Chapter 9

As I sat in the consultation room, a knot of nerves twisted tighter and tighter in my stomach. The room felt clinical and cold, the walls an impersonal shade of white that seemed to reflect the fluorescent lights glaring above. Mistress was sitting beside me, her presence commanding, her aura sharp and unyielding. I felt small next to her, like a doll being presented for improvement, my body no longer my own.

The doctor began listing options in a tone that was far too casual for what was happening. This was my body he was talking about, yet it felt like Mistress was the one making all the decisions. Her voice was firm, confident, leaving no room for hesitation.

“We want them bold and fake,” Mistress declared without so much as glancing at me.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as the doctor nodded, unfazed. My heart skipped a beat as he mentioned the size of the implants—550 cc, the largest option available. My mind spun. That size would make me ... enormous. I opened my mouth to protest but caught Mistress’s sharp glance, and my words died in my throat.

“And we’ll do a full overhaul,” Mistress continued, ticking items off like she was ordering from a menu. “Total hair removal—smooth everywhere. Three cc lips, I want them big and pouty, like a duck. Some lipo to trim her waist, and laser treatments to clear her skin completely. She needs to be perfect.”

I sat there in stunned silence as the doctor nodded along, jotting notes on his clipboard. With every decision made, I felt my autonomy slipping further away. My body wasn’t my own anymore. It was a canvas for Mistress to mold, a tool for her vision of perfection. I was nothing more than an object of lust, crafted to please.

The doctor left briefly to prepare paperwork, and I finally worked up the courage to whisper, “Mistress, is all this ... necessary?”

She turned to me, her expression soft because of the public setting, but her voice laced with authority and venom. “Necessary? Of course, slut. This is your purpose. You exist to be admired, desired, and used. This is who you are now. Don’t you want to be perfect for Rod? Don’t you want to make him proud? Or are you still clinging to the boring, plain girl you used to be? And never ever, doubt my judgement. Ever.”

Her words hit me hard, like a slap I didn’t see coming. I nodded slowly, my cheeks burning with shame. “Yes, Mistress,” I murmured. I shriveled into complacency.

The procedures themselves were a blur of sterile rooms, sharp instruments, and distant voices.

Waking up in the recovery room, I felt sore. My chest ached with a heavy tightness, my lips throbbed, plump and unfamiliar, and my entire body felt bruised and tender. The dull pain was a constant reminder of what I had just undergone, of the new reality I was stepping into. There was no turning back now. The woman I had been before was gone, and in her place was someone new—someone crafted, molded, perfected.

I felt pride taking the pain. Mistress had told me this was a necessary transformation, that I was evolving into my true self. And as much as I had dreaded it, as much as I had resisted the idea at first, I could feel it: this change was for the better. I was becoming the slut she had always known I could be, the object of lust and desire she had promised Rod would worship.

Mistress was there when I woke, her face calm but her eyes sharp, watching me closely. “Good girl,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “You’ve taken the pain for your man, for me, and for the world to see. I’m proud of you, slut.”

Her words sent a strange warmth through me, and I smiled weakly, my swollen lips making even that small movement feel foreign. “Thank you, Mistress,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.

Over the next week, Mistress took care of me. She ensured I was comfortable, that I followed every instruction from the doctor, but she didn’t let me slack off. My recovery was filled with stimulation, both physical and mental, designed to push me deeper into my new persona. She kept a buzzing egg on low inside me almost constantly, the gentle vibrations keeping me on edge, my body thrumming with arousal even as it healed. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.

“You’re doing so well, my little slut,” Mistress would say, her voice dripping with approval as she adjusted the intensity of the egg. “I know you’re sore, but a horny cunt doesn’t stop being horny. A horny cunt just lives to cum, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I would reply, my voice filled with submission and desire. “I live to cum, to serve, to please.”

Mistress didn’t just stop at the physical reminders. She kept my mind focused on my new identity as well. She had me watch endless hours of porn, each scene filthier than the last, the women exaggerated and eager, their bodies sculpted and artificial, their words dripping with vulgarity. I studied them, noting their movements, their voices, their expressions. This was who I was now. This was my role.

Sometimes, Mistress would sit beside me, her hand gently stroking my thigh as I watched. “Look at her, Elizabeth,” she’d say, pointing to the screen. “Look at how she moves, how she moans. You see how she takes that cock like it’s her purpose in life? That’s how I want you to be.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I’d whisper, my voice shaky with arousal as the vibrations of the egg inside me built to an unbearable peak.

When she deemed it was time for release, Mistress didn’t hesitate. She pressed the Hitachi wand against my pierced clit, the vibrations mingling with the egg inside me, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. “Cum for me, slut,” she commanded, her voice sharp and commanding. “Cum like the filthy cunt you are.”

I screamed her name as I came, my body writhing against the sheets, my mind blank with pleasure. The orgasms were stronger now, more intense, as if my new body was designed to feel everything tenfold. I was growing into this new form, my mind aligning with the changes to my body. Every climax engrained my sluttyness deeper, every orgasm a reminder of who I was becoming.

“You’re getting better,” Mistress said one evening as I lay spent on the bed, the egg still buzzing softly inside me. “You’re embracing it, aren’t you? This new body, this new life?”

I nodded, my lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Yes, Mistress. I love it. I love being your slut, being Rod’s slut. I want to be perfect for you.”

“And you will be,” she replied, her voice filled with certainty. “But there’s still more work to do. We’re just getting started.”

Her words sent a thrill through me. I didn’t know what else she had planned, but I was ready. I was eager. I was hers.

Waking up that morning, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through my veins. I was healing, and my new body was finally coming together. The soreness in my chest had dulled to a manageable ache, and I could feel the weight of my new tits pressing against the white silk robe Mistress had given me. They were big, fake, and unapologetically slutty—exactly what Mistress had wanted for me. And, though I’d never admit it aloud, exactly what I was starting to want for myself. My new self-image and sexual purpose was going to be revealed.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room and hesitated. The woman staring back at me was unrecognizable. My face was flawless, every blemish and imperfection erased by the laser treatments. My cheeks looked sculpted, my jawline sharp yet feminine, and my lips—God, my lips—were impossibly plump, pouty, and perfect. The Monroe piercing above them gleamed, drawing attention to my mouth like a neon sign flashing slut. They were bigger than I’d imagined, fuller than I’d dared to dream, and I loved how they felt when I ran my tongue over them, the stud on my tongue clicking gently against my teeth.

Mistress stood behind me, her hands grazing over my shoulders as she leaned in. “You’re stunning, Liz,” she whispered, her tone warm yet commanding. “The body of a true slut. For all to see.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. I dropped the robe, letting it pool at my feet. There I stood, fully revealed. My breasts, round and high, jutted out like perfect globes, the skin smooth and taut. My midriff was sculpted, the liposuction leaving me with a waist that dipped into sharp, tantalizing curves. My hips flared beautifully, meeting thighs that were smooth and golden from the endless tanning Mistress had insisted upon. And my skin ... it was flawless, permanently devoid of hair, soft as silk, and begging to be touched.

Mistress stepped forward, her hands sliding up to cup my new tits. “These,” she said, squeezing them firmly, “are what make you Liz now. Elizabeth is gone. You’re tits on a stick, my perfect little doll.”

Her words sent a wave of heat through me. I should’ve felt humiliated, but I didn’t. I felt ... proud. Powerful. With this body, I could please anyone, and most importantly, I could please Rod. My mind wandered to his reaction—his hands gripping these tits, his mouth worshipping them. The thought made my clit tingle, the heavier piercing teasing me with every slight movement.

Later, Mistress allowed me to watch a particularly nasty porn scene, placing the Hitachi wand against my clit as I sat on the edge of the bed. “A horny cunt just lives to cum, don’t you, Liz?” she purred as she turned the wand to its highest setting.

“Yes, Mistress,” I moaned, my voice shaky as the vibrations tore through me. “I live to cum. I’m just a horny little slut.”

When I climaxed, it was earth-shattering. My body shook, my vision blurred, and I screamed Mistress’s name as pleasure consumed me. The release left me dazed, my mind blank except for one thought: I was hers. This body, this life—it all belonged to her, and I was happy to give it.

“I’ll make him so happy,” I murmured, my voice softer, higher-pitched. It was the new tone Mistress had been drilling into me, sweet and girly with just the right amount of sultry edge. “He’ll love my new tits, Mistress. I’ll make sure of it.”

Mistress smirked, her fingers brushing over my nipples, sending jolts of sensation through me. “You’d better. With a body like this, there’s no excuse for holding back. I want you sluttier, sweeter, and more eager than ever before. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied eagerly, my voice breathy with arousal. “I’ll be his perfect slut. I’ll make him forget anyone else exists.”

Her criticism was always, making me feel belittled, yet wanting to please more. Wanting to be free of Mistress wrath. My instinctive respond was sweet submission.

Mistress spent the day guiding me through poses and practicing my demeanor. I stood before the mirror, arching my back to make my tits pop, swaying my hips to emphasize my curves. “Good sluts always keep their chins up, their lips pouty, and their eyes wide and innocent,” Mistress instructed. “Now practice saying something nasty, but make it sweet.”

I tilted my head, licking my lips seductively. “I can’t wait to feel your cock between these tits, Rod,” I cooed, squeezing my breasts together for emphasis. “Fuck them hard. I want to see your cum dripping down my fake tits.”

Mistress clapped her hands together. “Much better, Liz. Keep practicing. You’re starting to sound like a real slut.”

And I was. Each filthy phrase rolled off my tongue more naturally, the words no longer feeling foreign or forced. The training Mistress had put me through, the hours of porn, the constant corrections—it was all paying off. I loved how my new body felt when I spoke those dirty words, how my pouty lips seemed made for them.

By the time I was fully healed, I had stepped into my new role completely. I wasn’t Elizabeth anymore. I was Liz, the sweet, slutty, submissive doll Mistress had created. And I loved it. My movements were more deliberate, my words more sultry, my demeanor a perfect blend of playful and provocative. I was Rod’s perfect slut, and I couldn’t wait to show him.

As I stood before the mirror, I could feel the edges of my old self—the timid, composed Elizabeth—fading away, replaced entirely by Liz. Liz wasn’t afraid. Liz didn’t hesitate. Liz embraced everything she had become, under Mistress command. And staring at my reflection, I knew I was ready to show the world.

My fake tits were impossibly round, high, and perky, still slightly tender but perfect in their exaggerated, slutty proportions. The tight pink frilly skirt short, exposing my ass when the wind took control. The short white top was scandalous, my nipples visible through the thin fabric. The cold air of the room made them hard, poking through in a way that was undeniably provocative. My platinum blonde hair was styled into high, playful pigtails, each bounce emphasizing the innocent, trashy allure Mistress had trained into me.

My lips—my big, swollen, fake lips—shone with pink gloss, their plumpness exaggerated by the gleaming silver ball of my Monroe piercing. Every time I pouted, every time I licked them with my tongue stud, I felt my identity solidify. These lips weren’t just for show; they were for sucking, for kissing, for every filthy act Mistress had trained me to perfect.

The thigh-high white leather boots completed the look, their heels clicking sharply against the floor with every step. I loved how they made me feel powerful, how they announced my presence wherever I went. They weren’t just footwear—they were part of the performance. Part of who I had become.

“Turn around,” Mistress’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

I obeyed instantly, spinning on my heels to face her, leaving my tight tanned bum exposed. She stood in the doorway, watching me with an expression of satisfaction mixed with something darker. My cheeks flushed under her gaze as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing the hem of my skirt before slipping beneath it. Without a word, she pressed the cool, familiar shape of the anal egg inside me. The sudden sensation made me gasp, my body trembling as the buzzing began, low and teasing.

“Do you feel that?” Mistress asked, her tone dripping with authority. “That’s a reminder of who you are now. A slut doesn’t just look the part; she feels it. She lives it.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice trembling with arousal and submission. The egg was a constant, maddening presence, its vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through me with every tiny movement.

Mistress’s hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look back at the mirror. “What do you see?”

I stared at the reflection before me. The platinum hair, the flawless skin, the obscenely large tits, the tight, slutty outfit—it was all there, screaming for attention, for lust. “I see Liz,” I replied softly. “A slut. Nothing more.”

Her grip tightened. “Say it louder. Own it.”

“I’m a slut,” I said, louder this time. The words felt natural now, rolling off my tongue as if they had always been there. “I’m nothing more than your slut. Mistress.”

Mistress smirked, releasing my chin. “Good girl. Sluts like you live for attention. Today, you’ll show the world what you are. But don’t forget: everything you do, every filthy word, every slutty act—it’s practice for your man. For Rod.”

Hearing his name sent a pang of longing through me. I missed him desperately, but I also knew that when he returned, he would see me like this. He would see Liz in all her glory, the perfect, slutty wife. The thought made my clit throb, the piercing adding to the delicious ache.

“I want him to be proud of me,” I said, my voice softer, almost pleading. “I want him to see how much I’ve changed for him.”

“And he will,” Mistress replied, her voice laced with confidence. “But first, you’ll show everyone else. You’ll practice being Liz for the world. You’ll be sweet, slutty, and submissive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I answered without hesitation.

As we stepped out of the mansion, the breezy warm air hit me, sending a shiver down my spine. My nipples hardened even more beneath the sheer fabric of my shirt, and I felt a rush of excitement as my heels clicked against the stone steps. This was my moment. I wasn’t Elizabeth anymore. I wasn’t just Rod’s wife. I was Liz—fake, slutty, and proud of it.

And I was ready to show the world.

I had styled my platinum blonde hair into high pigtails that morning, the perfect combination of girlish and trashy that Mistress had taught me to embrace. The tight pink frilly skirt barely covered my ass, swishing with every step I took, while the tight white top hugged my fake boobs. My nipples, hard and proud, pressed against the delicate fabric, and the absence of a bra or panties only heightened the sensation of exposure. My 550 cc fake breasts jutted out confidently, bouncing with every movement, a constant reminder of their weight and power.

I wasn’t just dressed to turn heads—I was dressed to command them. Every glance, every stare, was mine for the taking. And I would learn to love it, needed to keep my sanity.

Mistress led me into the mall with a commanding stride, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she took in my slutty appearance. “Remember, slut,” she hissed in my ear, her voice sharp and demanding, “every step, every look, every word you speak today must ooze sexuality. You are here to put on a show. Fail, and you’ll feel it.”

The anal egg buzzed inside me, a low hum that kept me constantly aroused and on edge. The cool air brushed against my bare, pierced pussy, sending jolts of pleasure through me with every step. My clit piercing throbbed slightly, adding to the delicious discomfort.

“Smile,” Mistress snapped as we passed a group of teenage boys loitering near a bench. I quickly adjusted my expression, giving them a coy, sultry look, fluttering my thick false lashes. My ducky lips parted slightly, the pink gloss shimmering under the harsh mall lights.

One of the boys elbowed his friend, nodding in my direction. “Holy shit, look at her tits,” he muttered, loud enough for me to hear. The comment sent a rush of heat to my core, the humiliation mingling with arousal in a way I could no longer ignore.

Mistress smirked. “Good. You’ve got their attention. Now make them beg.”

I tilted my head slightly, letting one of my pigtails fall forward as I stuck out my pierced tongue, the silver stud glinting seductively. “Do you like my big fake titties?” I purred, my voice light and sweet, but laced with teasing. I cupped them subtly, pressing them together for maximum effect.