His Little Doll

June 30, 2011

“You see, Don, you are not going to be a male anymore. As of this moment, in fact, you are not to consider yourself a man. I certainly don’t regard you as one. No, to me you seem like a perfectly sweet and innocent, if a bit naïve and silly, teenage girl. Sure, your hair isn’t long, your voice is too deep for my liking, and your breasts haven’t developed yet. But we’ll get there, and within a few months you’ll be my feminine slavegirl, and with a little luck maybe even my girlfriend. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. What’s your gender, slave?”
Don’s mouth was still agape, and his eyes were becoming wider by the second. He closed his hands in hopes that Dave wouldn’t see them shaking.
“Slave, I asked you a question. What. Is. Your. Gender.”
“’Uhhh’ is not an acceptable response, slave. Do not make me ask again.”
“Ummm… female. Master.”
“’This slave’s gender is female, Master,” Dave coaxed.
“This slave’s gender is female, Master.” Don gripped the armrest in a mixture of fear and anger.

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