The sorceress set aside the bamboo cane. She released her captive from her chains, and Tiffany fell to her knees, a dead weight, before sprawling upon the cold, stone floor. The shemale sobbed repeatedly, her face as awash in sweat and tears as her buttocks were awash in blood. Her breath came and went in tremendous heaves, and her heart hammered inside her chest. Her balled fists rubbed hard against the stone floor, as if she were trying to get a hold on something, but, of course, there was nothing of which to get a hold-not even herself. Tiffany rolled-or flopped-onto her side, assuming the fetal position, and her legs pumped, as if she were pedaling a bicycle. Her face was a mask of pure anguish.

The pain that burned within her buttocks must be a raging fire, Charisma thought, smiling. I am finished with you, Charisma announced. I leave you with two things: a last present and a final thought.”

Even through the pain that flooded her mind and body, Tiffany knew that she wanted no more presents from the bitch who had just caned her to within an inch of her life, but she said nothing, waiting to hear, as she must, whatever new torture the cruel bitch had devised for her.

She felt Charisma slip a ring onto one of her fingers. She wanted to resist, to pull her hand away, to make a fist, but she was too wrung out by the agony that continued, even now, to explode, deeper and deeper, inside her, and from the exhaustion that had ensued the flogging she’d endured. She couldn’t resist. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t do anything but lie here, naked, on this hard, cold stone floor, struggling to breath and to think.

“The ring will make you forget me and all that has happened between us, Charisma said.

“Thank you, the shemale managed to whisper between moans as she writhed upon the floor.

“Don’t bother to think me, Charisma told her. I am doing this for me, not you. As I said, I am finished with you. I don’t want you to remember me or anything about us. I don’t want you to call me, ever again, or show up at my door. When you are able, leave here, and never come back.”

Tiffany nodded her understanding, her agreement.

“Look at me, Charisma ordered.

The shemale opened her eyes. They were the same lovely blue as they’d been the first time that Charisma had seen them, but they were filled with tears, now, and pain, and hatred. Gone was the charming, guileless, naïve, innocent, and gregarious love of life; it had been replaced with a cynical, knowing, culpable, hostile disdain for herself and others that marked her as a creature who had been twisted and warped. Outwardly, Tiffany was still a gorgeous shemale, but, inwardly, where it mattered, she was a bizarre, hideous, and deformed character suited more for the habitation of hell than for the society of men and women.

Charisma smiled as she gazed into the mirrors of Tiffany’s ruined soul. She had done her work well, the sorceress complimented herself. You said that you are not a fucking tree, Charisma reminded Tiffany, but you are; you are a human bonsai, dwarfed and twisted inside, by me. You even tried to shape and train yourself to be other than you were born. You came into this world with male genitals, but you wanted to be a woman-or, at least, a chick with a dick’-so you took hormones and underwent surgical operations and learned how to dress and behave like a woman and how to apply makeup and shave your legs and think and feel the way a woman thinks and feels. You tried to become something else, and you succeeded, beyond your wildest dreams. You are a gorgeous shemale, far more beautiful than most genetic females. When I saw you, I knew I had to have you. I knew I had to nurture and guide and train you. I knew I had to change you-and so I have.”

Charisma smiled at the tear that wandered from the corner of the shemale’s eye. Yes, the sorceress repeated, you are a bonsai, after all. I have twisted and shaped you, as much emotionally and sexually as physically. I’ve increased your breast size, flattened your tummy, narrowed your waist, shaped your hips, and shrunk your feet, but I have also altered the way you think and feel and love. I have changed who and what you are, and, now, I leave you with a final thought to consider as you grow older and you become, more and more, the person I intend for you to be. She paused. Tiffany had closed her eyes again. Look at me, Charisma directed.

Tiffany’s eyes opened, spilling new tears.

Seeing Tiffany cry moistened Charisma’s cunt, and her clit throbbed as it began to stiffen and swell. The sorceress smiled. Here is the thought I leave for you to meditate upon all the rest of your days: As the twig is bent, she said, so grows the tree.

Tiffany closed her eyes again, and sobbed.

Rising, Charisma departed, leaving the heavy iron door wide open on its hinges. In a few days, Tiffany would have recovered from the caning she’d suffered at her mistress hands, although she’d never heal from the deeper, more serious wounds that Charisma had done to her mind and heart and soul. Then, Tiffany would be ready to leave. When she scrambled to her feet and staggered toward the dungeon’s exit, Charisma wanted nothing to stand in Tiffany’s way, just as she never wanted to see the shemale again.

After all, Charisma was finished with her, although poor Tiffany would no doubt learn, soon enough, that the end of her torment and suffering was really just the beginning.

The End

Note: The description of Tiffany’s caning is similar to, and, in part, based on, a similar account of such punishment in my short story, Nothing At All, which you may also enjoy reading.

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