddling had faded to a dull throb, but the emotional pain was sharp, fresh. Still, I had a raging hard-on. I loved being spanked.

Through the open door, I could hear their voices, raised in excited conversation about me. About the parties they would throw, the people they would invite to see their creation. Mom mentioned a "coming out" party, where I would be presented to her closest friends. I lay there masturbating as well as I could.

No dice on an orgasm, though. Afterwards, the cage felt suddenly heavier, more permanent. It certainly reinforced my submission. I knew in my heart that Mom had no intention of ever removing it permanently. She enjoyed my "sweet" frustration too much.

An hour later, Mom knocked softly on my door. "May I come in?"

I sat up, quickly wiping my face. "Yes, ma'am."

She entered carrying a glass of wine. "I thought you might need this," she said, handing me the glass.

I sipped the wine, a rich Merlot that coated my tongue. "Mother, do I have a choice in any of this?"

Her expression softened, but her eyes remained hard. "Allie, you've always had a choice. You can choose to be difficult, to fight this at every step. You can choose to be miserable and resistant. Or you can choose to embrace the incredible opportunity I'm giving you. To become something extraordinary."

She sat on the edge of my bed, her scent enveloping me. "I love you. You are my darling. But I know what's best for you. You were meant to be beautiful, submissive, adored. You were meant to be my masterpiece."

Her fingers stroked my hair, gently untangling a snarl. "The world is harsh for ordinary people. But for a beautiful sissy? For a creature of exquisite femininity and intelligence? The world can be a paradise. You'll have everything you've ever wanted – protection, admiration, purpose."

When she talked to me like this, all resistance subsided, and my little cock started to rustle, and she sensed it. She laughed, a low, musical sound. "Oh, your little cock is working overtime. Doesn't it ever rest? But I'm afraid I might be the source of most of that! You'll just have to suffer, Missy. It creates a beautiful picture in my mind."

The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was Mom's voice speaking to Paula in the hallway. "He's better. He's on his way."