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Archive-name: Changes/sylvia2.txt

Archive-author: Ruth White

Archive-title: Sylvia's Slave - 2

                            CHAPTER 4

     I'd been at Sylvia's about a year and Mrs. Hudson was getting ready to

retire. From my conversations with her I had learned that I wasn't the only 

man being feminized in the valley; it seemed to have caught on as a fad with 

some of the wealthy women here. She had informed me that Mrs. Humber's 

daughter Florence wasn't really a girl at all, rather she was the old lady's 

son who was being raised as a girl. Florence and her mother were frequent 

guests at Sylvia's and the next time they came to tea I scrutinized Florence

as surreptitiously as I could. There was no way that this sweet thing could 

be a boy.


     I took her coat as she entered. She was young; I figured about twelve or 

thirteen, short; about 4'10", pale, and delicate. Florence was very pretty 

even though she wore no makeup. She had tiny pearl studs in her ears and her 

long straight brown hair, gathered in a yellow ribbon, fell down her back 

past her waist where the sash of her dress was tied in a big bow. The dress 

she wore was floral print in cotton with long flowing skirts and under it's 

bodice I could see the swelling of budding breasts. She was the perfect 

daughter as she took tea with her mother and Sylvia, chatting amiably with 

both of them. I returned to the kitchen.

     "I thought you told me that Florence Humber was a boy," I accused 

Mrs. Hudson.

     The old lady looked at me with sad eyes. "Maybe I said too much."

     "Well I'd like to know just what is going on here."

     Mrs. Hudson spoke in hushed tones. "It seems that Mrs. Humber had four 

boys and really wanted a girl before she couldn't have any more children. 

She was thwarted however when the last child, Walter, turned out to be a boy. 

Mrs. Humber is a very strong-willed woman and would not be denied; she decided 

to raise Walter as a girl."

     "What about his father," I asked, "didn't he say anything?"

     "I assume he would have, but he was already suffering from the cancer 

that killed him before Walter was a year old. Mrs. Humber consulted all kinds 

of specialists and used all sorts of drugs to stop Walter's development and 

stunt his growth."

     "It sure seems to have worked, he makes a very pretty girl."

     "Oh no," said Mrs. Hudson, "she is a girl."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Mrs. Humber had an something done to Walter that changed him into a 


     "You mean a sex change?" I asked, incredulous that a mother could do 

that to her son. What kind of madwomen live here in Carmel Valley?

     "I guess that's what it was."

     "Where could she find a doctor that would do such a thing to a boy?" 

I mused.

     Mrs. Hudson told me. "Mrs. Humber never let Walter out of her sight and 

he never knew anything other than girlhood. When he turned eighteen she got 

him to agree to her plans and before anyone knew of it, he was a girl. 


     "Whoa! You mean to tell me that Florence or Walter or whatever is 

eighteen years old?"

     "Lord no!" Said Mrs. Hudson. "That was some time ago. Let's see now, 

Florence should be about ... twenty-eight."

     "Holy shit! You mean to tell me that Florence Humber is a twenty-eight 

year old man." 

     "Why yes, ... or, ... she was."

     The more I thought about Walter Humber the less extreme my predicament 

seemed; he had been forced to live as a prepubescent girl for over fifteen 

years and I only had to do five, unless I could escape sooner. Not only that, 

but I could go back to being a man when I got out of here, whereas Walter 

would be a girl forever.


     Eventually Mrs. Hudson also told me about Mrs. Altieri and her husband 

Vincent. It seems that Carole Altieri was a very homely (let's not mince 

words; she's a dog) and overweight young lady when her father, the 

multi-millionaire Charles Alexander, died and left her swimming in money. 

This young gigolo from San Francisco decided to romance her for a crack at 

some of the cash. Carole found out what his intentions were, but went ahead 

and married him anyway,  with an unbreakable pre-marital agreement that he 

either never read or couldn't understand. Boy, when he found out that he was 

cut out of any money, no matter the circumstances, was he ever pissed. She

counted on that though and the first time he beat her up she had him where 

she wanted him; in front of the Citizen's Justice Committee. The end result 

was that Vincent Altieri is now Carole's servant Consuela.

     In a way, I guess you could say that it was Vincent whose plight 

influenced me to commit to the desperate act that sealed my own fate. 

The Carmel Valley Club (whose membership, by the way, is the same as the 

Citizen's Justice Committee) was having it's annual social and Sylvia was 

this years hostess. All the help was pooled and it was while working there

that I met Vince, or rather Consuela, as his wife referred to him. It was to 

be an international buffet and of course Vince was assigned to serve Mexican 

food. I gave him the once over while we setting up and he sure looked like a 

senorita; long curly black hair tumbled down his back. His face was heavily 

made up and huge silver hoop earrings dangled from his ears. He wore an ivory

colored off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, which displayed an immense cleavage 

that had to be real, tucked into the waistband of a long full skirt in a 

floral design which flowed over wide womanly hips.

     I was serving as a cocktail waitress that evening and, as this was to be 

Sylvia's first exhibition of me to the entire Committee since they had placed 

me in her custody, no effort was spared in my preparation. After serving 

lunch I had been taken to the beauty salon in Carmel owned by that faggot 

George. His last name was Llewellyn and I'd found out that he was a member 

of the committee also. I was turned over to him while Sylvia and Julie went


     George handed me a short pink robe. "Go on in the cubicle there and 

strip naked, then put this on and lie face down on the table."

     The air conditioner was going full blast. My over-developed nipples 

stiffened up in the cold, their state not concealed by the thin nylon of the

robe. I was very embarrassed as I walked out with my hands crossed over my 

crotch. At Sylvia's instruction I had not worn the crotch strap and my cock 

and balls hung down, barely covered by the skimpy robe. I laid down on my 

stomach as George swished back into the room.

     That queer acted more effeminate than me, if that were possible. At least 

when I behaved in a girlish manner it looked natural.

     George started waxing my legs. "Well dearie, it seems that those hormones 

you're taking are going to put me out of a job."

     I couldn't dispute him. My body hair was coming in finer and lighter 

after every time I shaved, and the intervals between shaving were getting 

longer. I wondered if it would grow back o.k. after I was released from here 

and was no longer force fed hormones.

     When the backs of my legs were done, I rolled over and George went to work

on the front of me, including my belly so that I'd be left with a only a tiny 

feminine patch of pubic hair. He grabbed my shriveled penis and tugged on it 

playfully. "You know we could have a little fun, you and I, while we're

here alone."

     "Mr. Llewellyn!"  I blurted out. "I'll have you know that, regardless of 

my appearance, I'm not queer and I don't like men."

     George let go and sniffed like he was insulted. "Well I'm sure that 

Sylvia can repair that deficiency."


     I was too, and I worried about his last remark while he stuck to business

andI received the royal treatment.  My now long hair was washed, styled, and 

permed. As I sat under the dryer a manicurist went to work on my long nails 

and shortly they were polished to perfection in deep red. No matter how often 

I do them at home they never look that good. I was given a make over, my hair 

was brushed out, and then George swung me around to face the mirror.

     I could not believe that in just over a year I had been turned into the 

sweet looking young girl in the mirror. What would I look like after four more?


     My attire that night was a replica of the old Playboy bunny uniform. I 

hid my cock and balls under a what looked like tight rubber jock strap, Sylvia 

called it a compactor, and pulled on black pantyhose. Then I stepped into and 

pulled up what looked like a strapless swimsuit, but which was actually my 

uniform. It was pink spandex and clung to me like a second skin. I was given 

a pair of black patent pumps with five inch heels. A little badge that said 

Billie, rabbit ears, and I was ready to go to work.

     I found it difficult to get around in those shoes. I had to be careful 

and walk very slow and deliberately. I know that my ass wiggled when I did, 

but what could I do?  Without a bra my breasts bounced around with each step 

so I had to move slowly on that account anyway. I went on down to help set up 

for the party.

     I saw Vince there. I arranged to work near him and when I got a chnace

introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Bill Adams."

     He just stared at me for a minute. Then after looking around like a 

scared animal he whispered in a girlish voice. "Get out of here. Do it now. 

Before it's too late!"

     He turned away and went back to work. I wanted to talk more, but Sylvia 

came out and was observing us closely.


     As I served drinks I noticed all the men staring at my chest. It was 

really embarrassing. My nipples were clearly outlined as they strained against 

the stretchy fabric. I hadn't been aware that they were that prominent.  

     The party lasted well into the night and when it was over the help stayed 

behind to clean up. Carole Altieri had left Vince with us. He would sleep 

overnight and help me finish cleaning up in the morning. He was in Mrs. 

Hudson's old room and we had to share the bath in the hall. I heard him go on

in and shower. I decided totalk to him. I snuck down the hall and knocked on 

the bathroom door.

     "Come in."

     I did and saw Vince's back as he dried his long hair. I gasped aloud when 

he turned around. As I had guessed his abundant breasts were indeed real and I 

now saw them revealed in all their glory. It wasn't the size of his chest that

caused my shock, but rather his womanly hips. They were too womanly, for 

below them, between his thighs, hung ...  nothing! 

     Below the triangle of pubic hair, where should have dangled the cock and

balls of a proud stud, there was only the sex of a woman.

     He saw me looking at his crotch and said, "See what I meant about getting 

out of here while you still can?"

     "Your wife did that to you?"

     "No. I did it to myself."  


     "I'm not sure. It's kind of a long story."

     He went on to tell me about how after he had beaten up Carole, he was 

arrested and turned over to the Committee, who sentenced him to remain under 

Carole's control and supervision. Carole was pregnant and, with no further 

use for Vince, decided to feminize him. He fought her tooth and nail, but 

Carole was indefatigable and after several years of hormones and cosmetic 

surgery, including breast implants, Vince had been forced to take on the 

appearance of a beautiful woman. Carole, who by now totally dominated Vince, 

was somehow able to persuade him that he wanted to be a complete woman.

     Vince wasn't sure how Carole had been able to get him to do it, he 

suspected hypnosis, but whatever he finally agreed, consenting to sex 

reassignment, only to return from the hospital to find out that Carole had 

divorced him. Judge Martin had granted her the divorce. Along with the divorce,

Carole had filed a petition for change of name which was also been granted by 

Judge Martin; Vince's legal name was now Consuela Hernandez. 

     "I owed child-support." He said. "Where could I go? What could I do ... as

a woman? So now I work for her as a domestic at minimum wage. After taxes and 

Social Security I take home just over four hundred dollars a month, out of 

that three hundred goes for child-support and the balance goes to pay off my 

doctors bills and legal fees."

     As I stared at the man who was now irreversibly a woman, I resolved then 

and there that I was going to escape before Sylvia got the notion to carry my 

feminization to that extreme.


                            CHAPTER 5

     I reasoned that the worst thing I could do would be to make a panicked 

escape which Sylvia was probably ready for, and wouldn't get me very far 

anyway. No, I would plan it out and bide my time until the right opportunity

presented itself. Toward that end I behaved myself, cooperating fully with 

Sylvia, in order that any suspicions she might harbor would be allayed, and 

some day she would let her guard down just far enough for me to make my move.

     Mrs. Hudson finally left and I took over as cook and housekeeper. In the 

interim, the hormones had taken their toll; I had all the curves of a girl, 

my skin was soft, and I was no longer shaving. With the compactor on I could 

pass anywhere as a girl, even in a bikini. At this point the hormones were 

reduced to a maintenance dosage. I gradually noticed an increasing sensitivity

in my cock and after awhile it even got hard again, for which I was grateful.


     I worked hard, watched, waited, and plotted for my escape. My prayers 

were answered, and I got the break I had been waiting for on New Year's Eve.

Sylvia and Julie went out to a party and I was left home alone. About three 

in the morning I was awakened by loud talking and laughter. Having seen this 

before, and thinking that they would probably want me to prepare some food or

help them undress, I got out of bed, pulled a robe over my nightgown, put on

some slippers, and went to see what the situation was.

     I entered Sylvia's room and as I took in the scene I knew that this was 

an opportunity which might never again repeat itself. As I suspected, the 

girls were drunk as lords, but this time they had gone even further. The two 

of them were passed out on the bed in each others arms. It wasn't hard for me 

to reconstruct what had happened. 

     They must have come in and tried to get ready for bed. Sylvia had opened 

the safe to put their jewelry in. After putting hers in, Sylvia went to get 

Julie's. Julie always was a playful little thing and had probably pulled 

Sylvia down for a kiss. The liquor had overcome them and there they were; on 

the bed, still dressed and unconscious.

     I went and looked in the safe. I could have screamed with joy. My escape 

was a certainty. In there were bundles of cash, many pieces of expensive 

jewelry, papers, and in the back, that same little pistol that had been 

planted on me so long ago. I took the gun, checked to see that it was loaded, 

then put it in the pocket of my robe.  Grabbing a suitcase, I emptied the safe 

into it. 

     What next? I stopped to consider. I needed some clothing. Thanks to 

Sylvia, I couldn't pass as a man, and all the women's clothing I had were sexy 

and revealing. Guaranteed not to provide the anonymity I needed to pull this 

off successfully.

     I ran to my room, grabbed panties and a bra, and put them on. Back in 

Sylvia's room I went through her drawers and found what must have been her 

only pair of jeans. They were of course designer and fit very tight, but 

they'd last until I could buy something. I pulled on a cotton shirt and found 

a leather jacket. That and some shoes were all I'd need. I found a pair of 

running shoes and put them on, after over a year of wearing nothing but 

high-heels they felt good on my feet.

     I decided to take my revenge before I left. I laughed as tied the two 

unconscious girls spread-eagle on the bed. I got a glass of water and threw 

it in Sylvia's face. 

     "Wake up bitch!"


     She puttered and came to. "What the fuck?"

     "Shut up!" I yelled. I'm on my way out of here and want to finish what I 

was doing when you so rudely interrupted me last time."

     I pulled down the jeans and panties, pulled out my cock, and started 

playing with it to make it hard. 

     "I want you to watch while I fuck your little girlfriend here."

     She did, as I did. It felt great, even if Julie slept through it. Sylvia 

glared at me. I knew what I wanted to do. I went in the bathroom and pulled 

out that horrid butt-plug. I was so used to it that I'd almost forgot it was 

there. I rinsed it out. Returning to the bedroom I crammed it in Sylvia's 

mouth and tied it there with a pair of panty-hose.

     "I've had Enough of your shit bitch. Maybe that will keep it in. Now is 

when it starts getting better for a change."



     I laughed to myself, enjoying my revenge on those two cunts, as I headed 

north on Highway 1 in Sylvia's car.

                            CHAPTER 6


     I knew that Sylvia would spare neither effort nor expense in searching 

for me, so I did what I could to throw the hounds off of my scent. The first 

problem was my appearance; that of a beautiful blonde. I knew from past 

experience that, no matter what I wore, men would stare at and remember me.

     I took stock of my situation. In the case was well over 150 thousand 

dollars. I figured that the money would be fair recompense for what Sylvia 

had done to me and my body. I also knew that making myself presentable as a 

man again would eat up a big chunk of it. The rest would help make myself 

disappear. I had an idea. I crossed over to, and headed north on, 101 towards 

San Jose.

     I left Sylvia's car in the long term parking lot at San Francisco 

International Airport and started wandering through the terminals. It wasn't 

long before I spotted what I needed; a good looking blonde about my height. 

I went over and talked to her.

     "Excuse me, but could I ask where you're headed?"

     She was a cute girl, but then again that's what I appeared to be. She 

wasn't suspicious of my motives and talked to me. 

     "New York. Why do you ask?"

     "It's a long story, but I'd be willing to pay your way if you can help me 


     "Go on."

     "It's my boyfriend. I've had enough of his abuse and I'm leaving him.

 He's got lots of money and I don't want him to be able to track me down. 

So here's the deal. I get in line, buy you a ticket under a my name so you 

aren't involved, the agent remembers me, and you fly to New York on the ticket

while I head elsewhere."

     "Sounds good to me, and I could sure use the money it would save me, and 

I know what pigs some men can be. Sure I'll be glad to do it, and good luck to 


     We never exchanged names and after I saw her off I caught a cab to the 

city. There I got on BART to Oakland where I caught another cab to Oakland 

International Airport and bought a seat to LA under a made up name.   


     It was mid-morning when I deplaned in Los Angeles. I bought newspapers 

and went into an airport coffee shop and ate breakfast while looking for a 

place to live. There were several reasons why I'd picked LA;  I'd grown up 

there, it's easy to drop out of sight there, and damn hard to find someone 

there who doesn't want to be found. If you have money there's nothing you 

can't buy and, most importantly, LA has a large transsexual community. 

Strange as it sounds, that would be my cover while I returned to masculinity. 

Hide in plain sight as it were.

     Los Angeles was the perfect place to lose myself; if you can't do it 

there, you can't do it anywhere. I decided to call myself Jennifer Smith. 

With the money I had it wouldn't be hard to settle in, find my way around, 

and buy some ID. Once that was taken care of, I could figure out a way to 

become a man again.

     As I went through the classified ads, I circled those with potential and 

started calling when I was done eating. I hit pay dirt on my third attempt. A 

furnished studio apartment in Hollywood for rent by the month. The landlord 

was sort of a bum, but he wasn't curious, and took my deposit and first months 

rent in cash.

     He probably thought that I was just another of the thousand or so young 

girls who flock there each year hoping to make it in show business, and I did 

everything possible to reinforce that impression.

     I sat in my tiny new home and took stock of my situation. I had nothing 

except the clothes on my back and a suitcase full of cash. The first order of 

business was food. I grabbed a handful of bills and then stashed the suitcase 

in a closet. On my trip to the supermarket I discovered what would be my 

number one problem in LA;  a good looking girl alone just can't go about her 

business incognito. Especially walking in a city where everyone drives. I

was no sooner on the street than I heard my first, "Hey baby. Need a ride?"

     While walking through the grocery store, I stopped for a minute in front 

of the panty-hose display. "Never again," I thought to myself, savoring my 

escape from Sylvia and liberation from forced femininity. I returned to my new

apartment with the basics: milk, bread, cereal, cold cuts, chips, and beer. I 

made myself a sandwich, popped a cool one, and considered my next move. I would

need some clothes, but the question was where to shop and what to buy. 

     While I had hoped to return to men's clothing as soon as possible, there 

was no denying that with my body, at least for the present, I would be more 

likely to find appropriate clothing at Frederick's of Hollywood than 

Brook's Brothers.

     I went shopping and bought a bunch of jeans and sweat-shirts. Just enough

to keep me going until I could get back to real men's clothing. I also bought 

some cotton briefs, they were women's, but the only ones I could find that fit.

They'd do for now.

     I also found out that there was something else I was going to have to work

on. I found out the hard way that living with that butt plug inside me had 

caused me to lose the ability to control sphincter. I won't go in to any 

details, except to say that whenever I felt the need to go, I now had about 

three minutes to find a toilet. I debated getting another one, but decided 

that I'd rather regain control and have dirty panties than keep another butt plug in me. 

     I settled in and laid low for awhile. Then one night I put my plan into 

action. I knew that there was an area of the strip where TS hookers and their 

customers congregated. So one night I wandered on down there and started 

hanging around. I struck up a conversation with a couple of them. I found one 

that hadn't been hardened by life on the streets yet. He called himself Lana

and had come out from Utah or somewhere to hustle money and change his sex.

     I invited Lani home to sleep on my couch one morning after a night on the

streets. We talked for awhile and I pumped him for information on the best 

doctors to see. I woke up the next afternoon to find the little bitch gone 

along with some of the jewelry I had taken from Sylvia's. I'd stashed it under 

the sink in a coffee can. Lana had obviously torn apart the house looking for 

anything of value. It was a good thing I'd put the money in a safe deposit box.

I'd been able to rent one with the false ID I had been able to buy. It wasn't 

the best, but it worked. The guy who sold it to me thought I wanted it to be 

able to pass for 21 and buy liquor.  


     I went to one of the clinics on the list I had made talking to Lana. The 

receptionist told me that they did do sex reassignment there, but that I'd 

need to be referred by a psychologist first. She gave me the name of one and 

I went to see him. It wasn't hard to convince him that I was what I appeared 

to be; a pre-operative transsexual passing successfully as a woman. That's why

I went to LA, it's almost an everyday thing there. It was time to put my plan 

into action.

     "So you've lived as a woman for a year and you're ready for surgery?" 

The shrink asked me.

     "I'm not sure Doctor. I just want to get this over with."

     "I really can't let you go through with this if you're not one hundred 

per cent sure of what you're doing."

     "What else can I do Doctor? The hormones I've been taking have completely 

changed my body shape.., and just look at these." I pulled up my sweatshirt 

and showed him the massive breasts hidden under it. "What can I do about them?"


     I laughed all the way home. In my purse was a years supply of the 

strongest male hormone available. The doctor had even been so kind to arrange 

for what he called a radical mastectomy. I didn't care what he called it. 

They were gonna cut those damn tits off.  


     On the appointed day I showed up at the clinic where they were going to 

do the job. I was given a room where I undressed and put on the hospital gown. 

As I tried to go to sleep I was so relieved. At last I was on my way back to 

masculinity. No more bras for me. I'd get these tits off in the morning and 

never wear girls clothing again.

     The next morning a nurse came in and gave me a shot in my ass. I started

to drift as the shot took effect. Another nurse in surgical greens wearing a 

mask came in and I became aware that she was strapping my arms and torso to 

the table.

     "Why are you doing that?" I asked her.

     "It's for your own protection dear."

     That voice! I knew it. Just then she slipped her mask down: it was Sylvia. 

     "So! You thought you could get away from me. I must admit you led me on a 

merry chase until some of my jewelry started showing up in pawnshops, but here

 I am and now you must pay. Remember Billie; it always gets worse."

                                    THE END

                              (ha-ha just kidding)

Of course this will be continued with conclusion.



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