Message-ID: <4321eli$9709241004@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: zanna@whoever.com (Joyce Melton & Morgan Preece) Subject: Repost: Mercedes 6: "You Wish." {Morgan Preece} /C*R* 10/10/10/ Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3440ecde.20823111@news.gte.net> This story is intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are under 18, please stop reading immediately. If you are offended by strong adult-oriented themes, explicit sex, erotic fantasy or vulgar language, what are you doing here? Polite commentary will be appreciated. Copyright (c) 1996 by Morgan Preece Mercedes by Morgan Preece Chapter VI I had no way to count time in my imprisonment. No way to mark the wall of my beautiful cell, one mark for each day, seven marks to the week. My only measure of time became the changes I perceived in my body. The visitations I received, for food, cleanliness and sex became the ticking of this clock. My only visitor continued to be the baby-talking blonde who never answered questions, nor ever asked ones for which she expected answers. I decided that her name must be "Chastity" as that seemed to be what she called herself when one subtracted the multiple lisps. Her costume varied a bit but remained essentially the same. A tight, mostly white corset cinched her waist, uplifted her enormous, stripper breasts and constrained her torso into an extreme arch like that of a woman at climax. Her nipples showed above the corset cups, pierced with large golden rings like improbably obscene door knockers. Unstockinged but perfectly smooth legs led down to ankle-strapped, open-toed, high-heeled platform sandals like those worn by models in advertisements for lingerie shops and car parts. Between the legs, I often caught glimpses of the pink and white lacings and silvery rings and rods that concealed her sex much as Sylvia's had been. Her ears bore multiple piercings, enormous hoops brushed her shoulders when she tilted her head slightly and smaller rings and studs twinkled with extravagant gemstones or, more likely, theatrical paste. She wore also at least three necklaces, sometimes five, one always a choker of white, pink or lavender lace with a large pendant tau. Bangles and bracelets clattered and chimed at her wrists and her dagger-length nails clicked against each other as she efficiently fed, bathed and masturbated me to helpless, breath-robbing, mind-warping orgasm at the conclusion of almost every visit. She had only three expressions. She smiled dreamily or frowned prettily always with the tip of a red tongue showing between white teeth and full, baby-pink or harlot-red lips. Sometimes she pouted her mouth like a five-year-old denied a favorite toy. She seemed to use her faces only for their effect on my libido they were not related directly to what she said or did. Her voice cooed and bubbled in a kittenish whisper, one purring, childish, distorted syllable at a time. The speech impediments she displayed seemed theatrically contrived, no one has three different kinds of lisp. Each time she entered my silken dungeon, she tested my beard, apparently pleased to find less of it each time. My legs, arms and crotch she also tested for smoothness. I suspected the use of depilatories and perhaps electrolysis on me while I slept my drugged slumbers. She played with my nipples, rubbing creams into them as they and the flesh around them grew and increased in sensitivity. Perhaps the creams or something in my food made my breasts swell until they grew enough to be considered girlish or even womanly. Hormones I thought, but I had no real way of knowing. In the beginning she played with my cock, which gradually lost the ability to become fully erect but contrariwise seemed to increase in sensitivity. Piling paradox upon paradox, it simultaneously became increasingly difficult for me to orgasm and my climaxes became longer, more intense, more satisfying. The level of sexual excitement I could achieve before cumming kept hitting higher and higher plateaus, too. When Chastity tickled the underside of my glans with one of her absurdly long fingernails, simultaneously pinching a nipple with her other hand while bruising my lips with her mouth and using a knee to put pressure against my ass, I thought I would lose my guilty mind. Though shamed by it all, I became intoxicated with desire whenever I heard the doorknob turn. Chastity continued to ignore whatever I said. My reactions to her manipulative ministrations seemed to please her but she took no direct pleasure in mine. I had no responsibility and no power to bring her to orgasm. Her sexual repertoire widened to include dildos inserted in my mouth and ass. My horror at taking a cock-shaped piece of rubber into my mouth soon diminished. I had been desensitized to the thought by the increasing size of the nipples on the baby bottles with which she fed me and perhaps by my increasing dependence and passive mindset. I wondered again at the drugs that might be in those baby bottles for I began to crave them as much as the sex and the oblivion that I knew would follow. Besides what's the difference between a four-inch baby bottle nipple and a four-inch dildo? Starting with such small dildos, she increased the size at each visit until I could swallow an eight-inch ersatz dick while a replica in her expert hands thrust repeatedly into my anus. A few of my former clients had wanted to play with such toys and I had experienced anal penetration before. I had never expected to learn to beg for it, though. Not that anything I said had much real effect on Chastity's routine. During this same time Chastity had stopped using her virtuoso mouth on my shrinking penis. I couldn't get a real hard-on anyway and cocksucking seemed to have lost out to the nipple games she played with my ever-swelling breasts. After a half hour of foreplay with my lips, nipples, earlobes and asshole, she would bring on my shivering climax with fingernails or a vibrator in my ass. Helpless, bound, drugged, I existed in a torpid limbo relieved only by moments of sexual ecstasy the like of which I had never known. Before my captivity I had found release in sex, I had given pleasure in sex but I had never really looked forward to sex except as a means to an end. Now, I existed only during interludes with my dominatrix. When Sylvia entered the room I felt my heart quicken in surprise. Up until now I had awakened each time shortly before Chastity's arrival and I had been anticipating my blonde jailer's entrance for some time. Sylvia wore a full skirted, long dress in the emerald shade that suited her so well. Her long chestnut hair fell past her waist. Green eyes, red lips, creamy bosom all the details matched the erotic dreams I still had of her. Regardless of the fact that Chastity brought me to climax almost everytime I woke, my dreams were still of Sylvia and her mysteries. I breathed her name and saw her smile. "You have been our pampered captive long enough," she said. "I've come to make you an offer." She brushed my hair back from my face as she spoke. I wanted her to play with me as Chastity played with me. Captivity had left me insanely passive, madly submissive. "Pampered? Offer? Sylvia, what have you done to me?" I summoned what outraged humiliation I could muster but it sounded like the whimper of some despised/adored love-thing. "I think you know, or at least, suspect," she went on. "But we have come to the point where your co-operation will be valuable. Your ego can not be further crushed by more captivity. You must acquiesce to the final stages, agree to the ultimate degradation." "Sylvia, please," I murmured, "please make love to me." She laughed softly, cruel as velvet, cold as silk. "You never wanted my love, you wanted my money." Moving swiftly, she stripped the satiny coverlet from my bound and helpless body. "Yes," I admitted. I felt shame for what I had been and more than shame for what I had become, a naked, wanting, impotent thing no longer a man. "But now I want you." She stood for a moment over me seeming to admire what she and her cohort had created. "No," she said. "Not yet." She began to work on my bonds. The leather, silk and steel cuffs, belt and collar with which I had been restrained had only been removed before this while I slept or for Chastity to bathe me. I knew they were removed while I slept for I sometimes awoke in a different position. Face up, face down, arms above my head or at my waist, legs bound together or forced wide apart. Rapidly she removed the cuffs at wrists and ankles but my limbs would not respond properly to freedom. I had ceased struggling against my bonds some time ago and my muscles had withered, I could scarce drag an arm or leg across the smoothness of my sheets. I had no real idea how bedsores had been prevented and truthfully, the idea had not occurred to me at the time. "Sylvia," I whimpered again, frightened of a freedom that I no longer desired. "Hush," she ordered. She removed my collar and belt also and I lay there in only the rubber underpants that had prevented accidents in my drugged slumbers. She stood again beside the bed, strong, free, clothed, female. At one time I knew, I had been stronger than she, more free, dressed in my own clothes and rampant in my masculinity. It seemed impossible. "Nothing more will be done to you without your agreement," she said. "Drugs and hormones will stop, your beard and body hair will grow back if we stop suppressing your own hormones. Your breasts would shrink, a little surgery to remove the excess flesh there, a little physical therapy and a high protein diet to get your muscles back. You'll be pretty much back to being your old self." She paused. "Physically," she added. "No," I whispered. She nodded. "Then we proceed with our plans for your transformation since the mental changes have become irreversible. Do you agree?" Her smile seemed both cruel and inviting. "Yes," I whimpered. "Are you sure?" she demanded. "You are ours to do with as we like? To mold, to shape, to train into the being we want to make of you?" She slapped me on the thigh as if to demonstrate how she intended to begin her total ownership. Too weak to flinch, I merely trembled. "Yes. You are going to make me into a woman," I breathed, happy at last with the verbalized realization. She snorted, delicately. "You wish." (to be concluded) -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /