SUNDAY

Eventually I slept normally, and when I woke up I was still naked. As I got up and saw myself in a full sized mirror I realized I was indeed Deanna now. I had long blonde hair, in a high ponytail. My face was smooth and pretty, no, it was beautiful. My eyes were big and slightly slanted, my cheeks a tad rouge, my lips painted red in a very sexy way.

When I touched my face I saw my long nails in the same red as my lips, and I realized how feminine my hands had become. Only then did I realize what a stupid thought that was, as round breasts were sitting on my chest, with a narrow waist and wider hips. When I touched my breasts, I could clearly feel it. These were somehow inserted under my own skin.

A closer look in the mirror showed a small band-aid in the same color as my skin under each breast. Somehow they must have injected these breasts under my skin. And how did my waist get so narrow? It was then that I concentrated on my crotch.

It seemed flat, but when I sat on the floor with my legs spread, I could see a new sleeve around my dick in skin color, guided between my legs, apparently glued to my body. How would I ever get my dick back?

It was then that Cynthia entered the room, with a big smile on her face. She told me how wonderful I had come out, and how was I going to pay for it? Cash or credit?

Six thousand dollars I owed her. And I didn't have a dime on me. My wallet was in Angel's room, but I knew I did not have that much credit left on it. And, she explained, to revert everything, it would be another four. Her smile never left, as she told me not to worry. Her sister could help me, she promised.

I was in a daze. How did I end up in so much trouble? You cheated on your wife, dummy, and now you're paying the price! But, only in Vegas can someone get ten grand in just a few days, so I would go to the sister. But first I needed some clothes.

It was a catsuit that Angel had brought for me, in black latex. I was a bit disappointed that it wasn't leather, until I had it on. There was no zipper, no visible seams, and somehow I managed to get in through the neck opening, which stretched far enough to step in. As it closed around my skin, I was sold. I was still naked, but with a shiny, perfectly black skin, not one fold or ripple, and my breasts stood proudly out, without the need for any bra. How would I pee though?

Cynthia showed me that there was a hidden zipper in the crotch area, giving access to my rear, my “sleeved” dick and to my pussy, if I had one. After I managed to close the zipper by myself, she gave me a skirt that barely covered my crotch, but was a surprisingly feminine addition. I could be fully exposed under it and no one would know.

The latex boots she handed me perfectly blended with the suit, like it was part of it, although you could still see my red toe nails. But the spike heels were murder. It took me ten minutes before I could stand even, an hour before I could carefully walk.

Likewise, there were gloves, making my nails now look like claws, and I almost felt like a cat now. Sleek and powerful. And somehow that mindset made it easier to walk in heels as well.

Her sister, Georgia, was not in the hotel, but her building was not a far walk, yet enough to get better used to the heels. The latex may look thin, but it gave enormous strength to my ankles, making the spikes as much part of me as my claws. I could do this!

Until I found out what “this” was. I was to be a companion to someone who paid by the half hour. In my mind I concluded I was really going to be a prostitute. But it was different. Whereas a prostitute typically stays in control, people would pay to have full control over me.

They could fuck my mouth if they wanted. Or my rear. Or both, if they could pull it off. They had full control over my pain and pleasure device, although limits were set so I couldn't pass out. If the customer wanted a "sissy” my dick would be locked, but if they wanted a “she-male”, and Georgia pushed a button, my dick was released from its sleeve.

I went instantly hard as she increased my pleasure level, and I was shocked how large I could grow, a monster sticking out from the black latex, my balls massive. And it still grew, when I wrapped my latex hand around it. Without warning she switched to pain mode, and as I cried out my member shrunk rapidly in my hand.

She told me to push it back in the sleeve opening, and the pain stopped, as the sleeve sucked itself around my member and scrotum. In “sissy” mode, some people would still attempt to make me cum, a so-called sissygasm. I would learn to hate and love it.

I would work for eight hours a day, before I was returned to Jaxon and Angel, as they had claimed me for the nights. In seven days I could make a maximum of seven grand, provided I had a client every time slot. With my credit card it would be enough to pay for my transformation back before I'd fly out again. But what about my conference?

The math was simple really. With three days spent on the conference I could only make four grand as a companion, with four tops on my card not enough for a full conversion back. Removing the breasts was the hardest, Cynthia explained, so if I kept them, the eight would be enough. Or, if I kept the skin corset and the cock sleeve, I would be rid of the breasts. I didn't even realize that I had a skin corset, but that was why my waist was so narrow. Maybe my wife would like to control me if I kept the sleeve on? No way!

There was a way to get additional money, as every session could be recorded, at an additional cost. But most customers would rather not do that, as most had a spouse at home, or even back in the hotel. Georgia knew of a new mistress, looking for a sissy slave, who would pay more for a chance to train me, but it could be very painful for me. It would be my decision. Do it, I told her, if it would give me the extra two grand.

A session was really only twenty-five minutes, giving me five to clean myself in the tiny shower in the room. A client paying for a double session would get an hour minus the five minutes. And Jaxon was my first client in my new profession, to “break me in”.

In his “hour” he gave me a pretty good idea what being a companion really meant. He took my virgin mouth, he took my “almost” virgin rear, he had me masturbate as he provided pleasure, changing it to pain, just before I was about to cum. I was to call him Master, and I was begging him to stop by the time the session was over.

That's when he told me he had paid Cynthia the six grand for my transformation, so I owed him. Angel had spent another six on the catsuit I was now wearing plus new outfits I was to wear during my evenings with them.

He had a solution though for my new financial problems. He knew of a Mistress that would pay ten grand total for an hour with me every night, plus my whole last night in Vegas. I would be debt free by Sunday, and not even have to use my credit card, which was a good thing, because Angel had used it for my clothes at first, and it was done after fifteen hundred.

He warned me though that this Mistress would only pay if she could mark me as her personal property. A small tattoo on one of my butt cheeks. My wife would probably never notice. And if she did, maybe I could wave it off as having lost a bet.

What choice did I have? With my last credit blown I could not transform back, so my wife would find out much worse. If I left here with just a tattoo on my butt, then perhaps I could have inked it over with something else before my wife would notice, and she might accept the lost bet story. So I agreed.

I had to sign a form with my consent though. I had to agree to become her personal property, and although she would allow me to live with my wife again, I would submit to her any time I would meet her. Plus I had to agree to meet with her for a full day, at least three times per year, in order to maintain my submissive status. Thank goodness, I travel a lot for my job, so that should not be a problem. A weird condition was that I would legally change my name to Deanna and my gender to female, but I imagined that back home no one would ever find out.

I signed the document, witnessed by Georgia, who happened to be a notary as well. I also signed the forms for my name change and my request for gender change, and that was that.

With my financial “problems” solved, I could concentrate on my new job. I found that there were a lot of perverts around. The easiest were actually the blow jobs and the rear jobs, although I still can't believe how quickly I accepted that part. 

The tough ones included a lot of pain. People finding pleasure in the fact they could so easily apply pain to another person. But somehow I got even used to that. In the afternoon I had more female customers, most of them wanting to edge me. They'd free my dick, put me on my back, then mount me with their pussy, working themselves to an orgasm or two. But anytime I got close to cumming myself, they'd shock me, and indulge in my frustration. 

Only one allowed me to cum, making me catch my junk in my hand, and then I had to eat it all. Easier than a blow job even but it took the pressure at least from my balls.

My evening with Jaxon and Angel was an enormous relief. Angel was more beautiful than ever and Jaxon treated both of us as queens. Dinner was perfect and made me easily forget all the cum I had swallowed that day. We drank champagne and ate caviar, and were in a very good mood when Jaxon sat down at a poker table. We got enough attention from opponents to give him a good head start, before we were dismissed. 

Angel and I rapidly became good friends, as only two women could. There was a delicious sexual tension between us, and I suspected that Angel was really more into women than into men. This was confirmed after a few more drinks, as she confessed it had been really Sonya she wanted, and when I married her, she moved away, heart broken.

The session with my new Mistress would be every night from 11 to midnight, and Angel took me to her home. I had to sit for ten minutes in a waiting room, as Angel left, with dozens of pictures on the walls, of both men and women in very submissive positions, with Mistresses holding whips and canes and all kind of torture devices. I started getting worried.

Mistress Gabriella was her name and when she finally entered, she was a vision of power. In a catsuit, like me, but in fierce leather. Even her face and complete head was covered in a cat-like mask and hood. Not an inch of skin was visible. 

Nothing was said, as she motioned for me to open my mouth. I only gave it a half attempt but she used one hand to squeeze my cheeks, and pushed a gag in my mouth opening. It went so fast that I didn't even fight it, and by then a mask was placed over my face and tied around my head. Like her, I had now cat ears.

The gag in my mouth had a weird taste and I felt myself getting weaker. Nauseated, I sank to my knees and on all fours. She pulled on my leg, and by the time I realized that my lower leg was bound to my upper leg, my other leg shared the same fate. My heels were sticking up in the air, as only my knees touched the floor. And in seconds my arms were tied similarly, as I now “stood” on my elbows.

As she opened the zipper in my crotch, she pushed something up my arse, then she pulled my skirt down. Looking back I now had a flexible latex tail coming out from under the skirt. And somehow it was moving slightly. Next, she wrapped a collar around my neck, with a leash attached, and when she pulled it I could only turn in the direction of her pull.

Another pull made me look up, and I saw myself in a mirror. I didn't even recognize myself, but it was clear I was a pet now, looking like a black latex cat. With latex wraps she pulled my hands on top of my shoulders and seconds later it looked like my “front legs” were one piece. Then, as she pulled my boots off my legs, my feet were bound into one-pieces as well.

It was highly uncomfortable, yet somehow I managed to “walk” on my four legs, as she led me by the leash out of the room. We soon entered a room where I saw some of the devices I had seen in the pictures on the walls. This had to be her dungeon.

First thing she did was tying my leash to a ring in the ground, pulling my face down, so that my rear was sticking awkwardly in the air. She was doing something behind me, and she pulled my skirt out of the way, then moved some of the latex covering my butt to the side.

I didn't understand what was happening until a sharp sting broke my skin. I tried to cry out but the gag in my mouth stopped the effort. As the stinging kept going I realized what was happening. She was marking me. As her property.

As the pain continued I started counting in my head, to get a sense how long it was taking. My guess was fifteen minutes when she was finally done. And suddenly I heard her voice in my ears. “Very well my pet, you're mine now!”

For the remainder of the hour she walked me through all kinds of obstacles, while a mantra of commands and suggestions filled my brain. “I'm Mistress Gabriella’s pet.” “I'm Mistress Gabriella’s property.” “I pledge my life to Mistress Gabriella.” “I am a slave.” “I submit to Mistress Gabriella.” “I serve the Mistress.” and many more.

Some seemed too much, and I concentrated on fighting them, causing me to accept others. It was easy to accept I was her pet, I looked like one, and I was following her every move through the obstacle course, sometimes climbing and even taking small jumps, like a cat.

I knew I was her property, as I had signed the papers, in order to get the money together by the end of next week. A slave? I didn't like that idea. And I suddenly stopped, to show her. She didn't jank my leash, or yell at me, but suddenly my ears filled with a terrible sound, overtaking any conscious thought in my brain. It was so bad that at first I didn't even feel the excruciating pain in my rear. Or how I involuntarily emptied my bladder.

Finally both the screeching and the pain stopped. And Mistress's voice sounded in my head, and thank God, her voice didn't seem angry, more concerned. “Sorry Deanna, but you are mine and you will do what I say. Unconditionally! Do you understand?” I nodded, not wanting her to get angry again.

After that we went much faster, and I didn't want to disappoint her again. I had to use every effort to follow her lead, in my awkward body, so concentrated was I to not make any mistakes, that I hardly heard the mantras in my ears anymore. I simply accepted.

When we were finally done, she led me back to the waiting room, and she started undoing my arms and legs. Her voice in my ears told me that the next day I would enter the waiting room, gag myself first, put my mask, hood, collar and leash on, take my shoes off, feed my tail inside me and bind my legs and then my arms, and accept I was her pet again, as I waited for her to enter. As I nodded my confirmation, she left the room, allowing me to remove the last items.

Before I zipped my crotch back up, I tried to see the tattoo on my butt in the mirror. It was covered with plastic wrap, bigger than I had hoped, but also prettier than what I had expected. I recognized the words Property and Mistress, and felt an unexpected pride that I was hers.