The Mansion Where They Turned Me Into Their Sissy

Adrián was twenty-seven years old and had his life more or less figured out in his head. He was studying for his final Law exams, had friends, rented a small apartment, and imagined that in a few years he’d be wearing a good suit and sitting in his own office. He was an ordinary guy, the sort who never expects anything out of the ordinary to happen to him. That was why, when an acquaintance passed him an invitation to a private party at a mansion outside the city, he took it as just another anecdote to tell on Monday.

The hostess called herself Madame Octavia. She had silver hair pinned up with military precision and pale eyes that hardly ever blinked. She spoke softly, slowly, and even so everyone in the drawing room fell silent when she took the floor. Adrián found her fascinating, that kind of woman who seems to have spent decades accustomed to the world obeying her.

—You look nervous —she said, handing him a glass with an amber liquid in it—. Drink. Tonight you’re going to remember for a long time.

Adrián drank. He didn’t notice the strange taste until it was too late. The lights turned liquid, the voices drifted away, and the last thing he saw was Octavia’s calm smile as the floor rose up to meet him.

***

He woke up with a dry mouth and a cold weight around his neck. He was in a room he didn’t know, tied to a metal chair with straps around his wrists and ankles. Naked. Around his throat he felt a stiff leather collar. In front of him, Octavia waited seated, legs crossed, accompanied by two women in white uniforms with expressions of utter indifference.

—Welcome, Adriana —Octavia said.

—What…? I’m not any Adriana. Untie me. Untie me right now! —he struggled against the straps until the metal bit into his skin.

Octavia laughed without humor, like someone hearing an old joke.

—Soon you’re going to understand that here you don’t choose anything. You’re going to be my sissy, the most perfect one I’ve ever had. Whether you want to or not.

Adrián screamed himself hoarse. No one in that house seemed to hear him. The walls were thick, the windows were sealed with heavy curtains, and beyond that room there was only the dense silence of a mansion lost in the middle of the countryside. The more he shouted, the calmer Octavia seemed, as if every scream confirmed that he still hadn’t understood anything.

—When you’re tired of screaming —she said at last, standing up— we’ll really begin.

***

The transformation began that very night. They waxed him with hot wax while he clenched his teeth and the nurses laughed among themselves at how little pain he could tolerate. They ripped the hair from his chest, his armpits, his legs, and left his pubic area smooth as a little girl’s, his cock limp on top of skin that was raw and burning. One of the women grabbed it without any care, yanked it up to wax his balls too, and remarked that it was “sad, tiny, perfect for what it was going to be.”

They put lace panties on him, a corset that squeezed his ribs until he had just enough air to breathe, and sheer stockings that climbed up his freshly waxed legs. Then came a metal cage, a device they locked between his legs and secured with a small padlock. The nurse tugged his cock forward, forced it into the curved tube, and tightened the ring around his testicles until two purple bulges stood out. When he tried to get hard from fear or shame, the metal bit from the inside and a stabbing pain shot up to his stomach.

—This is going to remind you who’s in charge —Octavia said, tapping the metal and making his whole body flinch—. And that sad little cock of yours isn’t going to get up again without my permission. Never again.

They made him up by force: pale foundation, intense red lips, glittering shadow on his eyelids, false lashes weighing down his eyes. When they turned him toward the mirror, he tried to scream again, but a gag choked the sound in his throat.

—Look at yourself, Adriana —Octavia whispered behind him—. You’re not a man anymore. You’re my doll.

I am not this. I am not this. I’m getting out of here.

***

He didn’t give up. During the first few days he searched for a crack in every routine. He memorized the nurses’ shifts, the sounds of the locks, the hallways he managed to glimpse when they moved him. One morning he broke the heel off a shoe and hid it as if it were a knife. They found it at the first inspection and punished him with lashes until his back was marked with red lines that burned when he leaned on them.

On another occasion he managed to force open a window latch. He got half his body out into the cold night air before two hands dragged him back inside by the hair. Octavia watched all of it from the doorway, not moving a muscle in her face.

—If you insist on resisting —she said, showing him a syringe between her fingers— I’m going to have to be much more persuasive. And trust me, Adriana, you won’t like my persuasive version.

***

Each escape attempt made the methods harsher. One night they took him to a white room set up with cold lights and a gurney in the center. They sedated him just enough to keep him awake but unable to move. Lying beneath those lights, he heard Octavia talking as if nothing were happening.

—Your body needs some adjustments so that, once and for all, you accept your place.

He woke up different. Beneath the skin of his chest he felt two strange, tight mounds: two new tits that pulled at his rib cage every time he breathed and rubbed against the corset fabric until his nipples felt as sensitive as bare wires. His waist was impossibly narrow, as if an invisible hand kept squeezing it without pause. His lips felt heavy, swollen. The reflection they put in front of him no longer resembled anything he remembered as his own. His voice came out wrong, softened by something they had been putting into his body for weeks without him fully knowing it.

He spent hours touching his face with his fingertips, searching for the features he knew and finding others instead. Every morning, the nurses came back with pills, creams, and a care routine that he learned to hate and, at the same time, to fear not fulfilling. The difference between obedience and disobedience was measured in pain, and his body, before his mind, had started doing the math.

—Now you really are Adriana —Octavia mocked, forcing him to walk back and forth in impossible heels—. Walk. I want to see how my work moves.

Every staggering step was a reminder of everything he no longer controlled.

***

—The money for all this —Octavia said one afternoon, going over some papers— I’m not putting up. You are going to pay for it. With the only thing that belongs to you now.

They took him down to a part of the mansion he had never seen: a dimly lit lounge with heavy curtains and men waiting in armchairs. A clandestine place where company and silence were paid for. They dressed him in a tight red dress that barely covered his ass and presented him to a man who laughed the moment he saw him.

—What a sad little thing —the man said, amused, forcing him to kneel in front of him.

Adrián tried to shove him and run. The nurses grabbed him before he reached the door, and Octavia drove a needle into his arm, a mild sedative that loosened his legs and made his head heavy, unable to resist but perfectly awake to feel everything.

—If you don’t obey —she whispered in his ear as he lost strength— I’ll break you completely. And there’ll be nothing left to rebuild.

They put him back on his knees in front of the client. The man unzipped his pants unhurriedly, took out a thick cock, already half hard, and held it in front of his face. He grabbed Adrián’s jaw with one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his painted mouth opened by force.

—Come on, doll. Open wide. That’s what you’re here for.

Adrián tried to close his teeth and the guy slapped him hard, making tears spring to his eyes. On the second slap, his mouth opened on its own. He felt the cock drive all the way in, pushing against his throat, and the gagging shook his whole body. The man grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and started face-fucking him without any rhythm, shoving his cock in and out to the balls, choking him with every thrust. His eyes filled with water, the mascara smeared, a thick string of saliva mixed with red lipstick hung from his chin. Every time the guy buried himself all the way in, Adrián’s nose slammed into the man’s pubic hair and he couldn’t breathe for several seconds.

—That’s it, sissy, that’s it. Suck that cock like the whore you are.

He came in his mouth without warning. A hot, thick stream filled his palate, another hit his tongue, another splattered his lips and dripped down his chin onto his new tits. When he tried to spit, Octavia closed his jaw with two fingers underneath.

—You swallow. All of it. Nothing paid for with you gets wasted.

Adrián swallowed, throat burning and tears mixing with the semen staining his face. The man tucked himself back into his pants, left some bills on the table, and patted his wet cheek.

—Next time —he said— I’m going to put it in your ass.

***

The days became one long night. They forced him to service several men a day, and the cage between his legs was still there, locked shut, reminding him every moment how little of himself remained. Every man mocked his broken voice, his clumsy movements in the corset, the way he tripped in heels.

He learned to suck cock the way they demanded: tongue working against the tip, cheeks hollowed, throat open so they could go all the way in without him choking too badly. He learned to get on all fours on the bed, skirt hiked up to his waist and panties pulled aside, waiting for the cock of whichever man was his for that night. The first clients pried his asshole open with fingers coated in cold lube while he cried into the pillow; the ones after that found him already yielding, stretched by weeks of use.

There was one who liked to spit in his face before shoving it in. There was another who squeezed his new tits until his nipples turned purple and whispered “whore, whore, whore” in his ear while he fucked him from the side, one leg raised over his shoulder. There was an old man who only wanted him to sit on top of him and move on his own, impaled to the hilt, while he groped his ass and pinched the chastity cage; Adrián, with his little cock smothered inside the metal, could feel his prostate pressing against the client’s cock with every downward movement, and from the tip of the tube a clear, sad liquid dripped that the men laughed and called “sissy cum.”

—Look at that, he’s cumming and he’s not even getting hard —someone would say, and the rest would cheer the humiliation like it was a circus act.

Sometimes they put him on his knees in the middle of the lounge and lined up. Two, three, four cocks taking turns in his mouth, others waiting for his ass, hands everywhere on his tits, on his hair, tugging his collar. He ended up with his face varnished in semen, his thighs sticky, his dress lifted and wrinkled over his waist, and Octavia counting bills in a corner, writing down how much “the doll” had produced that night.

He learned to read men as a language of survival. Some only wanted to laugh and watch; those were the easy ones. Others arrived already loaded with rage from the doorway, and with those the only thing he could do was close his eyes, offer his ass or open his mouth, and wait for the night to end. Octavia watched him from a corner, writing, collecting, counting money he would never see but that they said was his debt.

When he refused, the punishments escalated. Whole nights in a cage so low he couldn’t stretch out. Electric shocks connected to the chastity metal that jolted his trapped cock and tore from him sharp, feminine screams he no longer even recognized as his own. Public sessions where other clients spanked him with open palms over his ass until it was red and hot, and then fucked him like that, burning, while Octavia forced him to repeat, with a broken voice, a phrase he had learned by heart.

—I’m Adriana —he recited through clenched teeth, a cock coming in and out of his ass—. A useless sissy who exists only to serve.

Each time he said it, he felt another piece of Adrián go dark.

***

With time, his resistance wore out like a candle. The surgeries, the hormones, the humiliation repeated night after night finally emptied him of the will to fight. One dawn he stood staring into a cracked mirror, makeup smeared down his cheeks, dry traces of semen on his chin and a stained dress, and found no trace inside himself of any desire to run.

Octavia came in, satisfied, and clipped a small engraved metal plate to the collar.

—“Property of the house” —he read in a low voice, almost without strength.

—You’ve paid for half your adjustments, Adriana —she said, stroking his cheek with two cold fingers—. Behave, keep opening your mouth and your ass like a good sissy, and maybe one day I’ll let you go. —She paused, deliberately—. Or maybe not.

***

Adriana no longer dreamed of escaping. Dreaming required an energy she no longer had. His body had become unrecognizable and his mind had grown used to obeying before the order even finished being given. Every client, every cock in his mouth, every cock in his ass, every gesture of submission, every humiliation was the confirmation of one single thing: that Adrián, the law student who one night accepted a drink at a party, had vanished and would not return. In his place remained she, locked inside a mansion whose address nobody knew, paying with her body for a transformation she had never asked for.