[Patreon Exclusive] Creating Sissies: Chapter 4 (Patreon)

On my first day of the next semester, I was on the lookout for a patient. I prompted the class with my usual little tests, watching their reactions. I could easily identify the confident ones and the ones who lacked confidence completely. There were a few wild cards in the room, but I wasn’t concerned with them.

I was looking for the most normal man I could target. I wanted to work with a guy who was perfectly healthy, with a perfectly normal sex drive, with perfectly ‘normal’ sexual interests. A man like that is the perfect subject for a study.

I found my subject in a young man named Pete.

He had a girlfriend who walked him to class and met him when he was finished. He was an athletic lad, though his build was slender. He looked as though he got a haircut every week, though he didn’t give off phoney-confidence vibes. He didn’t giggle through the class, and he didn’t get flushed when we spoke about taboo topics. He had a perfectly calm demeanour, and a fair share of the girls in the class were interested in him, eyeing him whenever he walked in, trying to sit near him, even though his relationship was no secret.

I called on him on the third day of class. I asked him to give his thoughts on a very controversial topic. And now, I’ll give you the same warning and preamble that I give to my students before posing the same hypothetical: it is just a topic of debate, meant to make a person think critically about something that would otherwise seem ‘obvious’. Of course, I wasn’t advocating for anything illegal! I wasn’t suggesting anything or even giving my own opinions. It’s just a question that’s meant to stimulate thought. “Porn featuring children should obviously be illegal to own, but a popular political figure, a few years ago, suggested the idea of providing already existing material to pedophiles, to keep them ‘placated’, to stop them from causing real harm to a real child. Now, this was studied by the federal government, secretly in the fifties and sixties. They distributed the material and spied on over one thousand convicted offenders: men who had been charged with abusing a child in the past. They found that the men who received the illegal material were less likely to offend than the men without the material.”

“But does that make it right?” the young man asked.

“Explain yourself,” I said.

“I mean—isn’t the child in the existing material still being abused? Every time someone watches that content, that child is being abused, even if they’re grown now.”

“That’s true. But consider, for a moment, that we could create material using technology… realistic material using, say, CGI or AI. Should this be legal to own, if we know that the offenders who possess it are less likely to reoffend?”

“Of course not,” he said confidently, smiling slightly. “Because it’s creating a societal precedent, that consuming that kind of material is acceptable, or even beneficial. A campaign like that could end in the mass sexualization of children, which could put them in more danger.”

“But what of the children who would have avoided abuse because of the distribution of the material?” she asked.

“Well, it’s not a black-and-white issue. You can’t say I have to choose between an apple and an orange when I know there are pears and grapefruits. We can come up with other solutions that can protect the aforementioned children while also protecting future generations from a societal shift in perspective regarding the sexualization of children.”

I had to let a small grin slip. I wasn’t expecting him to be so eloquent, especially after a couple of years with a reputation for being the easiest A+ in the school. I asked him to stay after class, and I brought him to my office.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Pete,” I smiled.

“It’s my pleasure. But I do have a class in fifteen minutes, so I hope we can keep it brief.”

“I’d like to know your major.”

“Film studies.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Is it?”

“I’m trying to understand the relevance,” I said.

He blushed and smiled confidently. “Well, if I’m going to be honest, Dr. Franco, your class has a reputation for being… easy. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, because I do find the content interesting. In fact, I wouldn’t have enrolled had I not found it interesting. But I currently have four very intensive courses in terms of homework, and I really needed something to take the stress off while still getting the credits I need to satisfy my major.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” I said.

“But really, I do find the lectures fascinating. You’re a great teacher. I look forward to class.”

“You’re a bright kid, Pete,” I said. “And I think you’re going to do just fine.” And then, a wave of guilt washed over me. I didn’t necessarily feel good about what I had planned, but he really was the best possible test subject. I really was fascinated to see his PMR readings. “Have you ever been psychoanalyzed?”

He shook his head.

“Would you be willing to let me run a couple of tests on you, just to satisfy my own curiosity.”

He smiled. “Anything for you, Dr. Franco.”

“You can call me Elaine, dear.” I laughed. “I need you to remove your pants so that I can get a reading. It won’t hurt. It’s perfectly safe.” I held up the PMR.

He didn’t hesitate. He undid his belt and took his pants down. “Boxers too?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He pulled them down, not even covering his cock with his hands; and why would he? He had a big, thick cock: every girl’s dream. He knew he was gifted. The smirk on his face was real confidence, which he was trying to hold back in an attempt to be modest. “Are you getting a measurement?”

“A PMR reading,” I said, putting the gun to his crotch. I pulled the trigger and got a healthy reading. “129,” I said.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Well,” I said. “It’s not about good or bad. It’s just interesting. You don’t appear to be aroused, but the reading would suggest you’re close.”

“What is that thing called again?” he asked, eyeing the device.

“A PMR.”

“What does that stand for?”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Would you be so kind to make yourself aroused.”

“You want… me to, uh, get hard?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. Just so I can get a reading.”

He laughed and turned red. “You know, I have a girlfriend.”

“It’s just science, Pete,” I said. “If you aren’t comfortable with it, it’s not required of you.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Like you said; it’s for science.” He blushed, and I could see that he was a bit excited about the idea of exposing himself to me. He was proud of his big dick, which got even bigger when he started stroking himself, using a Playboy magazine that I kept in my desk to help him (Pamela Anderson’s second appearance on the cover).

He had a very tall erection. I took another measurement and was thrilled to see that he was measuring around 270. “You have a very healthy energy.”

“Thanks, I think,” he said.

“Does it take you long to ejaculate?”

“As long as I want it to take,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. “As in… you can control when you cum?”

“Usually,” he said.

“How often does your girlfriend expect sex?”

“Most nights,” he grinned.

“I want to challenge you, Pete. You seem like the type of guy who is up to a challenge. I want you to refrain from ejaculating with your girlfriend. You can explain to her that it’s for an experiment, if you’d like. Feel free to have sex, but retain your semen. I want to measure you again every few days.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, Doc. You’re the boss. But, uh, is there any way I can get some… free credits, or something?”

“I can submit you for two extra-curricular credits,” I said. “That seems reasonable.”

So Pete came back two days later. Now, his resting PMR was above 150. Two days after that, he was closer to 200. “I’m really dying to come, Doc,” he said. “I’m not sure I can last much longer.”

“It’s important for the study,” I said.

“I had to cut myself off last night, when I was with my girlfriend. I was so close to finishing in her, and I had to pull out. She made me finish her with my mouth, which I didn’t mind—but my God, I wanted to stick it back in her.”

“You’re doing great, Pete. Just hang in there. A few more days.”

Finally, a few days later, I was able to get his PMR into that high zone, above five-hundred while he was gently stroking himself, red all over as he tried not to ejaculate.

So I took out a schoolgirl outfit. “What’s that?” he laughed.

“I want you to wear it,” I said.

“What? Why?” He turned dark red.

“As part of the experiment, Pete. If I explain it to you, it could spoil the results. It’s simply an experiment.”

He didn’t put up much of a fight; he knew it wouldn’t affect his masculinity. “Just, uh, maybe let’s not tell my girlfriend that I did this.”

“That’s up to you, Pete,” I said. He shimmied into the white blouse and then he pulled up the navy-blue skirt. He pulled the tight stockings up his legs and then he even put on the blonde wig that I gave him.

“You look really cute, Pete,” I said.

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Can I call you Petra? I think that’s such a beautiful name.” I was softening my voice, sounding almost like I was trying to seduce him.

“If you want, I guess. Is that part of the experiment?”

“You just look so, so cute,” I said. “Please keep stroking yourself. I want you to look in the mirror. Good. Now stare at yourself. Stare at your body. Don’t you look cute? You’ve got such a pretty face—and your legs are stunning.”

He laughed awkwardly. “What’s the point of this?” he asked.

“Oh, Petra, you look so fucking sexy right now,” I said, putting my hands on his shoulders. I reached around and put my hands on his chest. I squeezed and then I started exploring his body. He was red with confusion. I moved my hands around until one found his cock. Then, I began to stroke him. “Does this feel good, Petra?”

“Y—Yeah,” he said.

I squeezed tight and jerked sensually. “I love your girly cock so much. You look so fucking hot.”

It was, of course, all part of the experiment. I made him groan loudly. I made him bend forward. Then, he ejaculated on the mirror. His streaks of thick cum dribbled down to the floor as he let out a long sigh of relief. I squeezed his cock hard until there was nothing left. Then, once his PMR was into the single-digits, I let him get cleaned up.

“I want to see you back here in three days. And again: no ejaculating between then and now.”

“Y—Yes, Doc,” he said, sounding shaken, looking confused. The outfit was ready for him three days later. I made him put it on again, as soon as he was in that theorized absorption zone. And this time, I handed him a razor, making him shave his legs and his crotch. He did it without putting up much of a fight. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my girlfriend.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” I said. Then, I put some makeup on his face. I made him stare at himself while I performed oral on him, his skirt resting on the top of my head. He came in my mouth, which was fine with me. The goal was to keep his PMR in that absorption zone while he was dolled up, and that’s what we did.

Our third meeting in my office, I had him do his own makeup. I let him pick out his own outfit from a selection of lingerie. I let him try on different heels and different wigs. He was blushing the whole time, pressing his lips thin as he tried to wrap his brain around the new emotions swirling inside of him. Then, I took out a suction-base dildo. I put it on the tile floor and commanded him to ride it while stroking himself.

He’d never done anal before, but he gave it a try, afraid of looking like he was insecure. He sat deep on the dildo and made himself come in a matter of a few minutes.

Then, a week later, I ran a thorough, hour-long PMR test. I sat him down, with the PMR between his legs, and I showed him different pornography videos. His reading spiked when I showed him the sissy porn: a sissy in a schoolgirl outfit being fucked by a very muscular man. He became erect. He squirmed—and then, shocking both of us—he ejaculated without even touching his penis. Cum began oozing out of him.

“How curious!” I gasped, leaning forward to watch. “Very curious, indeed!”

“W—Why did that just happen?” he asked, sounding almost like he was about to cry.

“Because, Pete: you discovered a new fetish. Isn’t that fascinating?”

He just stared at me with blank, wide eyes. Then, before scurrying out of my office, he said to me: “I don’t think we should continue with this study.” But really, the study for him was over; the results were in: using Powers’s methods, I’d managed to turn Pete, the confident athlete, into a drooling sissy.