The Conversion: A Male Chastity Story

The Conversion, by slave penny

A Male Chastity Story for Fetish Friday

Enjoy this male chastity story by slave penny, The Conversion, written especially for Fetish Friday

Periodically he became aware of his own thoughts and consciousness. This was one of those moments. It wasn’t complete clarity. The circumstances would never allow that, but there were flickers of independent thought that he became aware of.

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Time no longer had relevance. There was a time he recalls being locked in this physical and mental cage. He vaguely remembers the drink that made him feel so weak and compliant. He can recollect the smug smile on her face as she led the way down that corridor as he was helplessly, virtually carried along by other slaves. He could also recall the arousal induced by that smile, the click and clack of those sexy high heeled boots as she sauntered along that hard tiled corridor and that derriere that shouted “Woman. Beautiful desirable woman”. There was apprehension and some fear but it was indicative of the power of this woman, that arousal was the sensation he remembers most.

The fact that such a woman had slaves, power and wealth was no surprise to this submissive male. This special, stunningly beautiful, mentally strong woman was however unique in her requirements, especially with regard the attitude that slaves had to adopt. He could put her on a pedestal, and knew that with considerable effort and commitment he could adopt the attitude she demanded towards her and those very close to her, but she demanded more. In her world by the very nature of being submissive, a male was not a man, he had to embrace his inferiority and inadequacy compared to all others. He’d tried hard to embrace that despite having some concerns on his own mental well being. His desire to please her went beyond such concerns, but he failed the test dismally when first practically tested, and knew then that he could never climb that mountain.

Any belief that her attitude requirements were impossible to achieve were belied by the existence of her other slaves. As he was induced and trained they were held up as examples of what he should seek to achieve. They, themselves, presumably under her dictum, would espouse and uphold the virtues and ease of resigning themselves to their “true” standing.  Her stable of slaves were a cross section of humanity. There were some who he, in his arrogant freedom, regarded as more than capable of adopting a sense of inferiority, but there were some who in the vanilla world, he knew he would highly respect. The fact that these adopted and embraced an inferior and inadequate role was hard for him to grasp.

During the few times that he became aware of his own thoughts and consciousness he now knew that most, if not all, had endured his current torment. Perhaps the words endure and torment were no longer appropriate, although they certainly were for the first few days. The device had worked. He was now working with it. He wanted and aided it to remove the final dregs of pride and self esteem. He was now hers, in the way she wanted him to be, or so he hoped. Maybe there was more. Maybe she wanted more.

He’d been there for days, maybe weeks.

There was hunger but he was not weak so he was aware that nutrients were being fed intravenously. Once his arms and legs were clamped to the chair, sensors and probes had been placed on his head, eyelids and in his ears before  the visor had been placed over and locked to his face. He could not see what they were doing to his body after that, but he could certainly feel tubes and needles invading his arms and thighs. His genitalia was unsurprisingly the centre of much attention, and he soon became aware that the machine had full control of his sex once it was activated.

Arousal and pain were synchronised with the images that flooded his brain from the visor.

Her powerful beauty flooded his brain. Images designed to induce worship. She was aware of her physical power. Her legs, her arse, her cleavage, her face had filled his brain through the visor. There were clips of her merely walking or simply reclining, sipping wine. There were more powerful clips of her being taken and fucked by her “real man”. There was no avoiding any image. He was made to watch intently and focus on images he would otherwise shy away from.  The picture honed in on his cock as it entered her and took her. It focused on his triumphant and pleasured expression and her look of gratitude and satisfaction as climatic spasm was achieved.   The machine controlled what he saw and how he felt. It had complete control of his body and mind.

There were random images of men. Initially he could not understand their relevance but as time passed he became aware of the presence of a feeling of phallic power. These men were short, tall, thin, fat, ugly, handsome, but somehow the machine had, through subtle changes in physical sensation made him see these as none submissive, real men and his superiors.

There were clips of women. They would verbally humiliate and degrade him. At first this was unbearable, but again the machine had subtly changed his feelings, initially to acceptance and then to one of fully embracing their abasement of him.

He knew he’d been brainwashed but that no longer concerned him. After all he was the new brainwashed him, after the conversion. He was no longer the person he was. He was now hers. One of her slaves, adopting the same attitude of inferiority and inadequacy that those other slaves did, adopting the same attitude she demanded and wanted.

The Conversion, by slave penny



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