Chapter 13
The month of January ended and February came and went. The feminization of Bradford Hudson proceeded unimpaired. Madame Martel had been quite secretive about this project. Though Hudson spent a portion of nearly every night in her quarters, she never again allowed him to confront any of the many girls who also visited her. Unless the madame was to utilize the bizarre bedroom, that is where Hudson would stay while any chastisement or titillation occurred in the main room. Sometimes on these occasions, he was chained and fettered, other times he would preen in his female lingerie and experiment with new makeup techniques. When the madame did bring a girl into the bedroom for harsher punishment and humiliation, she would schedule Hudson's arrival for earlier or later.
During that period, too, very little explicit sex occurred. Of course, the complete and total dominance of Hudson was grossly sexual. As to specific acts, however, there were few. There were the strappings, whippings, and spankings, frequent and regular. There was also continual tormenting and teasing of his asshole. Her subjugation of his cock was an unparalleled success. With the exception of a few unfortunate morning erections at the beginning of his training, never once had the phallus flickered. In fact, he rarely thought of it anymore except as a useless appendage that violated his female image. Hudson was given no opportunity at all to perform even the semblance of a sex act. He had never been allowed to touch the madame in any way that smacked of sexuality.
The closest he came was when he was required to help her dress and undress. That had become one of his duties, the one that was most pleasurable, in fact. He was not allowed bizarre clothing. His attire consisted of common feminine undergarments. He was not allowed to wear leather, vinyl, or rubber and certainly nothing exotic. The madame's only concession in this regard was quantities of black lingerie for him--though he frequently wore pink and white ensembles. Thus Hudson's excitement when he was ordered to lace up the madame's bizarre boots, fasten her garters, or clinch the laces of a boned corset. The boots were an extra thrill, for she frequently demanded that he lick them.
The other duties he performed willingly but with less titillation. He waited on her, of course, hand and foot as the expression goes. He served her drinks, prepared light snacks from the pullman kitchen; he dusted, swept, and cleaned. He prepared her baths--but he was never allowed to assist her in washing or drying. The school furnished domestic help for housekeeping, but the madame had always eschewed the privilege and had it done by the girls. Which was wise considering what the bedroom would have looked like to an Appalachian domestic. With Hudson ensconced, even the girls were no longer necessary. So it was that under the madame's constant demands, harsh criticisms, instant fault finding, and swift punishment, Hudson became an extremely competent maid in short order.
He was only aware of minor changes in his daily schedule. He wore panties, of course, instead of shorts but otherwise dressed as he always had. He sensed, too, that he was more remote from the students and rarely, if ever, displayed any of the humor that was once one of his classroom attributes. That was of minor importance to him, though. He did his job with moderate competence; no teacher at Mt. Arcadia was ever going to win a scholastic excellence award.
He was blind to what the students saw. To those who were observant, it was evident that he was increasingly out-camping Warren Blake. He had started to walk with smaller, mincing steps.
He was taking to striking poses. Even his voice seemed higher. Then there was that funny business about his eyebrows. The boys thought they looked darling, and the girls swore they were plucked.
Hudson would have denied that he was acting swishy in classes. On the other hand, he began to notice peculiar things about his body. Religiously, he applied his depilatory cream and had not, after three weeks, had to have his entire body shaved by Nurse Hutton. There was less trouble, too, with his beard than he had foreseen. When his feminization first started, he had to shave three times a day plus apply the depilatory lavishly. After a month, he was only required to attend his upper lip every other day. Yet none of this explained the peculiarities that developed over a period of time. For one thing, his muscle tone slipped rapidly. His face became softer as did his body skin. Most amazing of all, however, his breasts started to grow.
Madame Martel insisted that he was undergoing a physiological change that directly reflected his psychosexual change. And she stated that she was extremely pleased. In fact, she started him on a program of breast massage. She furnished him with special creams and ointments and made him attend them for prolonged periods. She also had Miss Hutton order a special prescription of supplementary vitamins to go along with the hair-control pills he already took.
Whatever the root reason, it worked. Hudson became extremely narcissistic about his breasts. The larger they grew, the more time he spent massaging and caressing them and toying with his nipples. He started having distinct sexual feelings in his nipples. When out of the supervision of the madame, he would finger his asshole and squeeze his nipples at the same time. Soon he established a definite connection in the sexual sensitivity between the two. With further experimentation, he determined that by playing with his nipples he could create a hot, tingling feeling in his ass. Conversely, by fingering his ass without touching his breasts, he caused the nipples to engorge and grow warm. It was the phenomenally swift increase in the size of his breasts that had him so completely captivated, however.
By the middle of March, Bradford Hudson was wearing a training bra. Three weeks later on an early April night, the madame called him to her apartment. When he arrived, he went directly to the bedroom and, as was the ritual, took off his male clothing and redressed. Nylons and garter belt, high heels, and ...
"That's far enough for now," the madame said. "Go put your makeup on."
He went to the dresser and expertly began applying cosmetics. He was swift and sure and his hand was steady as he worked with the various brushes and pencils. His false eyelashes went on with a flutter; the artificial fingernails were down to a science; he put his wig in place, pouffed it airily, and tilted his head to admire himself in the mirror. He could not help but lower his eyes and admire the swelling tits underneath the feminine face. They were as big as those on some of the girls in the school, he thought jealously.
"All right, get over here," the madame snapped. When he obediently presented himself, she asked, "Do your tits feel heavy?"
"Oh yes, Madame. Very heavy. Heavier than last night."
She reached out and teased the flesh with her strong fingers. In a mete moment, the nipples swelled and blushed. "Do you think they're ready to be sucked?"
"God, yes, Madame. They're aching to be sucked!"
She smiled cruelly. "Then, if they're big enough to be sucked, they're big enough to be punished. Isn't that right?"
Hudson's painted lips trembled. False eyelashes snapped in instant fear. "Oh, no!" he whined. "You can't do that. .. they're too pretty! Please don't hurt them!"
She pinched one of his nipples harshly and made him wince. She tweaked the other one and he gasped. "You fool," she hissed. "Do you think I've spent all these weeks developing these tits just so you could adore yourself in the mirror? Of course they're 'pretty,' as you say. Offhand, I can't think of a single so-called man who's got a pair as lovely. But then, you're not a man, you're a cunt. In fact you've fallen so in love with yourself of late that you're beginning to forget that you're my creation. And what I want to do with something I own, I'll damn well do! Is that perfectly clear?"
Hudson whimpered and shook his head meekly.
"Well, stop your sniveling! You'll only run your mascara."
Hudson quickly stopped and checked his reflection in the mirror. He examined his eyes to make sure his makeup was intact. The madame had taken her hands off his breasts and now she eyed them with pursed lips. A B-cup, she thought, and still growing.
"Quit looking in the mirror, goddamn it! A couple of my girls have been talking to me about you. Even without a bra and under a suit jacket, you're not fooling anyone anymore. Of course, everyone thinks you're a faggot and wearing falsies. But we have to do something about it."
To head off any drastic suggestion she might make, he quickly offered, "I can bind them and flatten them out."
"Now you can. But you still have a little growing to do. Actually, the estrogen can only do so much..."
"Es . .. estrogen! Female hormones?" His voice was high pitched and incredulous.
She stared back with equal incredulity. "Oh, my God, you didn't figure that out? You naive cunt! Of course, we've been giving you female hormones all along. What do you think you've been taking?"
"I ... I was told they were to help remove the hair."
"Certainly! That's a function of female hormones. They also raise the pitch of your voice. They also develop breasts. They also repress any feelings you have .. . here." At the latter word, she had flicked his crotch. "You haven't noticed any stirrings in those dead balls of yours, have you?"
"Only when you whip them," he confessed.
She shook her head sadly as if he were an object of abject pity. "You mean, all these symptoms didn't add up to anything with you? I don't believe I've ever seen a dumber cunt. And an English teacher yet. To hell with it, go get me a drink." She followed him out into the parlor and took a drink off the tray without looking at him. "Bradford," she mused, "we'll have to do something about that. Brad, Betty, Bess, Brenda . . . that's it! Brenda." She turned to him with a victorious smile. "Your new name is Brenda. Brenda Hudson. Miss Brenda Hudson. How do you like it, Brenda?"
He actually blushed. "I like it very much."
"I'll still call you cunt, of course, because that's what you are. But at least you should have a cunt's identity." She drank and thought. "I'll have to get used to the name myself. Let's see. Oh, I have it. Brenda, put down the tray and stick two fingers up your cunt."
Immediately, Hudson set down the tray and put his hand underneath his bikini panties. In a second, the fingers were buried in his asshole, twisting and pumping.
"Now play with your tits, Brenda."
He felt the smooth rounds of flesh and fingered the nipples that were already hard and aching. His eyes were closed and a thin mewing sound escaped from his lips as he stood spread-legged in his high heels and manipulated himself.
"All right, that's enough. Change clothes and get out of here. You've just given me a very nasty idea that you'll love. Be here tomorrow night at seven o'clock sharp."