Being Barbi's Bitch

The innocent, white, virginal slut in the mirror was . . . me. She -- or, rather, I -- was absolutely stunning. I couldn't pick out a single thing that did it, but Barbi had truly created something new with me. That single glimpse in the mirror was so amazing, the memory of that transformation would be worth whatever this whole adventure ended up costing me.

"Thank you, Goddess." I twirled in front the mirror and posed like a girl getting ready for her prom. "I never knew I could look like this."

"There's still something missing. Hold still." I heard her rummaging around in another drawer, and then watched her return in the mirror. She was the very epitome of shemale lust, a walking, talking, breathing example of the kind of perfection that was only possible with a little nudge to our natures.

"Bend over, bitch."

While bent over, I watched her draw a big pink heart on the small of my back with a glitter pen. She coloured in the heart, and then switched to a black Sharpie marker. With that, she wrote 'sissy slut' in very elegant, feminine lettering inside the heart.

"There. That's better." Barbi led me back into the main room of our suite, where she helped me into a pair of impossibly high heels. As white as the rest of my outfit, they were dull, brushed leather, designed to blend with my overall look. The heels on them were four inch stilettos -- far more daring than anything I'd ever tried on before.

"Get walking," she told me. "You have precisely ten minutes to practice before I send you on a little errand."
Errand? I froze in mid-step. She as going to send me out like this?

She laughed cruelly. "You're wasting valuable time, my slut." She made a show of checking the clock on the bedside table. "You now have nine minutes left to practice."

I don't know whether it was the pressure that did it, or whether I was just a natural, but I was walking quite confidently -- if not comfortably -- by the end of the ten minutes. I still felt like I was going to topple at any moment, but I did like the way the heels forced me to take smaller, mincing steps, wiggling my ass in the process.