Transformation Assembly Line

by Brianna

 

My capture had been so sudden that I didn't know what was happening until I found myself stuffed into the back seat of a large van with tinted windows. The surrounding heady odors of musky perfume were suddenly replaced by the nail-polish smell of ether as a lacy handkerchief was placed over my nose.

I had just arrived in Chicago at O'Hare Airport and, ironically, had gone through all of the exasperating security checks that attended air travel these days. I had flown in from California to attend the reading of my grandfather's will. I scarcely remembered him from early childhood, but the lawyer who had visited me in San Francisco hinted that I might be in for a fat piece of change. "That is, unless the will is contested," he added, "in which case it may be thrown into probate court. Your grandfather passed away at a pretty advanced age, and I understand there are some nieces and other collateral relations who may question his competency. He changed the will shortly before he died, you see."

I saw. What I saw was an almost vertical sunbeam filtering through a high window into a bare room. I was lying on a cot, naked, with only a thin sheet to cover me. Next to the cot was a plain wooden chair. I looked around for my clothes, but they were nowhere in sight.

The walls of the room were padded, like a cell in an asylum, and I could just make out the outline of a door without any visible handle. All I could see through the high window was the corner of a wall several feet away, and a patch of sky beyond it. Apparently the window opened onto a bay or outside corridor between buildings, or sections of the same building. It was easily twelve feet up to the sill, without anything I could see to lasso with the sheet. The walls, as I said, were bare and offered no purchase anywhere. Apparently I could not escape.

As the minutes dragged by in my silent prison, I considered hiding behind the door so I could tackle whomever came through when it opened; but there was no way of telling which way it opened!

There were no sounds of approach. At one moment the wall bulged on the left outline of the door, and then three young women entered. They were as lovely as models, and marched up to me without delay. I noticed that one of them was wearing a bolero jacket, and then the other two caught me by the arms, spun me around, held my hands behind my back, and the third (presumably; the one in the bolero jacket) fastened manacles to my wrists. I was then spun round once more and led from the room to a grey corridor. We turned right and were heading past doors with curious signs on them like 'Feet' and 'Sweat' and 'Spit' before I thought to ask: "Where are we? Why have you brought me here?"

There was some giggling at this, but no answers, and I realized that, of course, I already knew the answer to the second question. Obviously some of my relatives, some of the 'nieces,' intended me out of the way so I would miss the reading of the will. This would make it easier (another door passed, 'Ass') to contest it, with the principal heir a no-show.

"You will know why you are here, soon enough," laughed the lovely girl in the bolero. She had long, very black curly hair. The other two were redheads. I always had a weakness for blackheads.

We paused before a door labelled "Assembly Line." Miss Blackhead opened it and the others shoved me inside, one of them keeping hold of my handcuffs.

I gasped involuntarily in surprise. We were in a fairly large, square room, softly lit by an overhead electric chandelier with pink-tinted light bulbs. Only a few of the bulbs were lit, but I scarcely had time to count them. All my attention was given to the three walls of the room facing me. Ranged around them were men like myself, and yet also unlike myself in some respects. All were in bondage, their arms raised overhead and their wrists and ankles manacled to the wall. There were about two dozen prisoners in that place, eight each along the three walls; or, rather, there were twenty-three, for there was a vacancy to my immediate left, which I was immediately made to fill. Once they secured me in my place, they each gave me a romantic kiss before leaving with mocking expressions on their sultry beautiful faces. Idiotically, I was happy for a moment that the bolero jacket – Miss Blackhead – had been the last to kiss me.

The door closed. I pensively licked at the lipstick on my mouth, then turned my head to look at my neighbor to the left. Like me, he had traces of lipstick on his lips, but also blush on his cheeks and mascara and eye-shadow around his eyes, or, at least, around his right eye, for he didn't return my glance, but just stared, rather hopelessly, I thought, straight ahead of him. Looking where he seemed to be looking, I examined what I could make out of the occupants of the opposite wall. The one directly opposite me seemed to be female, scantily clad in lingerie that hid nothing of her voluptuous curves. I felt a little thickening of my membrum virile as I looked at her, until I noticed that she had one too! I hadn't seen it at first, because it was tiny and scarcely peeped out through the crack in her – his - black see-through panties! A shudder ran through me and my doggie boner instantly shrank, as though it had been ducked in a pail of cold water.

I turned once again to my neighbor, a big man, still looking sadly forward at nothing or nobody in particular, I now saw. "What is this place?" I half whispered, half croaked to him.

"You've got eyes," he said, without giving me a glance. "Look around. Look at me, then look at the others around the room. Notice how the ones on the opposite wall all have tits? That's what they do to you here when you turn the far corner there: they take you away for a day and you come back like that poor bastard over there. See his bandages?"

I squinted in the soft pink light and saw a shorter man with big bandages on his chest, only his chest stuck out like a couple of large cantaloupes. His head hung to one side, and he seemed to be dozing. To his right was a taller figure with smaller bandages patching an umistakable pair of milky, voluptuous breasts. The "man" to his right, like the whole line of them across the room, was endowed with an unbandaged pair of proud, thrusting tits that many women would die to have. The neighbor to his left (my right) was bandaged across his hips and, I could just see, around his butt. The rest of them in that line were unbandaged and clad in scanty filmy lacy lingerie; and now I saw that they had wide hips like women, and stood off from the wall somewhat, as their fannies were round and full like their boobs!

I turned, open-mouthed, to say something to my taciturn neighbor, and noticed that he, too, was wearing a bra and panties. The men along the second wall were hard to see in the semi-gloom, but I noticed small breasts were beginning to appear on them, and they wore more lingerie: garter belts, nylons, waist cinchers, panty girdles. One of them turned his head towards me, and long, languorous-looking earrings swung with his head from obviously pierced ears.

But just then the door opened, and six or seven of our female captors strode in. Miss Blackhead was not among them, to my disappointment. Three of them walked over to the voluptuous figure opposite me, unshackled and led him/her away. The other three came over to me, while more women entered the room and began unshackling, moving and reshackling the men, shifting them along to the right like tiles in a number-puzzle.

The three who came up to me were apparently here for fun rather than work. "What do you think, he has possibilities, doesn't he?" said a redhead to a blonde.

"Yes, definitely. But they should have put him through the other fetish rooms first. I would have liked to have had a go at him there."

"Orders," said the third. "This one is a rush job. We may have to move him ahead of some of these others."

"In that case," said the second, the blonde, "I'll just have to grab my kicks while I can." Then she stepped up to me and with a teasing look began lapping my face slowly with her long, sensuous tongue. I tried to turn my face away, but the redhead pulled little prongs out of the wall by my ears that held my head in position. My blonde lapper kept at it for some minutes, till her spittle was running down my cheeks and dripping into my eyes from my forehead. The others giggled softly at this performance, and, as if on cue, she varied her assault by spitting up my nose, first one nostril then the other. Then she reached down and boldly grabbed my membrum – all right, my dick! – and said softly that she would pull it off then and there unless I opened my mouth and kept it open and didn't spill a drop of what she was going to give me, and didn't swallow it until she said to, and then I was to swallow every bit of it. Trembling with excitement, not fear, my threatened appendage spearing the air like a flagpole and confessing, shamefacedly, my pleasure at her treatment, I obeyed and held my mouth dentist-chair wide. She hawked and hawked and filled her mouth with her rich offering, which she then deposited in mine with a kiss, instructing me to close my mouth and slosh it around.

"Doesn't it taste good?" she crooned, and I nodded obediently. "Then swallow it, slave," she said. "Swallow every drop of it so that my spit goes into your body and becomes part of you." She watched my Adam's apple move up and down three times, a smile of satisfaction on her face, then she turned to the readhead. "Your turn."

The readhead, though scantily clad in leather and lace, managed to produce a tube of dark red lipstick out of nowhere. As she unscrewed it open, she said to me lazily, "Do you like the new fetish fashions on women? The darker shades, like brownish-red lipstick? Answer me, slave." I said that I liked them, but this lipstick was simply red, not one of the newer tones.

She smiled at my impertinence. "True, slave, it's not brownish red, at least not yet." Then she reached behind with one hand and pulled aside one of her magnificent ass cheeks. Turning to her blonde companion (whose spit was still dripping down my neck), she said, "Lend me a hand, or rather two hands, Inger?"

Inger obliged, spreading her fanny cheeks for her. The redhead then reached back and inserted the opened tube of lipstick in her sphincter, rotating it round and round back there, then brought it up to my lips. Looking at me but talking to her friend, she said, "I love tasting your spit, Inger," and her own tongue darted out and licked my lips till they shone. Then she brought the tube of lipstick, which was indeed brownish-red now, slowly up to my mouth and drew it across my lips many times. My lips began to sting, and an unmistakable strong odor assailed my nostrils.

Reaching around her fanny again, she re-coated the tube, then ordered me to stretch my lips across my teeth, so that her lipstick could be applied more thickly to them. Again a feminine hand closed over my erect penis, which must have been the third woman's, as the blonde was still pulling apart the redhead's asscheeks. The latter coated my lips thickly with her newly-freshened ass lipstick, then ordered me to lick my lips a few times and make them shine for her. I hesitated, but a tug on the governor (I'm running out of nicknames) reminded me that they meant business, so, swallowing my disgust (and resolving not to swallow again for as long as possible), I gingerly ran my own tongue over my lips and tasted the bitter musk of my tormentress's nether eye!

She smirked at me, then turning to the third woman, the one who had said I was a rush job, told her it was her turn. She, I now saw, was carrying a number of frilly items, which she proceeded to show me.

"These are my panties," she said. "I've worn them several days, played tennis in them, and made love in them. It's my time of the month, so I've also menstruated in them. Smell them." Turning them crotch-outwards, she slowly and lazily rubbed the damp crotch of her panties across my nose. The odor was so strong I could no longer smell the brown lipstick I was wearing! Then my ankles were unshackled (my privates still well in hand to prevent any kicking), and the panties were drawn up my legs and pulled firmly in place! In like manner, she made me smell and lick the feet of her 8-day stockings, then my waist was wreathed in a sweaty garter belt and the stockings attached tightly to the tabs, these being inserted through the panties. I was similarly clad in a bra after sniffing and licking the parts that had soaked in the sweat of her armpits. Lastly, she produced six-inch black high-heel pumps. Placing one over my nose and the other on my (what? oh, cock), ordered me to lick and kiss the insides of one shoe while she pumped me to orgasm with the other one.

Then, to my surprise, she took her shoe full of my spunk and held it in front of my neighbor's mouth, ordering him to lick out all of my cum. I was then dressed in her pumps, one damp from my saliva, the other from my neighbor's.

"You see, it is a rule here," she said, "that no slave drinks his own spunk. That is what neighboring slaves do for each other. Now you will wear my personally-scented undies for a few days. I shall come by from time to time and replace them with even funkier substitutes. I have been appointed your dresser, and I may as well tell you that I intend to permanently replace your body odors with my own!"

With that, they said ta ta for now, and I slumped, spent, amid the general laughter of my fellow wretches.

 

To be continued?

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Ian Elliott. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.