[Patreon-Exclusive] CREATING SISSIES: Chapter 7 [Finale] (Patreon)

Chapter 7

Julio was a nice kid; he had a good sense of humour, girls seemed to like him, and he was a very talented musician. During the questionnaire stage, he told me about a band he was in, and even invited me to see one of his upcoming shows. He came off as shy, but at the same time, he was very charming. “Would you like to earn a couple extra credits, Julio?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Doing what?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I would need to get some readings.” I showed him the PMR and vaguely explained how it worked. He was nervous, reddening all over, but he allowed it. He showed me his small penis, and then he even asked, “Is it smaller than average?”

“It’s normal,” I lied. It was quite small, though I wouldn’t call it a micro-penis.

He smiled, blushing, and then I took his reading. He had a healthy reading, suggesting masturbation about twice weekly. “I want you to refrain from ejaculating for two weeks. Do you think you could do that?”

“Sure,” he said confidently. And I didn’t have to run daily readings; Julio was a man of his word, and the readings suggested he’d accomplished the goal a couple of weeks later. Now, he was in the Absorption Zone.

“I want to run a test, Julio,” I said, going to my drawer of sex toys. “It will seem weird, and it might be uncomfortable, but I really want to see how you read.”

“Can I ask the purpose of the study?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I said. Then, I pulled out a small dildo: only about five-inches long. It was the smallest dildo that I owned, but the plan wasn’t to punish Julio or to see how much he could take; I wanted to ease him into it. I wanted him to land softly into sissy-hood; I had no plans of shocking him into it, because I liked him a lot. He was a good subject and he often cracked me up with his cute jokes.

But when I saw his reaction to the sight of the toy, I felt a strong sense of guilt.

It wasn’t an emotion that I was used to feeling with subjects. I’d always been able to remove myself from my work and my studies. I was always able to draw a line between research and personal relationships. I paused.

“What do you want to do what that?” he asked.

I remained still, trying to wrap my head around what I was doing. I felt like… I was at a crossroads. I could go ahead with the study, or I could stop myself now. In a weird way, it seemed like I was being given a chance: stop meddling with these unsuspecting young men, or face karma.

And it was time to face the reality: this had nothing to do with any studies. I wasn’t planning on publishing any papers or sharing my findings with anyone; the PMR was already disowned by the scientific community, and any study that used it was instantly written off. So what was the point of all this? Before I feminized my first student, I already knew about the powers of the Absorption Zone; I even had some experience working with it as a psychologist and therapist, though it was frowned upon.

So what exactly was I getting out of this?

Well, nothing but my own satisfaction. I suppose it was extremely satisfying making men into sissies. I loved seeing them later, dressed up, like when I caught my student at the mall, dressed like a girl, or when I caught Tucker wearing his sister’s panties. Oh God, it felt so good: an uncontrollable surge of sexual satisfaction, making me tingle all over, making me leak between the legs. This is a good time to admit that there were a few times when students would leave me office and then I would spent the next twenty minutes behind a locked door, fingering myself to the thought of those sissy boys.

I’d created dozens of them, and now they were all out in the world, bending over, getting fucked, coming everywhere like good little sissies.

It was August, 1988, when Ethan Powers flew me to Chicago for a conference. He knew that I was very familiar with his work, and I was one of very few registered sex psychologists using the PMR with good success. He wanted me to do a talk on his behalf. Then, he brought me to a rented conference room to speak with me.

“I want to thank you for your support,” he said to me with his charming smile.

“Your work is cutting edge,” I told him. “It’s a shame that it’s not more mainstream.”

“Well, maybe it will be one day,” he said. “These things take a long time. Big changes don’t happen overnight.”

We spoke for a while. I got to pick his brain, learning about how he conducted some of his more famous studies. He was amazingly open with me, and then he even told me about the study he was planning to start up soon. “I’m going to need researchers,” he said to me. “I’d love it if you came to Chicago for two years to carry out the study with me.”

“I’d love to!” I said without hesitating.

I had a boyfriend at the time, and that was quite serious, but he didn’t want to come to Chicago with me; I told him that I couldn’t do a long-distance relationship, so we decided to end it there. Sometimes I wonder what life would have been if that didn’t happen… if I stayed and continued to work for the government, and pursued that relationship.

Chicago was a nice change of pace: busier than I was used to, but the work was exciting. I was working with Ethan Powers himself. I got to be surrounded by his genius, and by eight other men and women who were geniuses in their own right.

It was a groundbreaking study into the minds of cross-dressers and how they came to become fascinated with women’s clothing. Of course, Powers was certain that there had been some incident that happened during a period of Absorption.

But this was a unique study for the time, because there was no interest in ‘fixing’ these people. The goal wasn’t to use the theories of Absorption to correct behaviour. But instead, to see if we could turn ordinary people who didn’t have sexual dysfunctions (and at that time, crossdressing was considered a dysfunction) into voluntary crossdressers. The method was similar to what I’ve already explained to you: getting them into that zone and then exposing them to those feminizing concepts while sexually stimulated.

We also worked on women, seeing if the same could be done to make them fetishize the idea of being dressed as a man, and the results were about the same, though strangely less interesting to the team—possibly because a woman dressed like a man, at that time, really didn’t seem so taboo or dysfunctional. In fact, it was at that time that a young Pam Anderson was on the cover of a famous magazine, wearing nothing but her partner’s T-shirt. You never saw male models putting on their girlfriend’s blouse…

But, I digress: the study was fascinating, and there were very long days of psychoanalyzing subjects. We had to carry ourselves very formally; the goal was to publish a respected paper, after all.

Over the course of a year, we saw close to a thousand subjects: men and women who were willing to subject themselves to anything as long as they got their fifty bucks. I saw many men getting sodomized by researchers, and I sodomized a few myself. With the women, we got male volunteers (from a nearby homosexual community) to bend over and receive anal penetration from a strap-on. Critics called the study pornographic, but the results really were astonishing.

Powers pulled me aside one day and asked what I thought about his theories. “I think you’re a genius, Ethan. You know that.”

“You have potential to be the next great sex researcher,” he told me. “I can see it in you, Elaine. You have the potential.”

I blushed all over. “Thank you.”

“Have you read my paper on vaginal lubrication?”

The question took me by surprise.

He laughed. “I know, it sounds like a strange question, doesn’t it? It was a paper I wrote… Oh, twelve years ago now! Well, there’s no proper medical term for vaginal lubrication; some researchers call it stimulation fluid or arousal fluid.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I believe it’s the carrier for mana in women,” he said. I hated hearing him use the term ‘mana’, but I didn’t tell him that; I didn’t want to offend him, but I really thought that it demeaned his own work. “Would you be open to me taking your reading?”

I blushed, knowing it meant showing Ethan my pussy. “Okay,” I said. I let him do it, and I was embarrassed when my number displayed low; I knew that it was low because I’d tested the machine on myself before, in secret.

“Have you been spending time with your boyfriend?” Ethan asked with a playful smile.

“I don’t have one,” I said. I was almost sure that he was hitting on me, though he was twice my age.

“Have you ever thought about practising arousal fluid retention? I mean—just to see the limits of your potential. I want you to be a top researcher one day, Elaine, and I know you can do it. Even for this paper, we need a real genius to crunch the numbers.”

I blushed at the thought of him calling me a potential genius.

“I want you to stay home for the next ten days,” he said to me. “Avoid arousal, even if it means keeping your TV turned off. Work on a knitting project. Read some old Dickens stories. Just try to avoid sexual stimulation, and then come back and we’ll do another reading.”

I did as he said, thought it wasn’t easy. A man can more-or-less control when he ejaculates, but a woman can’t so easily control when she feels aroused. I tried to surround myself with particular material that would keep me from getting aroused. I kept pictures of my grandma in every room. I watched dark murder mysteries and read nothing but scientific papers on cardiovascular health. I managed to get through the ten days without being slightly aroused.

Then, he took my numbers. “I’m going to expose you to some films, to see your arousal reading.” He showed me some soft-core porn film of a ripped man oiling his muscular body. He watched his PMR and then he smiled. “I think you’re in an ideal zone,” he said. “Now, your brain should be functioning closer to its full potential.” He turned off the film. “Just continue to avoid arousal until this paper is done. Okay?”

I promised I would try.

But there was a little problem. As the days went by, it was harder and harder to keep my mind from wandering to sexual thoughts. It wasn’t long before I started getting sexual urges that were hard to keep away—and they were coming at terrible times, usually while I was working. Well, it didn’t help that we had to show the subjects porn videos. It didn’t help that we had to observe their penises as they became erect, and occasionally we had to use our fingers to move their packages to get ideal readings.

And it was around that time that we started getting the men in the study to cross-dress. We started finding that the subjects were becoming sexually fascinated with wearing women’s clothing, and a few were becoming fascinated with the idea of inserting sex toys anally, as it would make them feel more feminine. We watched many patients in closed rooms; they were free to explore racks of clothing and toys. There was a lock on the door that they could control. They were under the impression that we couldn’t see them (hidden cameras weren’t very discreet in the eighties, but we had two in each room). They thought we would simply ask them what they explored, and most of them lied.

For many days straight, I watched as men put on dresses and bounced on dildos, voluntarily. And one day, I started rubbing myself as I watched. I’m not sure why, but the man in the room looked so cute with his feathered blonde hair and long bangs. He managed to take a whole ten-inch dildo in his ass, moaning softly until he came. He used a dress on a rack to clean the ejaculation up, putting the dress back as if nothing happened.

And it was a month later when I started dating a new guy named Fred. Fred was a great boyfriend, and he loved taking me to the movies. We became sexually active on the third date, but the sex wasn’t nice for me, even though Fred did everything a man should do, and he lasted a good twelve minutes.

There was just something missing.

I put out a few more times, and then I started telling him, “I’m just not in the mood tonight.” He got sick of hearing it after a month. “Are you asexual or something?” he finally asked me.

I tried having sex with him that night, for the sake of his satisfaction. While he was going down on me, I looked to the side and saw my own panties. I suddenly imagined Fred wearing them. I suddenly became so aroused that I squirted on Fred’s face, making him gasp. “What the hell was that?” he said.

I bit my lip. “Can you…” I blushed so hard. “Can you do me a big favour and, uh… put my panties on.”

He was embarrassed, but he did it for me. And my God, I got off harder than ever before. The next night, I begged him to wear my nightie. He refused, and then I refused to have sex. Finally, he caved and put it on, and again, I had the most intense orgasm of my life.

Fred left me. “I’m just not into the role reversal shit,” he said, and then I never saw him again. It was a month later when we were wrapping up our study that Ethan called me into his office.

“Elaine, I need to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

He smiled and pulled out the questionnaire, getting right to it. It was a long questionnaire, much like the one that we used when we were questioning test subjects. And we were only five minutes into the questions when I paused and realized that I was one of the subjects; not in the main study, but in a side study that Ethan had been conducting all along.

He had footage of me masturbating while watching the sissies in the closed rooms. And now, he was asking about my sex life, if I’d developed any kinks or fetishes.

I was humiliated and shocked, but I cared about the science, so I admitted it to him: “I haven’t been able to get off without thinking about—or being with—a cross-dressing man.”

He smiled. I knew in that moment that he did this to me. He ushered me into the Absorption Zone before making me watch as the test subjects began crossdressing. It was all planned. I was an anonymous member of his study, which was published six months later, connected to that main study, posing the question: can a person’s sexual fetishes, kinks, and dysfunctions be chosen for them through manipulated mana and sexual absorption?

THE END