Simone was a volunteer

By DX

Copyrighted 4/2001, 7/2024 all rights reserved.

Simone's whole body quaked as she again tested the chains that held her; arms up, legs spread, exposed to the audience that surrounded her. She could feel the heat of the lights aimed at her, yet she shivered nonetheless as she looked down at the tray of diabolical instruments laid out before her. Tools that were to flay her alive.

Dr Zim stepped forward like a circus ring master, her red, latex lab coat gleaming, her black gloved hands upraised for silence. "Masters and Mistresses, let me introduce our main event! Her name was Simone, a most special prize. Not only is she beautiful, but a woman who knows what she wants. And what she wants is to entertain you with a demonstration, never seen by any audience. Tonight, Simone will be skinned alive! Her hide will be tanned to make a new catsuit for me." Dr Zim swayed her hips demonstrating how sexy she would look with the form fitting leather suit, swatting her shapely derriere. "She's been injected with stimulants to insure that she stays conscious throughout the ordeal, but nothing to dim the pain. Then afterwards, her raw flesh will be whipped for your sadistic pleasures!" Dr Zim smiled as she donned her surgical mask and protective goggles. "Isn't this what you volunteered for Simone?" 

Simone shook her head frantically and screamed incoherently into her jaw breaking gag.

Dr Zim pouted a frown. "Aw, poor Simone," She smiled as she held up her scalpel. Its keen edge reflected the light and blinded Simone, filling her vision with grey. "but you did volunteer, didn't you?"

——

The sky was grey and angry, threatening to rain as she made her way quickly through the dilapidated buildings— the blank stare of the blackened windows were the only witness to her passing. Following the directions, she found the rusted warehouse door open, almost welcoming. The heels of her pumps clicked ominously on the greasy metal floor. Above her, steel hooks glinted dully in the dim light. It had been more than a hundred years since anyone had used this meat packing plant and it was the most unlikely place to find executive offices for an international corporation.

But it was the perfect place for white slavers.

After a harrowing ride on the barely functional freight elevator, Simone, following the shaft of fluorescent light that filled the hall, found the office of Dr. Zim. Simone knocked timidly on the doorframe and peeked in. The secretary looked up, her sapphire eyes sparkled, but held a distant, thousand-mile stare. Her face was as smooth and fair as porcelain, framed by a cascade of spun gold hair.  Her lips curled in a gentle, bemused smile were full, and oh, so kissable… the color of blood. 

Simone found her breath still in her lungs as she beheld the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Simone's voice trembled. "Um, I'm here to meet with Dr. Zim.  I have an appointment."

The secretary nodded knowingly and rose from her desk, motioning with her hand for Simone to have a seat. As Simone did, the secretary stepped over to a door and with a soft knock, stepped in. Simone watched the secretary's deliberate motions, her distant stare, her too perfect eyes, and realized she was blind.   She functioned with the parameters of the office memorized. Her face was probably a mask, the girl underneath gagged. Her hands were only fingerless mittens.

Simone shuddered. She had searched the wildest clubs, the exclusive Internet chat rooms, and followed the stories that everyone said were nothing more than an urban legend, fantasy too the extreme. Some had lied to her, others told her to seek psychiatric help, and some, a select few, had clues for her to follow, clues that led here, to the fulfillment of her fantasy.

She waited.

Fifteen minutes later the secretary returned, motioning to Simone to enter the inner office. Simone smoothed out her tight skirt, squared her shoulders and walked in. Chin up, eyes ahead she marched directly in and stopped before the desk of Dr Zim. 

The oriental woman looked up from her lap top, her green eyes taking in the woman before her. She smiled, almost mockingly. "You are more beautiful in person." Her voice was smooth as cough syrup. "A nice body,” She turned and tapped on her keyboard, nodding to herself. "Sit down." She said as she rose and came out from behind her desk, leaning on it. "Most of our clients are, uh, appointed to the position: a sibling in the way of an inheritance, a troublesome wife. Most are criminals, others are parasites on society. People who no one would notice gone. We don't get volunteers here." She lowered her gaze. "So tell me, Simone, why are you here? "

"To be a slave." Her voice was tiny. "A real slave, a total slave."

Dr Zim scoffed. "There are countless of masters who would love to make you a slave, why did you seek me out?"

"I don't want fur lined cuffs." Simone answered. "Or safe words. I don't want limits to be respected, I don't want limits. I want the real thing. Every master I have ever met is afraid to test the range of their imagination. I want no limits."

Dr Zim laughed breathlessly. "Do you now?" She smiled, her eyes sparkling slits. "But do you know what a slave is?"

Simone searched for an answer. "A person who wants to give another person pleasure."

Dr Zim shook her head. “A person who wants?  No, no, no…  A slave has no wants.  A slave is meat. Nothing more." She motioned with a tilt of her head. "Do you see my secretary? She's useless. I keep her around because it pleases me to watch her suffering. She's blind, sexless, horny and helpless to do a thing about it. Do you know what she looks like under that mask? Nothing, nothing at all. Her head is only a blank, smooth orb. In fact, her whole body is an androgynous form. I operated on her and sculpted her in the image that amused me. Taking that beautiful body and face away pleased me. I took away her eyes last so she could watch the transformation. Her pleading eyes crying as her beautiful body and face fell beneath my scalpel is what pleased me. 

“The face she wears is her face. After I removed it from her, I had it treated in a Bio-lex chemical which turns skin into a supple, latex form. I did that to her whole body giving her a latex body. Smooth, featureless. Her wastes are stored in the empty space where her sex organs used to be. I can let her go for weeks, watching her swell up like a pregnant mother until I am ready to empty her." Dr Zim smiled proudly. "I mock her with her own face. She does not want to be a slave, but she obeys because she knows that what I've done to her is nothing compared to what I could do to her."

Dr Zim lifted a heavy Lucite block and dropped it into Simone's lap. Simone looked at the block, shivering at what was frozen inside. A breast. A perfect breast in shape and size with a pronounced, suckable nipple. "That is a real breast. I think the mark of a woman, how she is viewed and judged, is what her breasts look like. We can fool ourselves to think it’s her hair, or dress or how she walks, or how smart she is, but I know it’s her breasts. I see her will and resistance flitter away as I cut off her breasts." Suddenly Dr Zim leaned forward and slipped a hand down Simone's neckline and grabbed a firm hold on Simone's breast. "Mmmmm, you have lovely breasts. I will enjoy adding them to my collection." She gave Simone’s breast a small pinch. "I can feel your heart beating, pounding." 

She let her go.  She rose and stepped behind her desk. "I can see that you've liquidated all of your possessions and transferred them to my account." She said looking at her computer. "You can follow instructions, that is good." She looked up at Simone, her eyebrow arched skeptically. "But do you still want to be a slave? My slave?" She held up a finger to stop her answer. "Since it is so rare that we get a volunteer, that I will give you a choice, possibly the last choice you ever make." Dr Zim reached into her drawer and took out a pair of handcuffs, ankle cuffs and a red ball gag. "I am going to leave the room. You can get up, walk out of here and resume your life as a real person. The money that you put is my account will be your punishment for being a fool." She looked at Simone, her green eyes penetrating. "Or, you can strip naked, put the ankle cuffs on, then the gag, and then the hand cuffs on in front of you." Dr Zim stepped from behind her desk. "I give you five minutes to decide your destiny. Choose wisely."

Simone watched as Dr Zim left the room with her secretary in tow. 

Simone looked at the breast paperweight and imagined if it was her own.  She shuddered at the thought. She rose and set it on the desk.

With trembling hands she slipped out of her dress.

She gasped as she felt the cold metal circle her ankles and ratchet closed. With shaking hands she opened her mouth and felt the gag against her teeth. She pushed harder, and stretched her jaw painfully to force the ball over her teeth to settle into her mouth. She buckled the gag tightly even though she realized the gag was so huge she couldn't spit it out anyway. The handcuff, glistening polished steel, well oiled, well used, encircled her wrist and tightened one click at a time.  With each click, her heart skipped.  She clicked them closed until they fit snugly against the bone.

It was done.

Simone waited. She stood at attention, eyes straight, chin up.

She had no way to track the time, but she knew five minutes had surely past.

Then ten, twenty. Finally Simone sat in the chair. She sat at attention, back straight, hands in her lap.

An hour passed before she heard Zim's soft laughter come from the hall and the voice of another woman. Simone sat up, alert, surprised she had slouched. ‘Bad slave’ she scolded herself. Simone felt goose flesh on her naked skin as she heard the doctor's voice behind her.

"She's still here? I thought for sure I'd spooked her off. This is that volunteer I told you about, your grace."

The Duchess stepped in front of Simone, taking a look at her. "She is quite beautiful." She mused. "I just love her eyes." She cupped Simone's chin and lifted it up for a better look. Simone looked up into eyes, green like a jungle leaf.

"Do you like them?" The doctor asked. "I'll have them mailed to you." She touched the intercom. "Alice, bring in the box."

Simone was still lost in the expansive, expressive eyes of the Duchess, unable to look away from the woman's beauty. "What would I do with just her eyes?" The Duchess let Simone go. 

"That's your business." The doctor said stepping over. She waved at Simone. "Slave, stand up." Simone snapped to her feet as Alice wheeled in a trunk. She positioned it in front of Simone and undid the clasps. The top and front came away.

The Duchess leaned on the desk, out of the way. "Listen, I've been approached by the CIA."

"Going back into the spy business?" Zim turned Simone around, her back to the trunk. "Sit your ass in the back of the trunk, pull your knees to your chest and drape your wrists about your ankles." She ordered.

Simone was a slight girl but she had to squeeze her way into the box, settling all the way in. Zim then took a rod and passed it through one side of the box, under Simone's knees but over her arms, to the other side of the box where it screwed in securely.

"The CIA wants to build a bordello." The Duchess went on. "They want a total house of debauchery to entertain foreign diplomats. They will provide Madams who will wheedle secrets, and I will provide girls as the entertainment." The Duchess looked down at Simone. "I think with a few of your magical modifications, she would make a great little sex toy for some ambassador."

Dr Zim strapped a cannula into Simone's nostrils. "I promised the Baron  my very next slave and this little girl is it."

The Duchess scoffed. "Didn't you already give him the perfect oral toy?"

Dr Zim, her eyes sparkling, looked up. "Beautiful, isn't she? Well, like all my sex toys, all facial features are removed, leaving her head a smooth orb, but in this case, I saved the mouth. After pulling all her teeth, I gave her the most luscious, fat, suction lips and gums with the mouth and throat reconstructed to the ultimate love sheath. I then grafted the perfect latex face, I think I used a copy of Alice's face, onto the head. Beautiful work. The Baron can take his doll out into public. People just pity the beautiful blind, deaf, and mute girl and have no idea she's one of my masterful creations." The doctor bragged. "Well, as I usually do with my dolls, I remove the sex organs and any possibility for her to have any gratification. I find my dolls are more attentive to the needs of others when there is no possible way for them to obtain any gratification for themselves. I implant a chip to stimulate hormone production so dolly is internally and eternally driven mad with insatiable sex drives. This gives them plenty of energy to perform. Then, to make her the perfect oral dolly, I injected genetically altered parasites into her intestines that feed on the Baron's DNA coded sperm. It prevents her from digesting anything else. She digests the parasites when they're big enough. So ultimately, she needs the Baron's sperm to live and soon she is conditioned to crave it.

"Well, the Baron said he was looking at his little asexual doll, the smooth featureless crotch, and decided he wants that space for another oral cavity." Dr Zim glared at Simone. "So, I'm going to be taking Simone's pretty mouth, throat, and most of her brain, invert it, and transplant it into The Baron’s slave to create the world's first oral pussy." She smiled as she watched the horror creep onto Simone's face. "That's all that will be left of you my pretty. Blind, deaf, your sense of smell and touch, all gone.  Your brain will be kept alive by your new host’s blood supply.  You’ll just be new tissue.  You’ll be alert and aware and after conditioning, you'll be dedicated to sucking the Baron's fat cock as he fucks you and gets oral pleasure." She looked up at the Duchess. "Isn't that a brilliant idea? Simone has the perfect lips for sucking, don't you agree?"

"Don't you think that's a little wasteful?"

Zim laughed. "I'm going to skin her alive and tan her hide for a new catsuit for me to wear. The rest of her organs will be auctioned on the black market, no waste at all."

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Cumster

by DX

A man forces a high-profile dominatrix to give him a free session, but she’s thinking he might be more suited as a permanent part of her dungeon!

Copyrighted February 2019/2022, 2023, all rights reserved.  This story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

 Paul peered expectedly at his coffee cup as the waitress walked by, then sniffed contemptibly as she ignored him.  He eyed her as she walked away, coffee pot in hand, and refilled coffee for her other customers.  Paul murmured, quite loudly, about the poor service and went on to mention there was a sign about free re-fills, but the waitress continued to ignore him.

 Bristled, he picked up his binoculars and peered out the window of the dinner.  He watched the traffic flow, the pedestrians, the light rain spatter against the sidewalk.  He had begun to recognize faces, especially of Mistress’ clients.

 The men dressed sharply, in suits costing more than he made in a year, and the women designer shoes costing twice as much.  Each one arrived alone, glanced around nervously, then turned their heads down as if to avoid paparazzi, and slip into the darkened foyer of Mistress’ studio.

 They were movers and shakers, rich and powerful.  Most were married with normal lives.  They all came to see Mistress.  In her studio they surrendered everything and for a few, merciful hours were relieved of the burdens of being a corporate executive, a mogul, a politician, a homemaker.  They temporarily exchanged their status to that of a slave and accepted the sting of her rod and the welt of her lash.

 “Ready to order?”  The waitress asked, her voice grating.  “You’ve been here for five hours.”

 Startled, Paul looked up at the clock.  “I didn’t know I was on a timer.”  He grumbled and picked up a menu.  “I’ve not decided.”  

 “I can recommend the special.”

 He sniffed.  “I don’t like onions.”  

 “You had onions yesterday.”  

 “I DON’T LIKE OINIONS TODAY!”  He roared and caused the other patrons to look up in alarm.  He squinted as if the font of the menu was too small.  “It says, breakfast any time.”  He slapped down the menu and ignored the eyes staring at him.  “I’ll have breakfast from the Spanish Inquisition!”  He announced, regally.

 She rolled her eyes and looked back towards the kitchen.  The bulging eyes of the cook glared back at her.  “Spanish Inquisition breakfast!”  She yelled.

 His glare deepened.  “What?”

 She nodded slowly, turning back to Paul.  “No Spanish Inquisition.”

 Paul was abashed.  “Well, I’ll need more time to decide.”

 “You’ve been here for weeks.  You’re making my customers nervous.”  The waitress droned.

 “I’ll have the free coffee refill.”  He said haughtily.

 The waitress said nothing as she turned away.

 He watched the perfect sway of her ass begging to be slapped as she walked.  He watched her bend over to attend to another customer and in that moment he envisioned taking her from behind and pounding into her hot sex while she braced herself against the table as the patron in the booth watched the show approvingly with a smile entrenched on his face.

 He looked away as his cock stirred.

 He noticed she had filled his cup, nearly to the rim.  As he sipped, he was surprised to find it was from a fresh pot and not the bitter dregs she had been serving him.

 He picked up his binoculars and scanned the street.

 There she was!  Mistress moved with the hunting precision of a lioness.  Her beauty was brilliant.  Her soft lips of blood accented her porcelain doll face.  Her hair was black, and shinned like wet tar.  Her short leather jacket accentuated her magnificent breasts and tiny waist.  She wore jeans as if they were painted on her callipygian hips.

 He could hear her arch breaking stiletto shoes crash against the pavement like crackling ice.

 He watched her hungrily as she turned into the foyer of her studio.  He could only imagine the screams within as he longed to be her victim.  He would kneel at her throne and lick the grime from the soles of her magnificent feet as her whip arched over him and left red marks across his ass.  She would then reach down and pull at his cock until he came and came again, and smiled as she licked his frosting from her latex clad fingers.

 Paul sat back and sipped his coffee as the fantasy played in his mind.  He glanced around at the booth and wondered if anyone would notice if he touched himself where he sat.  He decided against it.  Instead he planned to slip into the stall of the bathroom and once again leave his mark oozing and drying on the stall wall.

 As he drank his coffee, he noticed a note sitting on the table.  The quality of the paper stock was obvious.  It was crisp, sharp and clean, unlike anything found in the diner.  He looked around, wondering where it had come from.  The brown circle of coffee stain indicated the insipid, incompetent waitress inadvertently hid it under his cup.

 He picked it up.  His name was written in a gentle and skilled cursive.  The hint of fine perfume was intoxicating.

 His heart was pounding.

 He opened it.

 “Paul,”  It began sharply and to the point.  He liked that.  She was already taking command.  No!  She had already taken command!  He read his name again, hearing her voice, her scorn, her contempt.

 “Paul, my original denial of your application to join my personal slave harem may have been premature.  Your dogged determination despite my explicit refusals has demonstrated a perseverance to serve, an essential trait in a proper, dedicated slave.  I’ve decided to give you a small test.  If you can complete these easy instructions to meet with me, then I may look upon you favorably as a possible addition to my permanent staff.”

 He left a few, small coins and a moist, crumbled single dollar bill on the table and ran out of the dinner.

Mistress had given him a map.  It led him down to the corner, then three short blocks east and two long blocks north to an old, but refurbished, warehouse.  His map guided him through the gate and around the back.  There was a flight of stairs that lead to a door locked with a cipher keypad.  He used the provided code to get in, which lead him down a long, darkened hall.  There he found a freight elevator.  It too was locked with a cipher code, but following his instructions, he went right in.

 He paused for a moment as he read his instructions to go down two levels.

 The elevator rumbled and rocked and Paul struggled to keep his balance.  When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Paul stepped out into a dark hallway.

 He looked at his note.  “Look for Old Soldier.”  It read.

 That was it.  That was the end of his instruction.

 His face was sagged in confusion as he read it again, not realizing the light faded quickly as the doors to the elevator closed.

 Panic gripped him as his eyes peered through the dim.  Something moved from up ahead, something large.  The shape of its head resembled a bear and it had large, powerful arms.  The creature lumbered forwards.  Paul turned and rapidly pushed the button for the elevator, but it only beeped at him, demanding a code.  He glanced back.  The creature was getting closer.  Paul pounded on the elevator door to let him in.  When that wasn’t working, he turned to the creature that now towered over him.  Paul, murmured in fear and slid down to the floor and cowered.

 Nothing happened.

 Paul opened one eye.

 The creature was just stood there.  As Paul’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized the creature was just a man… a large, muscular man.  He was naked from the waist up and wore tight, latex pants.  On his head he wore a neoprene mask in the shape of a dog’s head.  Paul could just about see his piercing, polar ice eyes.

 The man pointed to his chest.

 Paul squinted and read aloud the words tattooed in two-inch letters across the man’s chest.  “Old soldier.”  He pointed excitedly.  “You’re Old Soldier?”

 The man nodded.

 “I’m here for Mistress.”  Paul said proudly, assured of himself again.  “She’s expecting me.  Take me to her.  You would not want to keep her waiting.”

 Old Soldier turned and ambled down the hallway.

 Paul skipped to keep up.  “You’re not a talkative type, are you?”

 Old Soldier made no indication of hearing Paul.  At the end of the hall, Old Soldier typed in a code on a cipher lock and opened the door.  He ushered Paul in.

 It was a large room cordoned off into several cubicles.  Old Soldier led Paul to the back of the room where the space opened up to a meeting area.  Against the wall was an intricately carved throne.  On either side of the throne knelt two other ‘dogs’.  They were women, both wearing neoprene dog masks similar to Old Soldier.  One, a curvaceous blonde, had the tattoo, ‘Duchess’, on her chest.  The other was a slim, Afro-American girl with an explosion of dreadlocks spewing from the back of her head with the tattoo, ‘Medusa’.

 Both, save their masks, were naked, only adorned with numerous body piercings.

 Another dog, a well-muscled male by the look of him, walked over to Paul.  He had the tattoo of ‘Puppy’ across his chest.

 They all moved now.  Puppy picked at Paul’s shirt and guided him to remove it.  Duchess held a large paper bag and indicated for Paul to put his clothes into it.  Reluctantly, Paul complied.  Within moments he was naked and nervously covering his nads with his hands.

 Medusa walked around and inspected him.  She held up her hand.  Puppy pulled a rubber glove on her hand like a doctor preparing for surgery.  

 It was then Paul realized that Medusa had one arm.  The other was lost above the elbow.  As she resumed her prowl, Paul noticed she walked stiffly, then realized her left leg was missing below the knee and she and moved around rather adroitly on a prosthetic limb.

 She smacked away Paul’s hands and exposed him.  She reached down and gently cupped his balls as if to test their weight.  She looked up at him, her brown eye peering through her dog head.  Her eye was magic, and turned Paul instantly into stone as he fell into it entranced.  All he could see was her one eye and he could only imagine the rest of her face was a thing of utter beauty.  Paul trembled at the wonderful feel as her soft fingers splayed against his stiffening member.  He was rock hard now, turned to stone, completely under Medusa’s spell.

 He felt something else touch his cock.  He glanced down and noticed Duchess, also wearing gloves, was using a cotton swab to capture his pre-cum.  She then dropped the swab into a test tube and walked away.

 Medusa stopped.  She held out her hand and Puppy peeled off her glove and dropped it into the paper bag.  Puppy then rolled down the top of the paper bag.  He carried the paper bag over to the wall where Old Solider waited.  There was an old, iron hatch on the wall and Old Soldier pulled it open with a grunt and revealed a dark space.  Puppy put the bag in.  Old Soldier closed the door and slid the locking bar into place.

 “Hey!”  Paul protested.  “Be careful!  My watch is in there.  It’s very expensive.”  In reality he had bought the watch for ten dollars, but the dog slaves didn’t know that.  “Um, can I get a bathrobe or something?  You don’t want me to meet Mistress naked, do you?”

 They said nothing.  Medusa took a standing post to the left of the throne while Duchess took a kneeling post to the right.  Old Soldier and Puppy took kneeling positions to the left and right of Paul.  All of them had their heads down.

 Paul stood, shifting nervously.  Old Soldier nudged him, then gestured to the floor.  Nodding, Paul knelt on the hard, stone floor but his knees quickly protested.  Paul then shifted and sat on his butt, his legs crossed.

 They waited.  Paul shifted uncomfortably as his butt began to go numb.  He looked at the others, frozen.  “Did someone let her know we’re here and waiting for her?”  His voice sounded loud in the quiet room.  “I mean, it’s like, been a hour.”

 If Paul had his watch, and he bothered to check it, he would have realized since the time he had read the note until now had only been fifteen minutes.

 He heard the bell ring from the elevator.

 Paul quickly slipped to his knees with his head down, as if he’d been that way the whole time.

 The click of her heels on the cement sent chills down his spine.  Paul peeked, and watched her tiny feet walk casually around him.  He could feel her cold, frost eyes across his back as she inspected him.

 The shoes then walked away towards the throne.  Paul risked a glance and watched her marvelous ass.  She was divine.  

 She sat on the throne.  She threw one leg over the armrest and slouched comfortably.  She was in a full leather cat-suit and looked like a spy from a British TV show.

 “I’m a sadist.”  She announced, her voice strong and certain.  “A real sadist.  This means I get physical, sexual pleasure inflicting pain on others.  In fact, I can’t orgasm unless I’m listening to the torturous scream of another.”

 Although her voice was pure honey, Paul was rather bored hearing about her sex life.  He needed to move things along.  “You can spank me, Mistress.”  He said.

 Her brows raised in surprise.  “I can?”  She smiled.  “I have YOUR permission?”

 Paul began to panic, not knowing what to say.  “You may do as you wish, my body is yours.”

 “Oh,” She said nodding slowly.  “I MAY.  Thank you, that’s rather kind of you.”

 Stammering, Paul exclaimed.  “I am your servant!”

 “Are you my servant?”  She asked.  “You may have noticed that my dogs,” she motioned to her slaves.  “don’t speak unless ordered.”  She looked at Puppy.  “Speak!”

 “Woof!”  He said.

 She smiled deeply and then looked at Old Soldier.  “Speak!”

 “Woof!”  He grunted.

 Mistress laughed breathlessly.  “That’s all you’ll get out of them.  Old Soldier, show him.”

 Old Soldier reached behind his head, unzipped the back of his mask and pulled it off.  He was an older man, but ruggedly handsome.  His face was emotionless as he turned to Paul and opened his mouth.

 It took Paul several seconds to realize what he was looking at.

 Old Soldier had no tongue.

 Paul looked away as Mistress began to chuckle.  “See?  I don’t keep servants around for conversation.  I keep them around to serve.”  She leaned forward, eyeing Paul.  “I like beating people.  I like watching them crawl on the hard concrete while their knees turn bloody raw.  People pay me to be mean to them.  They pay me good money.  If I did not have to pay for rent and insurance and electricity and health care for my dogs for the rest of their lives, I would spend all day whipping the shit out of mother fuckers like you for free.  I would, but I can’t.  So, I charge for my time and I provide a professional service.  The problem is this now puts my clients, my slaves, in charge.  I have to respect things like, ‘Limits and Safe-words’.”  She made air quotes with her fingers.  “Get it?  The slave is the master.  They tell me how much, how hard, and how long, and if I want to keep getting paid I have to respect that.”

 Paul felt calmer hearing that.  He wanted a nice flogging, not his skin peeled off with a whip.

 Mistress leaned back and motioned to Medusa.  “Before coming to serve me, Medusa was an army medic.  A rocket-propelled grenade hit her.  The army gave her a medal, a couple hours of counseling, and kicked her to the curb.  It seems the Army somehow believes a woman’s combat injuries are different than a man’s combat injuries.  Guys get counseling shoved down their throats.  She had to beg for help.”  Mistress shook her head sadly.  “She now uses her medic skills for me, making sure my customers are safe.  She stands by so when I’m whipping the shit out of some asshole and his heart clicks, she’s right there with the defibrillator making sure he’s okay and ready to slave another day.”

 Mistress pointed to Old Soldier.  “Old Soldier here has skills.  He was a construction worker.  He built all of my bondage equipment and welded all of my custom cages together.   I named him Old Soldier because he reminded me of an Old Soldier.  He was at one time in the Army, or Navy or something.  Anyway, Old Soldier wanted to be my servant.  I told him I didn’t want a servant.  A servant had rights.  I wanted something less than a servant.  I wanted a dog and my dogs would be spayed.”

 At that, Old Soldier got to his feet, pulled down the zipper of his fly and stood in front of Paul.  Paul had never seen another man’s cock in real life and was surprised at the ridiculously tiny cock the very large man had.  It was a flabby tube at best.  Old Soldier grabbed it and lifted it up and showed just a bump of a scrotum.

 “What you’re looking at,” Mistress explained, “is an empty nut-sack.”  She smiled deeply, thrilled at the notion.  “I had Medusa cut out his balls.  They are currently sitting in a glass jar in my studio.”


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Freedom is Choice

By DX

A woman undergoes radical body modifications to make herself into the ultimate pleasure machine with no way to enjoy sex herself.  Can a woman with a vagina for a face find happiness?

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Copyrighted 2/2018, 9/2023. All rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without previous written permission.

 Sunlight flashed through the blurring trees and forced its way through the dirty, cracked bus windows.  She watched the light play in her hands and dance between her sprawling fingers.  She marveled at her hands, the way they moved, and their intricate articulation.  It was hard to conceive that it was all happening, that she was on her way to have them chopped off and replaced with metal hooks.

 The thought made her shiver with excitement. 

 She had saved for years for this day.  Scrimped every dollar, worked every overtime shift at the factory, lived the life of a monk, all to be able to pay Dr. Marcus to work her magic.

 She looked up as she neared her stop.  Dr. Marcus’ clinic was a massive, haunting, gothic manor ringed by sweeping manicured lawns and naughty topiaries of naked nymphs and satyrs.  High, black iron gates with sharpened spikes enclosed the grounds.  

 As the bus pulled up to the stop she saw the need for such security.

 Protesters armed with signs and anger shouted from within their roped off space.  “Abolish Slavery!”  They cried.  “Suffering ‘till Suffrage!”  Megaphone amplified voices shrilled with feedback as they put out their message that Dr. Marcus’ radical and dangerous surgeries that transformed humans into objects only stripped the hard fought rights of women.

 As she disembarked she noticed there were eight potential patients with her, yet the crowd seemed unconcerned that three were men and two transgender.   She held her head up as she walked by the mob; not noticing that one of them slipped under the restraining rope and ran up to her.

 “Thank you for setting back the Women’s movement a hundred years!”  The woman screamed before she was ushered back by the guard.  

 She paused and regarded the woman, young, handsome, and obviously of serious wealth.  “I’m here to empower women.”  She called back, and stunned the rabble into silence.  “My name is Milly; short for Millicent.  I have no master, no man to lord over me.  I am here with my own money and my own will.  I know what I am, and I want Dr. Marcus to make my body into just that!”  She scanned the shocked faces and fixed on the woman that had accosted her.  “Isn’t that what the clause, ‘Pursuit of Happiness’ is about?”  She smiled gently.  “You should applaud me, support me.  I am not here on some whim, or on the orders of another.  I’m here to start my life in my own fashion.  Yesterday I worked in a factory, a slave to a wage and a company.  Today, as I walk into Dr. Marcus’ clinic, I am free.”

 Milly nodded, almost to herself, and turned and walked the long, curving path up to the main house where she was greeted by a nurse who lead her to her room.  There, Milly stripped and donned a hospital smock.  She put her street clothes, identification, and the last of her money into a bin.  

 She knew she wouldn’t need them ever again.

 “Sorry you had to endure that.” 

 Milly looked up, startled at the sudden appearance of a woman stepping through the door.  She had short, cropped blonde hair with a slight gray at the temples.  Crystal blue eyes cast a wave of intelligence and wisdom as they peered up through horn rimmed glasses.   Dr. Marcus was a handsome woman, and Milly wondered if the good doctor somehow underwent her own knife to look that way.

 Dr. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed.  “They’re here once a month and stand outside and accuse me of everything from witchcraft to mind control.”  She flipped open a folder she had carried in with her.  “I gave up that stuff years ago.”  She looked up, smiling, checking if Milly thought the joke was funny.  When she didn’t respond, Dr. Marcus shook her head.  “And that’s why I’m a doctor, not a comedian.”

 Milly smiled politely.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I’m a bit nervous.”

 “As well you should be.”  Dr. Marcus glanced back at her folder.  “That’s a normal response to a procedure like this.”  She looked up.  “And it is an extensive procedure.”  She patted the bed and Milly sat down beside her.  “Starting with your feet,”  Dr. Marcus looked through her folder.  “your hamstrings will be shortened about ten centimeters; meaning you can only walk en-point like a ballerina.  Your toes will be modified to handle the weight of your body.  Gel pads will be inserted subdurally allowing you to be on your knees for extended periods of time.”  She flipped a page.  “A radical hysterectomy, removing of all your sex bits.  Your vagina, clitoris, and the ganglia of nerves commonly known as the ‘G’ spot will be yanked out, leaving just a urethra to pee from.”  She looked up, her cool blue eyes studying her patient.   “You will be horny, but incapable of doing anything about it.”

 Milly nodded emphatically.  “Yes.  That is correct.”

 Dr. Marcus looked at her file again, flipping a page.  “A gastro-intestinal rework.  That will mean you’ll slim down but your diet will be restricted to only simple proteins and juice.  A torso mesh wrap, which will be a permanent subdural Victorian under bust corset.  And, speaking of bust, enlarged from your 40D to 80H.”  She peered at Milly over the tops of her glasses.  “Nipples removed.”

 “Nipples removed.”  Milly confirmed, beginning to tremble with excitement.

 “Trachea tube in.”  Dr. Marcus had stopped reading and was watching Milly’s reaction.  “And for the gem on this crown, our Vaginal Face special.”  Dr. Marcus flipped the page showing Milly’s computer rendered new appearance.  “Your teeth will be removed, your jaw reconfigured and the tissue material from your vagina and lips will be fashioned in to a vagina on your face.”

 “And my hands.”  Milly added.

 “And your hands removed--which out of everything we’re doing is the easiest part, truthfully.”

 “But the most important.”  Milly insisted.  “I want my purpose to be to give others pleasure, and I will wear that purpose right up here for everyone to see and know.”  She pointed to her face.  “No other options.  I’ll have prosthetics which will enable me to do house chores, but my main function is to provide pleasure, freely and purely given altruistically, with no expectations of reciprocation.”

 Dr. Marcus was visibly impressed.  “No nobler a cause.”  She reached into the pocket of her lab coat.  “Take this pill.  It will make you drowsy and ready for surgery.”  She handed her a small envelope.  “Oh, almost forgot.  We never decided on your hair.”

 “It’s goes.”  She said emphatically.  “Easier to clean up and I can always wear a wig.”  She took the pill, and washed it down with a sip of water.  “Since these are going to be my last words ever, I want to make them count.”  She looked at the Doctor.  “Freedom is choice.”

 Dr. Marcus wrote the words on the cover of her folder.  She slipped from the bed and tucked the girl in.  

 In the quiet of the room, Milly drifted to sleep, dreaming of her new life.

 When she awoke she noticed that the sunlight had slid across the room.  Nothing appeared to be different until she noticed the mountain of bandages that sat on her chest.  She went to cup them but found bondages on the stubs of her arms.  She shivered with joy as she reached up with her stubs and touched her face.

 Bandages.  Her whole head had been wrapped up leaving only space for her eyes.  She tried to sit up, but the mammoth weight on her chest made it difficult.  She shifted back and forth and heaved forward, feeling the corset wrap across her stomach.  She looked for a mirror, but then decided all she would see was bandages so she lay back down.

 Over the next few weeks Milly was in the care of the physical therapists who taught her to walk all over again.  Once the bandages on her wrists were removed and her custom prosthetics strapped in place, she was taught to use them and not poke her eyes out accidentally.

 Finally the bandages were removed from her face.

 Swollen, bruised, and outlined with tiny staples and sutures, she looked like she had lost a very bad fight.

 She was the most beautiful thing she could ever imagine.  She blinked at the mirror, amazed at her sultry eyes.  Dr. Marcus not only gave a little sculpt to her eyes, but also hand implanted long, permanent lashes that fanned beckonly each time she blinked.  She looked carefully at her new vagina.  With a kiss her lips fluttered, blossoming and blushing like a morning flower.

 “It will get better.”  Dr. Marcus cautioned again.  “You’ve got a bit of healing to go through.”

 Wiping joyful tears from her eyes, Milly motioned to her face.

 Looking at her askance, Dr. Marcus tried deciphering her signals.  “Are you hungry?”

 She shook her head and made a longer gesture.

 “Ooooh, you want to try out your new, uh, love tunnel.”  She sighed softly.  “Then I’ll just accept that you’re happy with my work.”  Dr. Marcus smiled at Milly’s energetic nod but shook her head.  “Two weeks and we’ll see.”

 Milly waited a little over three days before she beguiled an orderly with the slow bat of her eyes and took him to a storage room.  She leaned him against a counter as she deftly un-zippered his trousers and exposed his manhood.  Her tongue lashed out, circling the swelling head and roping it deeper into her fleshy parlor.  She could feel her layers of muscles working, pulsing, as her enhanced salivary glands coated his cock and made it slick.

 She barely had to move her head before he came.

 Gulping him down she worked every last bit of salty quim from his body, surprised at the delicious, buttery taste and texture.  Her body being able to process only simple proteins had developed a craving for man juice, and Milly wanted more.

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Copyrighted 2/2018, 9/2023. All rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without previous written permission.

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