Yes, I am! Please feminize me further!

After being trapped in the makeup chair for over eight hours, you are finally released.

After the first round of makeup, the chair was stingier in its positive feedback, providing pleasure less and less, and using the cold water, the shocks and the ball squeezing to cool your passions more frequently.

You only orgasmed one additional time (but it was a really good one).

After the first makeover, the chair had you wash off all the makeup and start over from scratch. The makeup washed off too easily. You guessed that maybe it was special 'training' makeup (?) designed by the former owner, Mr. Hewitt, to dissolve quickly in a special solvent?

Another mad-genius invention! you think to yourself. What if you sold training makeup to salons and department stores all over the world? Then people could try on several different makeup styles before deciding on the product they wanted!

You wonder at the untapped potential of all of Jack Hewitt's bizarre, feminizing inventions.

After washing off your makeup, the chair made you go through the entire makeup procedure again, only this time with a different color scheme and hair style. When you were finished, the monitor showed your face on a very short, clingy, red body-con cocktail dress.

You looked stunning!

Your face had an intelligent, engaging, but still approachable look, as if 'this is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with'.

This repeated for many more combinations of hair, makeup color, and dress. After a couple of hours you realized that in addition to applying makeup, the chair was also teaching you how to coordinate colors, hair styles, and clothing. After that you started paying more attention to why it was making the choices it made (color balance, style, appropriateness for the event, etc).

In the middle of the session the chair started having you do nail polish, which actually required an amazing number of steps: pushing back the cuticles, filing, two coats, gloss, buff... but what beautiful nails they were when you finished!

Eventually the chair decided you'd had enough and you were released. By that time you'd applied and removed your makeup over a dozen times and were getting damn good at it.

It had become a point of pride.

You stumble down the hallway, exhausted and starving, to the only open door which is to your original room.

Not even caring anymore, you kneel before the mannequin as the door closes and locks behind you. You place your hands in the cuffs, your legs in the boxes and you are trapped as he fucks your face. You gratefully suck down and swallow his sperm, drinking your dinner.

You are changing inside.

Something has shifted. You are less fearful. The care and attention which has gone into every detail of this bizarre set of **** chambers, and the genius which is your captor (either the house computer or it's creator... you are less worried for your health and safety than you were when you first started.

Of course, you're still worried about what it's doing to you. How it's changing you... but even that...

You are discovering new things about the world of beauty and women... and this is hard to admit but you have to admit this to yourself out-loud... but you like it.

No... you are starting to love it.

Oh, god. What does that mean?

How much of this are because of the **** being fed to you and how much is what was already inside of you... deep down inside... maybe finding its way out of your psyche for the very first time?

After the mannequin is finished with fucking your face, you stumble over to the bed and fall asleep, wondering what the next day will bring.