by Sydney Michelle © Omphale Press, 2001
Introduction
Anton loved to play the angles. Having an edge, some trick the sucker didn’t know about, made him feel big, on top of the world, in control. But when he pressed his luck a little too far, he really found out about being in control.
Marilyn’s code of honor did not include meekly tolerating being played for a sucker. When restitution and revenge come together, the urge is irresistible. It takes money to make money, even when the costs are more than cash.
Sharon services her clients' needs as completely as she can. With international connections, who better to dispose of a little problem? With some ingenuity and persistence, a new placement service takes advantage of the possibilities of the web.
Deborah is to make sure nothing goes wrong. After all we can't have Maria running around loose, can we? But more things can go wrong than a loose skirt. The bruises that hurt the worst are internal.
What would you do to make someone disappear? If confronted with the choice, which door would you choose? And who's to say how you would make the best of a bad situation?
In the game of love, you have to know what the stakes really are, as well as when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.
Chapter One
Maria shifted on the blanket, the small cage scarcely providing room enough to move to keep blood flowing. Thirsty, the wheat blonde head turned to the water bottle tube. Crimson lips encircled the tube, coaxing fluid onto the tongue. Maria sucked only a small amount, not wanting to mess the bedding. Hunger panged, so crimson lips encircled the knobby, thick, bulbous tube, sucking forth a measured amount of sweet white fluid.
They are not displeased. Food flows. Why has it been so long? They should have taken me out by now to exercise me. As the head turned, watching the door, a thin brass chain scrapping the slot above, pulling gently on the collar. Firm breasts burrowed in warm folds, slender ankles under soft blue wool. Maria sighed, closed blue eyes with long lashes, tried to slumber while waiting to be led from the cage.
Four months? Only four months? Then I was footloose and fancy free. Now look at me, barefoot and bare breasted, curled and collared, caged and chained. Fancy, maybe, but certainly not free.
The door swung open and Maria's face pressed against cool black bars. Irene, the honey blonde exerciser, walked into the room, training lead in hand, body spilling out of tight white blouse, legs emerging from a stripe of black. "Maria, muchacha? Se preparer para trabajar?"
Maria's head nodded as she got on all fours. Blonde curls passed through the opening, stretching the brass chain to its limit, presenting the collar rings for the snap of the lead. "Aiyah, mi muchacha linda. Just enough today to work the kinks out. Today may be your big day. Do you need to squat?" Irene snapped the exercise lead on a D-ring, unhooked the cage chain, lowered the cage door. Maria crawled from the cage, crouched, forehead bumping crimson nails three times. Only then did Irene let out enough slack for her charge to squat at the bucket.
There wasn't much, there never was now, but the slow dribble of fluid and soft mess from within comforted Maria, a sign that life was granted for another day. Finished, taut thighs raised the trim body. Irene handed over paper for a thorough cleansing. Maria did as taught, reaching behind, wiping front to back, running a paper covered pointed finger tip inside the anal ring. Cleanliness was demanded. Failure to completely clean the crack earned time on the contortion rack.
Maria dropped tissues in the bucket beneath her, turned, raised cheeks for inspection. Irene's hands played over solid pink rumps, thumbs pulling apart the cheeks. The fine blonde hairs showed no sign of excrement. "Bueno, Maria. You have learned well. Do not forget your lessons when you leave us."
Irene lightly popped the upraised cheek with her crop. "Andele, muchacha, prance, entonces trota.. Ten times around the room."
Maria began to trot as Irene played out lead. Maria pranced like a spirited filly, breasts gently bobbing. Irene directed the pace with her crop, one crack for faster, two for slower. After ten laps, Irene reeled the blonde in.
"Stretches, muchacha, stretch the ache from your limbs."
Maria sat on the mat, legs spreading, arms rotating, body bending from the waist. Swiftly the entire routine was completed, splits, rock backs so toes touched curls, back bends so hands and feet sat flat on the floor. Maria's body held positions that would have destroyed it a hundred days before. The final position was one of submission, feet tops flat on the floor, arms outstretched before, head down between the arms.
"Muy bueno, muchacha. You will be pleasing when you leave, lithe, nimble, agile. In a couple of years, when your hair curves around those pert pyramids, men will give anything to have you. Now put on your face."
Maria sidled on her knees to the Japanese table, slender fingers raised the mirror top. Sky blue eyes looked back from under darkened lashes, a pile of ash blonde curls ending just above two gold toned studs in each ear. Cotton balls cleaned the skin, sponges applied foundation, brushes powder. Lips pursed to receive fresh lipstick. Pencils applied fresh color to pale brows. The finished face was also presented for inspection.
Irene placed finger and thumb on Maria's chin, wiggled the head slightly for a better view. She nodded approval, produced a fresh pair of light blue panties. "You may dress for your time out of your cage."
"Thank you, Mistress." Maria's hand grasped the fine cotton.
"En el espanol, muchacha. You must practice."
"Muchas gracias, mia dama." Irene released her grip. Maria rose, gracefully raising and lowering one pointed foot through the leg hole, then the other. Blue material softly rose up trim legs, settling around the nipped waist. A hand smoothed material behind, reached under the front to tuck and smooth. A bra fastened in place strained against the broad C-cups, the nipples points pushing out light blue material.
Irene nodded her approval. "As good as you look, you really should have been born una nina, no un nino." Maria flushed with pleasure.
"Por favor, mia Dama? Para una esclava?"
"Si, mia esclava linda. Que es?"
"Am I to be claimed today? Ha sido cuatro dias. I have not been with DeeDee for three nights now."
"And she's been moping around the entire time for lack of you."
"Tell her I'm sorry. And say I ask her forgiveness for hurting her. But it's best we not see each other. She knows why."
"I will. Are you so eager for your new life, mia poca paloma? So eager to serve sus Senores nuevos? I cannot say for sure you will leave today."
"More afraid. Couldn't I stay here and work off what I owe?"
"What's done is done. Senora Costello was assured los Senores Colorado y Schwartz will treat you kindly." Irene's eyes flashed. "So long as you work hard to please them. And their clients."
"That's what worries me. Los Senores know how I am equipped, but their clients won't. If they find out, they might complain. And mis Senores may punish me for what I cannot help."
Irene smiled at the slave's nervousness. "They would not want to be embarrassed either. You can be equipped with a prosthetic and provide the world's largest clit. But if that fails, they might reequip you."
Maria gulped. "They might take my manhood?"
Irene laughed. "Look at you! It's barely works now. I understand that after your hormone dosage it almost certainly won't come back. It's not like being a woman is a bad thing. You might as well get the plumbing that goes with that lovely, limber bod of yours. You'd have one advantage over us natural born females: no monthly curse. Think about it! In the meantime, your dance warm ups."
Maria spent ten minutes moving to the music in a daze, neck rolls, shoulder rolls, belly rolls barely felt. Neutered! Dr Lampe said it might come back when, when . . . Become a woman? A bang tail? A slit and clit? Maria mulled the thought.
Irene let her charge sip water from a cup. Maria sat quietly on a cushion, aware she could not escape, stunned her fears had been confirmed. Not a man. But not a woman.
The door opened to admit a pile of chestnut hair. "Irene? Bring Maria to Packing in fifteen minutes. The truck will be here for her at ten."
"Yes, Miz Costello." The door closed. "Well Maria, it looks like your big day has arrived. Off to the airport, a short flight, and then vos Senores nuevos claim you. You may even serve them dinner tonight."
Maria looked up, eyes pleading. "Por favor, dis me que me vaya?"
Irene shook her head, curls dancing. "I really don't know. They bid from Mexico City. Five years of service. Then perhaps you will return. But maybe you will prefer to stay there, in a new life."
"Please, Mistress Irene, please! Isn't there some way to avoid this? Let me beg Mistress Marilyn to keep me as her slave here."
"And what would that change, Maria? Still a spike tail with boobs. A pretty face with mismatched plumbing."
"Please, Mistress Irene!" Tears began trickling down her cheeks. "I could serve drinks. I could dance in the casino. I wouldn't be raped."
"You put a lot of people to a lot of trouble. A deal's a deal. You sold fair and square and you're going South. I've seen you lick that feeding phallus. You love it. On the flight you really should think about asking to have your cock changed around. Now pull yourself together. Hands behind your waist."
Maria bent her head to the floor, sniffling, placed her hands behind her waist, palms up. Padded leather buckled on her wrists, a double snaffle fastening them together for transport. Irene pulled her back on her knees by hair, changed the exercise lead for a short leash. "Come along. Let's not keep Mistress Marilyn waiting."
Maria followed Irene into a room she did not know, vast, long rows of metal shelves behind a glass and masonry wall. An open space had waist high metal tables, rolls of packing materials hanging on the wall. Before her six wooden panels lay flat. The second panel had foam rubber pads, canvas straps, and a piece of two by four with two foamed hollows attached to it.
She glanced around the room, spotted Mistresses Marilyn and Sharon. When Irene unsnapped her wrists, she twisted away, throwing herself at Mistress Marilyn's feet. "Please don't do this to me, Mistress! Please don't ship me out! I'll do anything for you here."
Miz Costello cocked an eyebrow at Irene. "She's been begging ever since she heard she was to be shipped. She's afraid she'll be raped."
"Pull yourself together, Maria. Rape, business, or pleasure, it's all in your attitude. They won't beat you unnecessarily. They paid too much for you. I sold you, I'll ship you. Irene, clean her out."
Irene pulled Maria up by her hair, led her to a toilet. Maria drank the proffered bottle. Almost immediately her gut burbled, fluids running through her. A great squirt, almost painful in volume, flushed out. "What?"
"Diuretic. Makes sure you won't mess yourself on the journey. Pea if you can."
Maria shook her head. "Please, Mistress Irene, I'm scared."
Irene lifted her up. "I know pretty bird; it's a big change. Here, suck this." Irene popped a hard candy in Maria's mouth.
Maria's eyes opened wide, questioning.
"Burundanga candy. It will help you tolerate the flight." And not remember a thing between here and there. "Now on the base so we can strap you in. You don't want to bruise in flight."
A foot behind the knee made Maria crumple, ankles positioned in the hollows. A two by two hinged board closed over them, a quick release catch snapped shut. A broad canvas strap pinned her knees to the pads. Pulled forward onto her hands, a bung slipped in her raw anus, plugging her completely. Pushed back, her hips settled on the board. The canvas strap passed back over through another buckle. They rocked her to see her thighs would not shift if the crate tumbled.
Irene buckled a strap around her elbow, passed it behind her back to encircle the other, pulling her arms tight to her body. Maria looked at the women in the room, Surely there was something she could say, promise, that would avoid this fate?
Irene knelt beside her, taut nipples inches from Maria's wide eyes. "I'm going to miss that wet tongue on my tits. Open wide." Irene pulled Maria's head back by her forelock, other hand pulling down her jaw. "Tammy? Gag."
A red headed maid knelt on Maria's other side, holding a set of straps attached to D-rings holding a two inch long leather oval. Maria tasted raw hide fill her mouth as her jaw was clamped shut. A strap buckle behind her head, another under her jaw. Straps passed beside her nose, one long strap passing back over her head. "We don't want any strange noises attracting the curious, now do we?"
Maria shook her head, tried to shake off the bridle to no avail. Her eyes were wide with fright as she was bent forward, breasts pressing her knees. The canvas strap made one last pass, cinching her tightly in place. "M-m-m! M-m-m!" Maria shook her head in futile protest.
"Before you finish, Irene?" Marilyn knelt beside the folded up Maria. Tenderly she kissed her forehead, eyes. "I just want you to know, Maria, that besides being profitable, it's been a pleasure to turn you into a she-male. I hope you decide to become a cunt. I just know it will give you so much pleasure in your new life in Mexico. Just play the cards you've been dealt, and I'm sure your hot box will give you lots of bliss."
Marilyn stood up. "Box her up, Irene."
Maria's hands were strapped beside her head, a little play in the cords to the cuff rings. "You'll have an oxygen bottle with you in case you need it. Just put the mask on your nose and turn this valve. Got that?"
Maria looked up with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights.
Her chin was pushed into foam. Turnbuckle snaps caught her collar to the base. Power screws tightened the pad. A thermal blanket was packed around her, then foam blocks. The growing shadows and click of snaps told her the pieces behind her and beside her were raised and secured. The whirr of a power drill shot more screws home, reinforcing the joins.
"Maria? Mistress Sharon. You reacted nicely on the block. Your buyers are very fair. Do your best to please them and I'm sure I won't have to sell you again before your contract ends." She patted Maria's cheek.
"Just so you don't get claustrophobia. Sweet dreams and adios, Amiga." Irene slipped a nightshade into position for a blindfold.
Maria smelled new wood close against her face, heard more screws driven home. More foam blocks filled the space around her. She sobbed as the box darkened, the final snaps closing the top over her. She was a sold slave, crated to ship.
Five minutes later the air freight truck pulled up to the loading dock. The driver handled the crate with a power hand truck. Marilyn repeatedly cautioned him its contents were fragile, the box must stay upright as the arrows indicated. The delivery must not be delayed.
Tracking number in hand, four women stood on the dock, waving as if to say goodbye. The driver could have sworn he heard them shout, "Vaya con Dios, Amiga!" Nevada women could sure be nutty.
"Miz DeLaCruz? Miz Costello to see you."
"Ask her to wait a few minutes. Then hold my calls."
Sharon sent the contract termination lists to the printer, closed the app, then checked her face in her compact. Have to be together, look professional. "Send her in, Mimi."
The strawberry blonde rose to greet her friend and client, a handsome woman in her fifties, her black heels and gleaming pile of chestnut hair making her appear even taller than her six feet in stocking feet. "Take a load off. What brings you over here, Marilyn? Usually you just call. Can I have Mimi bring you anything? Coffee? Water?"
Marilyn waved her hand. "Not today, thanks. I have a little problem and I hoped your domestic help placement service could help me out."
"Of course. What do you need? Maids? Live-in special maid service for high rollers? Whatever I can do."
"I don't need to hire in. I need to place out. Permanently. And extremely discretely."
"I have clients who live out. Individual ranches, some tucked away brothels, even a boarding school, all very remote. Is that discrete enough?"
"Maybe. I thought an overseas placement, maybe a ranchero or another, shall we say, employer? In the interior. You have such clients?"
"A few. Some clients come up and need a maid during their stay. Tomas deals bull semen and ag equipment down there. We could contact some of his clients to see if they needed help. Just what is your problem?"
"Ever since I got the casino when Bennie died, turning a profit has been tough. The Vegas mega-houses just hold the clientele with a death grip with all they have going. A nice little out-of-the-way place just has a hard time getting sufficient handle to make a go. And the cheats know we can't afford as much security as the palaces." Marilyn swallowed. "Some water would be welcome, after all."
"Of course." Sharon pushed the intercom. "Mimi? Nevada's finest for Miz Costello." She looked at her obviously worried friend. "Has one of your maids been in cahoots with a ring?"
Marilyn shook her head. "No, thank God. I least I think not. But we were hit pretty hard." Marilyn paused as Mimi set down a bottle and glass, ample breasts practically spilling out of the white sleeveless blouse.
"That will be all, Mimi, thank you." Both women watched the tight black skirt sashay out of the office, closing the door behind.
"Actually Mimi's why I thought you could help me out."
"Mimi? You do realize that Mimi is a little differently equipped?"
"Precisely. A stick tail. And a beautiful one at that. So perhaps you could place a pretty little cheat somewhere. A contract paid up front so I can recover some of the money he cheated from me."
"He? You want to place a man as a domestic?"
Marilyn sipped water, clearing her throat. "I just want my money back. Twenty thou he knicked me for over two days before we caught on. I want it back. Plus costs. For how long can you place a servant?"
"Up to five years. But the market for transvestite maids is not great. Depending on how they look, some placements have had to pay to be taken on. Families aren't always comfortable with a live gun under the skirt, especially with daughters. That's usually who is looking for live in help."
"He looks fine. Fine features, wheat blonde hair. And he'll look even better. A lot better. What if he weren't a live gun?"
"That would help. Maids go for just under $6,500 a year. I get twelve and half percent on contracts up to fifty kay, seven and a half above that. Is he bilingual? Domestic skills to make him more valuable? Cook? Hairdresser?"
"Un paquito. But not really. Only skill is fast talk card cheat."
"Pity. Most families seeking help are bilingual. It does close off a lot of businesses. How's his English? Families want culture, not argot."
"That's OK. How long will it take to line up a placement?"
"Hard to say. Sixty days minimum. Maybe four months. Say three."
"Fine. I'll need time to work on her anyway. A nice set of jugs doesn't sprout overnight, you know. Let's see, five year contract, say thirty-two, less five. That just about make me whole. A little more for contingencies would be nice, though."
"Uh, he wouldn't be available for special services, would he? A little oral hygiene? That would at least double his value. And the less he could say the better. To shop him, I'm going to need pictures, and a bio. Height, weight, skills, that kind of thing. Soon? And a good estimated time of delivery."
"Fine. We can doll her up, makeup, padding, false hair, maid's outfit from the hotel. She'll be cute. But no nudes for at least sixty days. 'Til she has something to show."
"Just enough to solicit interest. We'll provide full packets later only to those truly interested. He'll have to sign a transferable employment contract."
"Sounds doable. Give some thought to how I might get her price up without a lot of time or expense. Give me a contract and I'll drop it and snaps off tomorrow." Marilyn downed half a glass of water. "Uhm, good. How is Mimi working out anyway? When is she going for snip and clip?"
"She's very diligent. You'd be surprised how many aren't, even without a lot of employment choices. She's passed her one year, but with the costs of accommodating her growing bosoms, she'll have to save carefully for another year before she can pay for her pussy. I really figure I've got her for another couple of years before she's able to give more than lip service and gets carried away by some man."
Marilyn drained her glass, stood up, shook Sharon's hand. "Thanks, Palomino. That's a load off my mind. Prosecuting wouldn't do any good, he'd be gone right after the indictment. Killing him just isn't quite my cup of tea. But putting him more or less permanently off my range strikes me as ideal. I'll work on getting her ready, you find me a buyer. I wonder how an auction would do? Nah, don't want any mess with disappointed bidders." She turned on her heel and was gone.
Sharon sat back, absent mindedly playing with her ear tendrils. I wonder? Personal maid? Nanny? Corporate maid? School or hotel. There's that whorehouse for women. Maybe they'd like something different. Exotic dancer? Wonder if this dudette has any clerical skills? Sharon brought up her client data base and began building queries.
Marilyn strode off the elevator, down the narrow corridor. Mr. Zayler would get his comeuppance. His compatriots wouldn't spend much effort to find him, just enough to be sure he wouldn't get them in trouble.
From cheat to maid. I hope Sharon places him in a Mexican brothel. Maybe he can work his way down to whore.
Marilyn opened the heavy, dusty door at the end of the hall, entered the hadite block room. Bennie had it cut into the hill when the Silver Palace was a premier destination, competing with Vegas for those who liked their vice in a cooler clime. Thick walls that made it an ideal wine cellar also made it a fine place to hold unwanted guests.
A nude blonde figure knelt under the single caged light shining from the ceiling. It's knees were spread, tied wide to a broom handle, ankles crossed and bound behind. The hands were lashed together, palms out, a lead pulling them back to the ankle binding. Rope pulled the elbows in behind the back, arching the chest from the bend of the shoulders. Prick and testicles hung free beneath a light fuzzy patch. The face hung down, ear long blonde hair hiding the pained expression induced by prolonged tension. The head raised at the sound of footsteps.
"How long are you going to keep me here? I want a lawyer. I know my rights. I'll sue you for false imprisonment."
Marilyn glanced at the tall dark woman in blazer and gray skirt sitting in the shadows. "He's been quiet until you walked in, Miz Costello. I don't count the occasional moan and groan."
"Well, Anton, you seem to be under several misapprehensions. First, that you have rights. Second, that Miranda applies to private citizens. And finally, that I will turn you over to public authority for prosecution. Wrong on all counts."
The blonde's face visibly paled, even in the dim light. "Wha', what are . . . I'll get you the money back."
"Nice try. But crud like your buddies won't stop if even restitution is the only consequence when you are caught. Proportional response is not the defense policy in this business. No, you're going to disappear."
"Disappear?! You're not . . ?" The face blanched, balls shrank up.
"Uhm. I don't see that I a choice. But you still do. There's choice 'A', which you've already guessed. No nasty DNA remains after the coyotes digest your bits and pieces. Or there's door number two. Would you like to hear what lies behind the door?"
The blonde head nodded. "Speak up. I can't hear you."
"Yes, I would."
"I believe some respect is in order. Even if you want the second choice, I might decide it's just too much trouble. So address me, and any of my staff or anyone we bring to see you as 'Mistress.' And you will speak only to respond to questions or after being given permission. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
Marilyn's hand stung his cheek, her nails raising welts on the back blow. "Obviously not. Try again."
"Yes, Mistress, I understand."
"Better. We'll have to work on the tone. Now for door number two. There's a chance that you can be of useful service south of the border. A menial, if you have no skills. There's not much demand for striplings, so you'll have to play the part of maid. But you will have to look the part. Dress, demeanor, hair, makeup, body hair, breasts, buns."
"Breasts?"
Whap! "You are a slow learner. Deborah, bring some persuaders. Little Miss Disrespect needs to have her etiquette lessons reinforced. Don't forget the kennel and stables. And bring a baster from the kitchen." Marilyn turned back to her captive. "Yes, breasts. Something nice and perky a bar maid can display bending to serve drinks. I'd change your cock from an outie to an innie if it weren't so expensive and didn't take too long."
Marilyn strode over to the captive, reached down and lifted the ball sac. "On the other hand, these would make a nice little addition to my trophy case. Something to show your friends when they come looking. If they bother. But you males are so attached to these. You'd rather die than give them up, and there's no profit in that. Just more expense."
Marilyn shook the balls and penis before releasing them. "Tiny, aren't they? Perhaps Anton's beginning to realize he's between a rock and a hard spot. What do you think, Maria?"
The blonde's head swivelled, trying to find the other woman.
"Oh, that's you, or rather who you will be if you choose not to die. Trite, perhaps, but common. And your owners can call you what they will while they own you. So what will it be, Anton? Slice and dice or curls and collars? Don't answer yet. I want a considered choice. After all, it will affect your life for a long time. Maybe forever."
Marilyn sat on a stored table, deep in the shadows, out of sight behind her victim. Idly she went through the contents of his pockets, the detritus of a life ended. A small amount of cash, some credit cards, three driver's licenses in different names, a parking stub, a Laker's ticket stub, a wallet photo of a smiling brunette inscribed "To my Sweet Anton. Annie." Keys, room passcard, change. Clean out his room, turn in the key. They'll auto charge his credit card. The car would have to be disposed of, if it weren't a rental.
He knelt, aching, long past struggling against the knots. The bitch had left no Houdini slack and the only comfort was to relax as much as the pull on his elbows allowed. Hobson's choice. Scattered remains in the desert. Or a serving wench somewhere. Implants can be taken out. As long as there's life, there's hope. Hope for revenge on all these bitches. The Angles will come looking, wondering why the money stopped coming. She doesn't know Bernie. He doesn't take no for an answer. And Annie. Annie will wonder what happened to me. Maybe.
DeeDee returned, arms ladened. The burden spread over another table. "What now, Miz Costello?"
"Prepare to string him up. Large hooks should be in the ceiling by the back wall. We used to hang plants from them when this was a party room. It's quite high, so you'll need to use a weight to throw the end over them. Did you bring collars? We'll need two small ones for his ankles."
"Upside down, huh? The blood rush dizzies them for faster results."
Marilyn smiled. "I don't want to be here all day. I've wasted enough time on the little bastard already. Did you bring a riding crop?"
"Yep. And a pony bridle. The baster's over here. What's that for?"
"I'll need a little water. He's going to have a belly full while he hangs around. A little sample of what he's in for as a Mexican maid."
Marilyn picked up a carving knife and strode before the captive. "It's not final, but have you made a tentative decision? The carving knife or the shaving razor?"
He looked up at the shadowy face. "Yes, Mistress. I want to live."
"As a maid"
"Yes, Mistress. Even as a maid."
"Very good, Maria. You've had first degree, describing your options. Now for the second and third degrees. And a little of the fourth degree so you may know the consequences of your choice when you sign your contract. Never let it be said you made an uninformed choice."
"If you choose to die, Maria, we will start by scalping you, then cut off your ears, They will hang before your eyes while we skin you alive, rub salt on your exposed flesh, then hack you up by small joints. Those cuts will be cauterized with a hot iron so you do not bleed to death prematurely. Then we will castrate you, pinch off your penis and nipples. Sometime after you beg to die, we will slice open your belly and field dress you, leaving your beating heart and lungs exposed. You will hang upside down by your stumps when we open an artery and let your life blood drain out. Slowly. When you are dead we will cut off your head, run your body through the meat saw, then scatter your pieces in the desert for the buzzards and coyotes. We do practice recycling here. Your de-brained skull will go in a clunker to the crusher. In a couple of weeks, its particles should be passing through a mini-mill's rollers. What's the matter, Maria? You look a little green. Don't you find the choice appealing? You weren't under the illusion you would have some quick, painless death, were you?"
"You wouldn't, . . . Surely, not. Please say no, Mistress. That's too horrible for anyone to do."
"We'll strike well read from your skills. At least history. You really should have read more, Maria. Indians, pardon me, 'Native Americans', were quite imaginative when they put their minds to it. Apparently they found prolonged torture quite stimulating. As if our 'civilized' forebears lagged in their skills. Doctors learned much from royal torturers who were quite skilled at keeping the victim alive to talk. Or scream as case may be. But you say you are not interested in dieing."
He felt hands grasp his ankles, something thick, cool, but warming fasten around them. Fingers fumbled with ankle bindings, tingling began in his toes as blood flowed more easily.
"There's door number two, Maria, life as a maid, a she-male, a coman. You retain your precious jewels, at least until you ask for a slit and clit. Most changes are simply style, letting hair and nails grow, plucking brows into a fashionable shape, removing your body hair. Then there are certain skills to be presentable, dress, makeup, hair, polish and perfume. But some changes will take time. A willingness to serve, a deference in posture, expression and speech you must absorb, Maria, make part of you. Your body must mimic a young woman's in proportion and movement. A redistribution of fat and body mass to make you more shapely, desirable."
The ankle bonds having fallen away, DeeDee moved to the knees. A twist and push opened the timber hitches, the lashing fell away from the broom stick. Maria tried moving, found her long pose rendered her unable to control her limbs. She fell.
Marilyn smiled. "To the wall, Mistress Deborah. By her hair."
DeeDee grasped the four inches of hair at the crown, dragging the captive backwards. Heels flopped helplessly as she slid across the floor.
Marilyn followed, searching the wall for a remembered switch. Fingers found the conduit, the box. She punched the dial and part of the wall lit up from three track canisters.
"I'll help when you're ready to hoist. Don't bust open her head."
"Where was I? More shapely. That means tits and ass, Maria. Firm, flexible, squeezable, responsive tits and ass. How large will your breasts be? B-cup? D-Cup? We'll have to see how much hormones add on. No implants for you. I wonder how much corsets and exercise will shape your waist? Surely not a wasp waist in the time we have. It takes years to compress the ribs. And exercise, lots of exercise until your body screams to tone you, make you lithe and limber."
DeeDee reached around, pressed the jaw point. Maria's mouth dropped open. The bridle bit slipped between her teeth, over her tongue, pulling back the corners of her mouth. DeeDee struggled to cinch the bridle in place, the check reins too long for a human head. But a surgeon's knot served, at least for the limited use of the day. DeeDee shook the lead reins, the blonde pony's head shaking in response.
"You have finished the second degree, the description of your punishments. Now for the third and fourth, to see and experience some of the instruments. Time is short, and you are stubborn. Obedience and success will be rewarded. Obstinance and failure will be punished. I fear you will feel the strain of suspension and the touch of the lash often.
"You will know some of them today so you will know your fate. Bridles and leashes to guide you, cuffs on wrists and ankles to bind you. A cage to hold you. A crop to correct you. Or a whip, a cat, if you are foolish and willful. A rack to stretch you, for flexibility and for pain as you know now. And rings to suspend you by arms or legs, as you are about to know."
DeeDee nodded. Marilyn stepped over, held Maria's shoulders. "I'll lay you on your back, Maria. Hold your head as you go up."
Maria's eyes grew wide as DeeDee hauled on the ropes, lifting her ankles off the floor. Legs and hips followed, arms and shoulders dragging across the floor. Marilyn held up her head so it would not bump. Marilyn stopped DeeDee when her hips stretched up the wall, legs spread wide.
"A little basting for our turkey." Marilyn filled the baster from a pan of water, passed the tip before Maria's eyes. "For a moist, buttery flavor." The tip passed between her legs, under her sack, probing her anal ring. The thin tip had no trouble passing the ring, the tapered column following easy. Maria squealed, her cry muffled partly by the bridle bit. She watched horrified, screaming as Marilyn squeezed the bulb and the watery column disappeared, filling her belly.
"Hoist away, Mistress Deborah." Shortly Maria swung softly back and forth under the canisters' light. Marilyn held slack as DeeDee tied ankle ropes to Maria's wrist lash. Blood rushed to Maria's head, she grew dizzy, nauseous, closed her eyes in defense as she swayed.
"Mistress Deborah, go to my office for the digi-cam. This is simply too precious not to capture." Marilyn caressed Maria's ribs with the crop. "I definitely want you to know what's in store before you give me your final answer. Open your eyes, just for a moment. This is a riding crop, our primary means of discipline. The flap produces more sound than bite, but it can sting as you will find out. Best of all, it rarely cuts, unlike the cat. You do not want to know Catherine for real. But now for your introduction to discipline."
Marilyn caressed Maria's body with the flap, watching her shrink, tears start to trickle from the corners of her eyes. "Your owner will have complete discretion over discipline. They agree not to inflict permanent damage, to compensate you loss or impairment of the use of limbs. Tatoos, brands, and body piercings for ownership tags do not count. Now feel the bite of the crop. Know it, fear it and obey. Do not invoke Catherine."
Marilyn slapped the crop across Maria's flank, her hip. Whap! Whap! "Notice how the sting increases with force. And notice how the sting worsens in more tender areas." Whap! The crop bit the inner thigh. "I am told the crop on the soles of the feet is quite unbearable. But we need you to be able to exercise, walk, prance. Perhaps dance."
Whap! Whap! Whappity-whap! Marilyn applied the crop to buttocks, shoulders, backs of the legs. "You aren't enjoying this, are you, Maria?" Whap, Whap!
Maria shook her head, tears flowing. "Good. You're not supposed to. That's enough for today. Think on it. Mistress Deborah could make you pink and stinging all over in five minutes. Try but fail, and you will feel only a few light taps. Willfully disobey and you will sting the night away."
DeeDee returned and Marilyn had Maria's fate caught on camera, spread, hair hanging, arms behind, penis limp and flopped over. "Are you ready for your final decision?" Maria's tears flowed, her head shook, trying to nod, her stomach heaving under the effort.
Marilyn pulled the ropes again, lifting Maria and creating slack. The two women slowly lowered their prisoner to the floor. She crumpled in a pile, room spinning. The bridle came off, the hands, then elbows released. DeeDee held her over a bucket as a flood poured from her bowels. DeeDee dragged her by the hair back to the middle of the room, where she lay in a heap. The two women dragged over a small table and chair.
Seated, propped up on the table, the queasy, exhausted Maria barely followed Marilyn's words. "Have you made your decision now, knowing what you may experience? Cooperate and your time here will not be so bad. Resist, play games, and it will be hell on earth. You can choose to die now. Slowly. Lingeringly. Until death is preferable to life. Mistress Deborah, help her."
DeeDee held a clean bucket as Maria bent over with dry heaves. She retched, shook, tried to throw up what was not there. A small amount of saliva and stomach acid burned her mouth, pooled in the bucket.
Marilyn's eyes closed to slits. "I would feel sorry for you, Maria, if it weren't for what you did to me. Wipe her mouth, Mistress DeeDee. Which do you choose? Life as a temporary slave, or death?"
Maria barely raised her head. "Life. I want to live. Mistress."
The corners of Marilyn's eyes raised a quarter inch. "A wise choice. Now sign the contract by the 'X'. You confirm your true name is Anton Benedict Zayler?"
Maria nodded, grasped the pen weakly, tried to focus on the papers thrust before her. "Mistress Deborah, water for the slave. Her free will signature must be steady." DeeDee produced a half empty pint bottle of water. Maria sipped, slowly, then eagerly, then collapsed back on the table.
"A minute to recover, Miz Costello. That's what it usually takes."
As the pair waited for Maria to recover, DeeDee slipped a collar around Maria's throat, buckling it behind. "We'll need padlocks to keep her from taking this off."
Marilyn nodded. "Make a list. Whatever you need. New food and water bowls from Kennel. Pallet blankets and pillow from Housekeeping. Tie her to the ring with enough slack to use the bucket if she has to go. Come see me after she's settled for the night and we'll discuss what we should do permanently. The furniture has to move to new storage."
Maria looked around, fumbled with the pen. "You understand your service contract is transferrable at will, you have no say in its transfer?" Maria nodded. Anything to lie down! DeeDee guided her hand to the signature line. Anton Benedict Zayler signed his last document.
"Congratulations, Maria. You are now a slave, to be feminized and sold at my discretion. See to her, Mistress DeeDee." Marilyn stalked from the room, leaving Maria to her fate.
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