Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: nostrumo@nienor.in-berlin.de
Subject: TG: Clarence
Date: 4 Nov 1995 02:08:38 +0100

	Clarence

	"Clarence is an imbecile."

	"Imbecile is an understatement. There's nothing I can do for
him now. He's gone far beyond what I ever could have expected of him."

	The two women sat across from each other at the table, their
legs crossed, each one's hands folded neatly before her. The police
were in the dining room sipping coffee. The older woman looked at the
younger one and sighed. "What can we do now?"

	"Nothing. Apparently nothing at all."

	The older woman produced a cigarette and lit it with a gold
lighter, the smoke drifting wistfully from her mouth. "Why do I want
to do something?"

	The young woman shook her head slowly. "Because he is your
nephew?"

	"No. No, I don't think so. I don't think that's the reason."
She inhaled from the cigarette, held the smoke for a moment. "I think
it's because he's disgraced me. Because he did it again. This cancels
my plans for the next three months or so. Spain must be forgotten
about. He does it again, and again and again. And each time I have
warned him. Each time I've told him he will be punished. Apparently he
refuses to listen. What would you do?"

	"What would I do? I would punish him."

	"How?"

	"I'm not certain. But I would make him thoroughly miserable, I
can guarantee you that. And I would somehow make the punishment fit
the crime."

	The older woman shifted her weight, her silks rustling about
her. "What would fit assault?"

	"He raped her. That goes far beyond assault."

	"Rape, then."

	The young woman smiled. "Castration?"

	"Frankly, that's not out of the question. But he'd still have
to answer to the police, and it's something he'd get used to."

	"Really?"

	"Certainly. Like the loss of limb. The human mind is quite
resilient, especially when its woes are directly related to the body.
The mind sometimes recovers faster than the body. That boy simply must
be punished, and I'm afraid it must be a bit more than simple
castration."

	"'Simple' castration?" the young woman asked, her jaw
dropping.

	"He'd still have to answer to the police," answered the other
woman. "I'd rather that didn't have to happen."

	For a moment there was silence between them; the only sound
was the resonance of the two officers' voices carrying through the
wall from the other room.

	"He's done it again," said the young woman.

	"I'm afraid he has," said the older woman, very matter-of-
factly. "I have an idea, Frances, but it's awfully strange. Let me
tell you?"

	"Yes, of course."

	Clarence sat impatiently in the bedroom, one leg chained to
the bedpost. When the door opened, he sat bolt upright and began to
shout.

	"What is this? Has this entire house gone completely fucking
crazy? Do you realize that I'm chained to the bed?"

	Louise sat across from him, a safe distance away, and spoke
slowly, not waiting for him to calm down. "Clarence, you are an
imbecile. You have raped a very young girl, and the police involvement
has hurt me and my household very terribly. I can not tolerate this
any further, Clarence. You will be leaving here tomorrow."

	He was still shouting as she left the room.

	There was some sort of a drug involved; that's all he could
remember when he woke up. That he had been drugged, and had been
asleep for uncountable time.

	And now that he was awake he was completely disoriented. He
was strapped to a table in a brightly lit room, unable to move. All he
could do was shout. It was still a luxury.

	When he had finished cursing, he heard the woman's voice next
to him, soft. "Your aunt wanted you awake for this. I understand your
name is Clarence."

	"Fuck you. Fuck her. Let me up."

	"Now I know why she wanted you awake."

	There was a pinching in his arm, and he slowly realized that
he had been administered an injection. It slowly made him numb. Soon
he couldn't even curse any more.

	The woman who had spoken to him before leaned over his face,
obscuring his field of vision. She was startlingly attractive.
Clarence wanted to make a lewd comment but could not. He was immobile,
unable to even close his mouth.

	The woman fitted a hose over his mouth and swiftly pushed it
down his throat. He felt himself gag, but the reflex was so distant
that it did not last, and it was not uncomfortable. He found he could
breathe around the tube. He felt a warmth in his throat, he understood
it to be gas, and he got afraid.

	"I know you are afraid," said the woman, sitting beside him.
"You are supposed to be afraid. I know what you did to that girl,
Clarence. You will never want to hear your voice again. You will
understand this tomorrow."

	When he awoke the next day, there was no more tube down his
throat, but his mouth was dry and his throat hurt slightly. He felt
sore. He was still strapped down, he still could not move.

	The woman entered the room again and she sat beside him. He
began to speak, and as soon as he did he started to panic.

	His voice was soprano, very nasal, nearly a squeak. It was the
voice of a girl. Not simply feminine, though; it had the qualities
associated with the droning giggles of a caricature, a bimbo. When he
tried to yell he found that he could not. "What happened to me? What
the fuck did you do to me? When will this wear off?"

	The woman heard the panic in his girlie voice and responded.
"It won't wear off, Clarence. It's your new voice forever. Until you
die."

	He was suddenly silent. He didn't believe it. It couldn't be
true, it was all a scheme designed to hurt him, to traumatize him. He
saw right through it. It wouldn't work. He wouldn't let it. They
couldn't have changed his voice forever.

	"You have a new name. It's Missy."

	"Fuck you," he said, ashamed at the sound of his voice.

	"Hush," said the woman, and she left the room.

	For a few moments Clarence sat awake, slightly afraid. His
situation was still too strange, too disorienting, to have a serious
effect on him. He knew that he had been drugged, that his voice had
been changed, but he knew that it was all temporary, that none of it
would last. And he fancied that he was smart enough to second guess
his aunt. She was obviously trying to traumatize him, so as long as he
kept his wits, her plan wouldn't work. He relaxed beneath the bonds,
forcing himself to do so.

	The next time the attractive woman entered the room he was
asleep, and she injected him with a syringe of a sedative to be sure
that he did not awaken. His discomfort was to be mental, not
physical. Such were her orders.

	There were always drugs administered; they were utilized
constantly throughout the day, and a few times over the course of the
night. They came in all forms: injections, capsules, cremes. Sometimes
when he would lie prone, hazed by a sedative, he would become afraid
again as he felt the stinging warmth of a topical ointment as it was
vigorously applied to his skin.

	Eventually he was allowed to walk about the room, always
tethered so that he would not be able to move too far. His voice was
still ultra feminine, and it distressed him greatly. He was beginning
to feel helpless, truly helpless, and it was a sensation which left
him empty. And very afraid.

	His body weight began to drop and he noticed that his strength
was waning to the point that he had difficulty getting out of bed
sometimes. He knew it was a result of the drugs they were giving him,
of the ointments and injections. His hair had fallen out and began to
grow back, although it seemed to be growing from his head at a rapid
pace, much faster than any other place on his body. In fact, the rest
of his body remained hairless, including his sex, which hung
immaturely between his legs, always exposed, another source of
embarrassment. Clarence had stopped fighting. He was resigned to his
bizarre captivity and besides, he was too weak.

	"Hello , Missy," said the woman, walking in the room and
shutting the door behind her. "They tell me that you're ready to go
through with it."

	"Go through with what?" Clarence asked, the chill in his voice
sounding silly at such a high pitch.

	"Your skin is soft enough, so I think we can finally do it."

	"Do what?" Clarence was overwhelmed with a directionless dread
as the woman spoke to him. He had a terrible feeling in his stomach.

	The door opened again and two orderlies appeared with a tray
and a stretcher. Clarence tried vainly to resist them as they held up
his arm and inserted the needle. "No," he squeaked, "I'm sorry.
Please. Please let me go. Let me go back to what I was before." He
felt himself falling unconscious, and he knew as his mind slipped away
into sleep that he could not stop them from doing whatever terrible
thing they had planned.

	"Hush," said the woman distantly, the last thing he heard,
"try to relax."

	The older woman opened the door slowly, letting the man in
from the chill night air. "Hello," she said, smiling and extending her
hand, "you must be Jeffrey. How are you? It's so good to meet you."
She shut the door behind him.

	Jeffrey smiled at her and nodded. He was a big man, well toned
beneath his shirt and denim jacket, a rough beard on his face. She
could see that he was not very intelligent. That was good.

	The young woman entered from the other room. She smiled.

	"Are you Missy?" asked Jeffrey, obviously a little
disappointed.

	"No, silly. I'm the woman you spoke to on the phone. The one
who made the arrangements. Remember? You called my ad in the paper."

	"Yeah. Yeah, right." He looked away, distracted.

	"Well," said the older woman, looking at the younger one,
"shall we introduce him to Missy?"

	The young woman nodded. "Certainly." She turned her face to a
door on the other side of the room and yelled. "Missy! Jeffrey is
here!"

	There was a moment of silence, then the clicking sound of high
heeled shoes on the wooden floor, and then the door opened.

	A stunning young blond woman stepped slowly into the room,
looking briefly up at the three of them before blushing and looking
shamefully down at her high-heeled feet. She had a heart shaped face
of delicate beauty; her lashes were long and full, thick blue
eyeshadow and black eyeliner shaped her eyelids daintily, deep red
lipstick covered her lips with a shiny gloss, making them inviting and
kissable. A full honey blond mane framed her pretty face and draped
enticingly over her swelling bosom. She was completely stacked: huge
tits, tiny wasp waist and full, voluptuous ass. Long shapely legs and
delicate hands with carefully manicured pink fingernails completed her
adorable body. She was dressed to show off her assets, also, wearing a
skin tight shiny pink spandex mini-dress with a big pink bow between
her tits. Her lacy underwear was outlined through the constrictive
material, and the outline of her large nipples was clearly visible.
The dress was very low cut, her ample cleavage proudly displayed, a
small red heart tattoo on the left breast. Black lace pantyhose
encased her delicious legs and her feet were perched on matching pink
stiletto pumps with bows on them, the heels five inches high. Huge
hoop earrings protruded from beneath her sexy hair, and the sweet
smell of perfume surrounded her. All in all, from the tip of her wild
blond hair to her pink high-heeled toenails, she was every bit the wet
dream bombshell.

	"Missy, this is Jeffrey," said the young woman, smiling.

	"Hello," Missy said softly, her voice high and girlish. She
kept looking at the floor, her arms crossed over her swelling breasts
as if to hide them.

	"She's just shy," said the older woman.

	Jeffrey shook his head slowly in appreciation and whistled
lightly through his teeth, striding purposefully across the room and
putting his muscular arms around the frightened temptress, taking time
to gape at her wondrous cleavage. "Hello, gorgeous," he said,
smiling.

	"Well, you two had better be going now," said the older woman,
gesturing to the door. Jeffrey led Missy toward it, and she jiggled on
her high heels behind him, stopping now and again to tug at the tight
hemline of her dress in a futile attempt at modesty.

	They made their way down the driveway and Jeffrey helped the
frail little woman into the passenger side of his truck. He walked
around to the other side, got in, and they drove quickly away.

	The two women stood at the window, watching them drive off.
"Missy's first date," said the older woman, laughing. "How sweet."

	The young woman laughed also. "Did you see the look on her
face as she was leaving? I could see the tears in her eyes."

	"I'd be scared too, dear, if I were as sexy as that, dressed
the way she was. She's asking for trouble."

	"Yes," said the young woman, laughing harder. "She'll have a
tough time fighting that boy off, that's for sure. Where are they
going?"

	"To the bar," said the older woman, "he wants to show her off
to the guys."

	"Well, she is quite a trophy, with a face and body like that."

	Then they laughed, and they laughed until they couldn't stand
anymore.

				* * *

	When they got up the next morning and Missy still wasn't home,
they laughed some more.