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Subject: Repost: Mercedes 6: "You Wish." {Morgan Preece} /C*R* 10/10/10/
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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)	


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