Her body shivered. She could never tell what time it was, and knew only howmany days she had been like this by counting the drinks she received. She hadlong ago accepted that she was waiting for her rescuer to kill her. Someonebarging heroically through the door would cause the tip to rip right throughher, probably, she guessed, up through her neck. She wondered if it would bepainful, or if death and numbness would come quickly. She heard footsteps,heavy, thundering footsteps. Through the hood, they were muffled slightly,but she felt them and heard them regardless. She knew the window of the doorwould slide back, and he would look in, making sure she was alive. Her body practically went into cardiac arrest when she heard the doorknobsqueak. Oh god, she thought, horrified that death was about to come. But thedoor inched open, and she felt the tip of the shaft penetrate, but slowly andsmoothly, the tip actually pushing past, instead of tearing through. He wasright, she thought, only. Meanwhile, with its hungry mouth, the gaff had taken a firm hold of the"disgust between my legs." After just a couple of days, my "trans clit"(a euphemistic expression I had coined to minimize my disgust and feelmore at ease with the bulge in my groin) had been swallowed and reducedto just an unsightly presence at the intersection between my two mainfemale lines. This allowed me to feel my femininity deep down in mypelvis, like a real woman. Walking from one room to another, swooningwith joy while I could feel and almost see my butt wiggling in a feminineway was such an experience that, every now and then, I had to sit downand deal with the emotional storm that was raging through me. To keepmyself busy, I did Achref's laundry, ironed His shirts and hung them inHis closet, thoroughly cleaned the place so it would mirror the state ofgrace my soul was in, cooked some dinner for when my man would returnhome. All morning, Achref's eyes were watching me in a superior dimensionof femininity.
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