[Patreon Exclusive] CREATING SISSIES: Chapter 5 (Patreon)

It should, of course, go without saying that what I was doing was highly unethical. I was engaging in activities that could easily strip me of my license to practice, activities that could strip me of my employment, and activities that could potentially even put me behind bars; one could easily argue that my subjects weren’t exactly volunteers in the classical sense. Sure, they had the option to leave, but I was technically threatening them with a poor grade, which, legally, is blackmail. A lawyer could also very easily argue that I was manipulating them using my deep understanding of the human psyche. A few of my ‘subjects’ were easy targets—and I will admit that I did pressure them into letting me test my theories on them. One student, Kyle, was on the verge of flunking school entirely. His very rich family did a lot of research and found that an A+ in at least one class would get him approved for one more semester of school, and they’d heard the rumours about how easy my class was. He ended up joining late, and his parents took me out for dinner to tell me about their conundrum. They slid me a cheque and told me that it was ‘nothing more than a gift’. It was, of course, a bribe—

But I didn’t let Kyle off so easily. I had him come to my office, to make up for the couple months that he missed. I would get him aroused by various means, and then I had him dance erotically in lingerie. It was horribly humiliating for him, and he hated every moment of it… until, after a few sessions of dancing in the Absorption Zone, he started to get aroused from putting the lingerie on, and he would blush and smile when he started dancing. He got his A+, but there were consequences… By the end of that semester, he could only achieve an orgasm if he was wearing lingerie (he had no sexual dysfunctions prior to my class). It was also very difficult for him to orgasm, even in lingerie, if he didn’t have some form of anal stimulation (that was my doing as well). I will admit that I did some extreme mental programming with Kyle, using Powers’s methods. I wanted to see just how sissified a man could become through the theory of Absorption.

Kyle was expelled from school the next semester after he was caught in the library basement, bent over with two young men behind him. He was wearing a tiny clubbing dress and a wig. It wouldn’t have been so bad had another student not secretly filmed it and posted it online for the whole school to see (the film actually became quite popular on a famous porn website—particularly the part where the two men managed to get inside of Kyle at the same time).

That was my first real scare, thinking that Kyle was going to rat me out. Lawyers got involved. I was even called into one of the meetings one afternoon, and I must say that I was horrified, thinking I was about to lose my job… my career… my life. But they just wanted me to describe my experience with Kyle as a student. “He was a fine student,” I said. “He paid attention and did well on tests.”

Then, the school’s lawyer looked me in the eyes and said, “Did Kyle’s parents not pay you to give him a good grade?” All eyes turned to me, and I just shook my head.

“No,” I said—and it wasn’t a lie; his parents made it clear that the money was a gift, so there was no sense in mentioning it in that meeting. Plus, I wanted Kyle and his parents to think that I was on their side, even if it meant my superiors being grumpy with me.

After that little incident, I promised myself that I wouldn’t flirt with my little hobby anymore; it was time to find a new hobby… Then, the next semester started, and there was a very cute young man, and I just couldn’t help myself.

His name was Brett and his features were so perfectly feminine. How could I resist? He had big eyes and dark lashes. He had high cheekbones and a slender build. I just wanted to see what I could create. I wanted to see if I could turn him into a beautiful woman—and I was able to do it; Brett was stunning in a dress and a touch of makeup. I worked with Brett for weeks, using those same tricks to inch him towards being a full-blown sissy. I wanted him to want it more than anyone before him.

I tried a new approach, getting him sexually aroused, retaining his semen, putting him into that Absorption Zone, and then sending him out into the school in a dress, in heels, in stockings, in a wig, in makeup. It was humiliating for him, but nobody recognized him. I stayed close to him and pulled him aside every few minutes, taking readings, making sure that he was still aroused (I occasionally had to take him into spare rooms to suck his cock, getting his PMR readings up to keep him in that Absorption Zone).

I just couldn’t help it. Brett came to me after a week and asked if he could stop, and then I did something bad. “Of course you can stop,” I said. “But there’s a test coming up, and it would be a shame if you didn’t do well on it.” Maybe I was blackmailing him just a little bit, but I wanted to see just how powerful I was. I made him come in twice a week for the rest of that semester. A few years later, I saw Brett at the mall, dolled up like a girl, walking with a big smile on his face as he went from shop to shop, skipping as he went—until he saw me and turned pale all over. I did that to him, and those psychological changes were permanent, unless he underwent some radical therapy.

But my next real close call came during my seventh semester at that school.

The student’s name was Tucker. His parents were furious that Tucker had signed up for my class. It was the third week when they stormed in, right after class finished. Tucker’s mom pulled Tucker aside to demand why he was in that class. The father came to me, red in the face. “What’s the issue?” I said. His hands were balled up in tight fists, and I was legitimately afraid that I was going to get a punch to the nose.

I actually didn’t know who Tucker was until that moment; he’d always just been a quiet face in the back of the classroom. He minded his business and I didn’t ever think to call on him for any reason. Now, his father was screaming at me. “Do you honestly think that this class belongs in an educational institution!? These students are kids! They aren’t old enough to be hearing this liberal propaganda!”

“I’m sorry, sir. If your son doesn’t want to be enrolled in the class, he can speak to admissions to get changed,” I said.

“You’re scum,” the father said to me suddenly. “You get off on brainwashing young people into your liberal cult. Let me guess: you’re a communist too. Why do I feel like you go to political rallies? Why do I feel like you have a rainbow flag hanging above your front door?”

I just stood there quietly while he vented. I didn’t want to push back; I didn’t want him getting any angrier. The campus security showed up a few minutes later and pulled him and his wife away.

I was shocked when Tucker showed up the next day for class. He came up to me when class was finished and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said softly. “My parents are very… strict.”

“Do they know you’re here right now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They think I dropped the class. I wanted to ask if you could, uh… somehow keep my grades from going to my email. My parents don’t know how to use the Portal, but they check my email.”

“Do you think it might be best to switch to another class?” I asked.

“I’m a psych major,” he said to me, looking up into my eyes. “I need psych credits. I only have so many options… and with all due respect, this is a great opportunity to get my grade average higher with relevant courses.”

“I understand,” I said. “I can have your email changed in my system. I’ll just misspell it intentionally so that it doesn’t ping you when I submit grades. But I really don’t want your parents coming at me if they find out you’re in this class.”

“I’ll keep it secret. They think I changed to Criminal Psychology 202.”

I smiled and watched him leave, but that night, I got bad ideas in my head. I have to admit that I wasn’t thrilled about the way Tucker’s father spoke to me. I didn’t like being screamed at and accused of brainwashing kids… even though I suppose I had been brainwashing young people to a certain degree. A number of students were there that day, watching me as I got screamed at, and that was embarrassing…

So I couldn’t help but think that it might be good revenge to make Tucker my next target.

I probably shouldn’t have done it… No—I definitely should not have done it, but I couldn’t help myself. I brought Tucker into my office the next day, and I asked if he would like to receive an extra psychology credit (I was allowed to give out a few every semester to outstanding students). He was thrilled at the opportunity. “To start, I need to take some readings. Then, I need you to resist the urge to ejaculate for a full week.”

He looked confused, and he turned red when I had him take his pants off. His reading was low, suggesting he was a chronic masturbator. “Would you say you ejaculate twice a day?” I asked.

He was dark red all over. “It’s not that much…” he whispered, but I knew he was lying. I tried asking him what kind of porn he got off to, but he sheepishly lied and said that he didn’t use porn; just his imagination, and only once or twice a week. But I knew, based on his body language and those readings, that he was jerking off at least two times each day. And when he came back a week later, not much had changed, so I had to play hard-ball.

“If you come back next week and these numbers are still this low, I’ll have to lower your grade, Tucker.”

He left with his tail tucked between his legs. But he made progress. A week later, I got a reading of 115: a decent base reading. “One more week without masturbating. And this time, Tucker, I want you to come in every morning and every day after school. We’ll do readings twice a day.” It was my way of holding him accountable; he knew that the readings would drop as soon as he jerked off. Finally, I managed to get him to stop ejaculating for a full week, and I got his numbers into that Absorption Zone.

Tucker had a sister: a couple years younger than him. I told him to bring in some of her clothes. The next day, he came into my office, dark red all over. He had a bag full of her clothes. “What’s this for?” he asked.

I grinned. I got some readings and was happy to see that he still hadn’t ejaculated—but today, that was going to change. I had him put on his sister’s clothes. Then, I had him stare at himself in the mirror while he stroked himself. He was very hesitant, constantly saying, “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“It’s simply scientific, Tucker. Please don’t think of it as something sexual,” I said.

He was embarrassed, but he did it. He got off very fast; I think he would have ejaculated from just about anything. I swear he could have filled a pint glass with how much he produced! He was deeply embarrassed, but relieved to have finally ejaculated after a long week—probably the first week without ejaculating since he was ten-years-old. “What was the point of that?” he asked, quickly taking off his younger sister’s dress.

“It’s for a study I’m doing,” I said.

“Care to explain?”

I just smiled. “If I explained it, it would ruin the results. Now please, one more week without ejaculating. Then, come back and we’ll run another test.”

He managed to do it, and the test was the same: I had him put on one of his sister’s dresses, and then I made him watch himself while he masturbated. We did this same test for the next six weeks, taking readings constantly. The numbers were very interesting. It wasn’t long before I could get his PMR numbers into the 500s, just by getting him in a dress (even if it was the day after he’d ejaculated). He was dying to know what those numbers meant; I never told him.

But some good came out of it for him. He confessed to me that his grades had been skyrocketing. “I’ve been doing so much better in class,” he said. “It’s been so much easier to focus lately.”

“That’s probably a result of the semen retention,” I said. “It’s a very healthy practise.”

We continued the experiment. I had him steal his sister’s panties and a bra. I gave him a dildo and demanded he experiment with it. He was shy, which was no surprise, but after I threatened to retract the extra credit, he penetrated himself. He shed a tear as he did it, as if he thought that he was losing something: some piece of pride that every man keeps until something is shoved up their ass, be it a dildo or a doctor’s finger during a prostate exam.

But he ended up moaning. His legs quivered and his knees caved in before he came unexpectedly, soiling his sister’s panties.

I told him we were finished a week later, but my plan was to surprise him. I called him unexpectedly into my office two weeks after that, right before final exams. I had him take his pants off for me, but he was hesitant. “Please. I—I’d really rather not,” he said.

“Tucker…” I said. “It would be a shame if I had to tell your parents that you stayed in my class.” I had to use the ammunition that was available to me. Besides, I just wanted to see something: and I was pleased to see it: Tucker was wearing his sister’s lingerie under his jeans: a full lacy bodysuit, black in colour. He flushed red and looked away from me. “I just… I couldn’t help it,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just had to put it on.”

“It’s fine, Tucker. You just realized that it feels nice to wear lingerie. It’s meant to feel nice, after all.” I didn’t tell him that I did this to him; I didn’t need him telling his parents that I did it to him when they found out that he was doing it—and they did find out a few months later, when Tucker came out as trans. He actually came to me to thank me for recognizing that he was trans, and encouraging him to try it out—and of course I did not tell him that he wasn’t trans before he met me; I was the one who made him want to look and feel like a girl.

His father was furious and ended up in the news when he went to the next Pride Parade, drunk, and spent an hour screaming at the parade as it went by. “I hope you all burn in hell for what you did to my son!”

In a way, I felt like I got my revenge, but I also felt a bit guilty; maybe it wasn’t my place to be meddling with the minds of these young men—and women.

It was the next semester when a young woman came to me after class. “I heard that you can turn any man into a sissy,” she said to me with a big grin. And in that moment, my heart fell deep into my stomach; now, I didn’t just have a reputation for being an easy A+. Now, I had a reputation that could get me into a lot of legal trouble.