Retaliation

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Now, you useless fucker,” Felice snapped, “I have a nice surprise for you.”

  Felice seized one of the false nipples on his exposed breasts and slowly peeled it away from the form, revealing a small opening in the flesh-colored, smooth surface. She inserted a long, narrow, surgical Forcep into the opening and pushed it inward until Hank felt its cold metal teeth touch and then grip the stainless steel ring on his own semi-erect nipple.

  “Ah,” said Felice. “That cement got your tits excited, huh. Now hold still while I get a good grip on this nip ring and we’ll hook it up.”

  Hank shuddered, wondering what she had in mind and unable to see all of the gadgets and devices on the metal tray at the woman’s side. He knew only too well that yet another diabolical form of torment was coming. With some expert maneuvering, Felice inserted a sort of catheter along side the forceps, locked it onto the nipple ring and then removed the forceps, leaving the catheter dangling out of the tiny hole in the breast form.

  “Getting the idea?” She asked, snickering. Felice reached for something on the tray by her side and produced what looked to Hank like a gold-colored metal nipple with a spring attached to the bottom.

  “So here’s the deal,” Felice said as she did something with the catheter and the gold nipple and then quickly applied the nipple to the breast form, pulling the thin wire of the catheter out through the tiny hole in the nipple and yanking on it.

  Hank howled as his ringed nipple was pulled into the breast form’s inner hole and held there while Felice applied a bit of cement to the underside of the gold nipple cap and then allowed it to seat itself over the opening in the form.

  “How’s that?” Felice asked, stepping away from the post where Hank stood firmly bound and muttering to himself.

  “You probably don’t remember June, that cute little redhead you hung by her tits in your TC in the hotel’s penthouse suite one long night, but I do. She was my partner and after you got done with her, it took three months of convalescence, physical therapy and Melinda’s skill to put her nearly ruined tits back into some acceptable sort of condition. Remember that Hank?” Felice screamed.

  Hank shook his head while Felice arranged a similar torment on his other breast. When done, he had a pair of metal clips with weights attached to the outer metal nipples and these naturally transmitted the tension to his own ringed nipples. Another set of weights was attached to his still confined balls, swinging wildly as he struggled to find some way to ease the deep penetration of his gut and flee from this horrible torment of his balls and nipples.

  Inside the mask, he was sweating madly as they pulled his hands backward and chained the cuffs to some sort of structure. Each booted ankle was locked to a shackle and that in turn fastened to the structure beneath him. When they finished, Hank was a posed naked statue, illuminated by a brilliant overhead spotlight, with his hidden nipples and balls clipped and weighted, his arms pinned behind him and his ass deeply impaled by a hard and serrated prong.

  He stood rigid. Unable to move. Afraid that any twitch would change the dull pain in his butt to a raging torment. He was vaguely aware of the ass probe pressed against his prostate and with the contact came a further partial stiffening of his own cock inside the cage. Suddenly, someone seized his confined dick and the cage was unlocked, the Four rings of the circus removed and his package partly released.

  A voice, Felice's, he thought, spoke to him quietly while a soft gloved hand enclosed his steel-encircled cock, a thumb and forefinger encircling its caged diameter and moving lightly up and down its increasing length.

  “Now Hankie,” Felice crooned. “You just stand there and look cute. The guests will entertain you, I am sure. I have a little party for myself upstairs, but if you need me for anything, just text me, Ok?” Felice actually giggled and he felt the gloved hand leave his cock and rest a moment on his thigh. It was the first of what were to be many hands on him that night. Now and then, someone, usually a female, would approach him, put her arms around him and squeeze his fake tits, pull on the weights attached to his ringed nipples and mutter things in his pad-covered ears.

  “Oh baby, you are just what I always wanted,” crooned a slightly feminine voice into his padded ear. “A cute chick with a decent dick. You will make a fine partner for my other sex and bondage slave, Henrietta. If I had you, I’d have everything I ever wanted. I put in a very high blind bid tonight, so maybe we’ll go home together. I have a lovely basement cell all ready for you and I’ll keep you both chained and ass-plugged there unless I need a blow job or a long, strong fuck. My entertainment goal is having the two of you as key stars in some videos that I can sell easily on the internet. You’ll leave them begging for more while they try to figure out what sex you actually are, if any. Later, Baby.”

  Hank stood impaled in the high heeled boots, elegant back-seamed dark stockings, the girdle and bra, his gagged mouth and face covered by the mask, his long brown hair framing the picture. Now and then, someone would come and rub his dick, take him nearly to orgasm and then release him and walk away. At some point during the evening, they took him off the anal probe and slung him over the knees of a large woman who giggled a lot and ran her hands over his back and ass while someone else tied him to her legs and waist.

  “Oh how nice,” he heard her murmur. “You are a very bad girl, I hear,” the woman crooned as she inserted her gloved hand into his now vacant ass, probed the deepest recesses and his already abused prostate, and then, with no warning, struck his ass with her spread hand.

  “Bad, bad girl,” the woman chanted as she landed blow after blow on his ass and thighs while Hank slowly realized that it wasn’t her bare hand that was spanking him, but some sort of hand-shaped paddle, perhaps made of leather like a pitcher’s ball glove, and capable of leaving a wide glowing scar with each blow. Hank writhed and struggled, but his hands were tightly tied to the woman’s ankles and his own ankles her spread and tied to rings in the floor.

  “Gnow nhoor,” he shouted in to the gag, but it made no difference and his punisher continued to slap and flog with her leather palm until she tired of the sport. Then they picked him up and reseated him on his original perch, where he stayed for the rest of the night.

  Now and then, someone would come and pinch or poke his beaten ass and legs, but clearly the fun had gone out of the sport of tormenting the boy/girl impaled on the post and other entertainments beckoned.

  That was as much entertainment as Hank got that night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rings & Things

  He knew that the rings in his nipples and cock weren't coming out without more surgery. The ones in his nose and tongue were probably installed with the same surgical skill Melinda used each time She sedated him and tinkered with various portions of his anatomy. Each day he spent as Her slave featured a new and different addition or variation to remind him of his new role as Her sex pet. He now expected to be more uncomfortable and more humiliated today than he was the day before. Only a few hours ago, as he lay in the now familiar prone position on the operating table while Melinda installed the various rings and things into parts of his now hairless anatomy, he wondered exactly where this was all going. She was starving him slowly, feeding him mostly fruits and vegetables and occasionally some meat or fish. He knew he was losing weight and even the heavy collar on his neck seemed too big now. He knew enough about Melinda's past to also know, with great certainty, that She was capable of doing almost anything She set out to do. In her post high school years, Melinda trained as an R.N., then worked for a few years as a surgical scrub nurse, and then, through her father's connections, went off to medical school without the usual struggle to find an opening. She was talented, knew the right people and had enough medical skill to turn Hank into a cabbage if She wanted to.

  After all this time in the cellar rooms, Hank was now certain that She was going to do something equally bizarre to him. The injections and IV She gave him at regular intervals not only dulled his mi
nd and sapped his strength, but apparently had other ingredients which were quickly altering his body in ways that he could not understand. When not chained in his cage or trotting on the endless treadmill, Hank was either performing his oral routine on Melinda's hungry sex or having his perpetually swollen ass beaten with any one of a wide range of punishment devices. His butt was so abused that it was actually forming calluses in some places something Melinda found amusing, but undesirable. So, she ordered no further ass beatings for Hank and instead mounted a permanent steel collar around the base of his cock and balls and used this as a hard point to connect various sleds and wheeled carts for his to pull around the track. This new directive didn’t last long, but it caused some fall-out in other areas of his training. For instance, on his old exercise treadmill, a series of thin, cutting canes whirled around on a rotary motor like a fan. The slower he ran, the faster the motor turned, bringing endless sharp bites to his ass and upper thighs. When he was forced to service Melinda's always ready cunt with his tongue, She encouraged him with a riding crop applied to his back, ass and any other available body part. On a few occasions, after She was satisfied with his oral enterprise, She would remain seated on Her well-upholstered wing chair and have him place himself over Her knees, manacled hands pulled up and fastened tightly to his collar, shackled ankles attached to the ring on the floor. Her weapon of choice for this training session was usually a paddle or a flat-backed hairbrush, either of which left their outline on his already red and well-beaten buttocks. While She spanked him, Hank pleaded, cried and begged alternately, usually through the gag or punishment hood She kept on his head. Melinda's lectures during these sessions were singular in content: he was Her slave to do Her bidding and any infractions, real or imaginary, would get him nothing but pain and sorrow.

  The dialog, such as it was, often took the same course:

  “You are a pig, the lowest form of life on the planet and no matter what I do to try and help you improve yourself, you remain a pig,” Melinda would tell him as She swung the heavy wooden paddle in a wide arc and brought it down on his inflamed buttock. Whack!

  “Ummmm, ney orr, eeezzze…” Hank screamed into his mouth-filling gag. Hank wondered as the blows continued: How can She do this to me? Certainly I deserve this, I may even want it, I think, but this is more than I deserve for just fucking around.

  “Pig. Low life. Worthless insect,” Melinda intoned. Whack!

  “Oooooo, o oorrrr,” Hank would mumble, trying to free his cuffed hands and feet and wiggling his beaten ass just enough to further entice Melinda to whip him even harder.

  “You are not worth the trouble…or the energy I must use to beat you,” Melinda said, striking again with a vengeance.

  “Ooooo. Ahhharge,” Hank moaned, his tormented ass by now to color of canned beet slices.

  “In fact, Piggy,” Melinda said. “I think it will, in the future, be more interesting and less effort for me if I have someone else administer the punishment you so richly deserve.”

  Oh shit, that’s not what I want, he thought.

  Melinda continued: “I have several woman friends who will enjoy watching you wiggle your pathetic butt and hearing you beg for mercy and, frankly Hank, most of them are much better with the paddle and cane than I am. I know, Pig, that my talents lie elsewhere, but Ramona and Delia are both first class talent when it comes to the horse whip and the cane. Let me see if they can help us out here so that I can concentrate on some more, ah, shall we say, long term entertainments for you?”

  “Gnoooo,” moaned Hank, thinking about what had happened to Dan, Delia’s former husband and knowing that, in his own limited experience with either woman, they were both experienced and committed sadists. Both had long since locked up their husbands’ sex equipment and then taken other radical steps to assure no further dalliance on the man’s part. Delia had even engaged Melinda to carry out a long, painful, covert sex change on Dan. He was now called Daniela and often showed up at cocktail parties with his cock-less, ball-less, ringed crotch shaven and exposed and a long horse tail sticking out of his ass. Dan was, according to what Hank had learned, little more than a service pony on Delia’s suburban estate. He lived in a stall in Delia’s stable; chained, collared, gagged and plugged.

  Delia also had Brenda, a stunningly attractive, young TS also created by Melinda, lead Daniela around the social events by a gold chain attached to different body parts, depending on how her Mistress felt that evening. More often than not, Daniela had a ring in her nose attached by short chains to her taunt nipples and two additional chains running down over her flat belly and connected to the heavy stainless steel ring in her newly created, outrageously fashioned pussy. Melinda had fashioned the outer pussy lips with interwoven stainless steel and gold filaments that were not only cosmetically attractive, but had several additional benefits. When someone decided to use Brenda’s front portal for screwing, they soon discovered that the decorative additions to her lips provided a unique sort of tickle or friction to their dick, assuming they were using their own dick and not a strap-on or some other grossly oversized false appendage. The filaments were strong enough to also serve as a lock-out for Brenda’s often sought cunt. A series of small gold locks were easily connected across the decorated flesh gap, sealing off the entrance to anyone who did not have keys. When fully equipped, Brenda often sported six or seven of these tiny locks dangling down her crotch. If she was wearing panties, the multiple bulges seemed to attract more attention than usual.

  Hank had heard that Melinda considered Brenda more of a work of art than a sexual object. When Delia first suggested to Melinda that her wandering spouse might be an interesting subject for TG surgery, both women conferred for several weeks, reviewing Dan’s history, his physical characteristics and his potential for more than just a sex change.

  “In your most objective dreams,” Melinda said to Dalia one evening while they were enjoying cocktails in an expensive and exclusively pretentious, women-only restaurant known and patronized by the local cognoscenti, “what would you like the end product to be?”

  Delia thought quietly for several minutes while they sipped their drinks and scanned the menus. “I want the ultimate sex toy, but not so much for screwing as for demonstrating my absolute dominance over it.”

  “So... “ Melinda mused. “You want a neuter robot?”

  “No. But I want it to know every minute that I have absolute control over everything in its worthless life. And yes, I want it to be fuckable, front and back, maybe a true hermaphrodite, but I have this mixed desire to think that while I don’t want it to enjoy the fucking, I also want it to feel a need and an endless pressure for an orgasm, but not to ever get one unless I decide to authorize it. I know that sounds crazy, but... .” she stopped talking and finished her drink in one swallow.

  “From what you say, you are looking at a very high maintenance situation, not to mention the time and money needed for the creation of such a creature,” Melinda said, flagging down the server and ordering another round for them both.

  “I know,” Delia said almost petulantly. “But the dream stays with me and I’d like to move ahead, once you agree that we can do this.”

  “Oh,” said Melinda. “It’s certainly doable, from a surgical perspective. I can do this, but the psychological element is something you’ll need to find another qualified doctor to help implement. We don’t have enough data on the subject to know how it will turn out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Delia, at one end of the final product spectrum you could have a depressed, even suicidal hybrid that will mentally and physically resist existing in a world where there is no longer any defined lifestyle, for lack of a better term. At the other end of the spectrum we could end up with a manic, aggressive masochist who thrives on being tormented and abused continuously. After a while, once the novelty wears off, you won’t spend much time with it and the frantic need for attention and service could be disastrous.”

&nb
sp; “I hadn’t really thought about that,” Delia admitted.

  “Let me tell you a story that may help us decide,” Melinda offered. “But let’s order and I’ll narrate the tale between bites.”

  They ordered a small meal, a half bottle of a Riesling wine and then Melinda began her story:

  “A few years ago I was asked to consult and assist on the gender change of a young man who demonstrated some interest in the transgender environment. He had not explicitly said that he wanted a change nor was he gay, but at some point in his early adult life, his girlfriend got him involved on a one-on-one basis, with cross-dressing. He discovered this was an interesting and powerful option to his otherwise vanilla sex life and as time went on, the girlfriend pushed him further and further into the alternate lifestyle, forcing him to dress as female under his street clothes, wearing small breast forms and restricting his sex package with various constraining CBT devices. He apparently found the CBT games exciting and they moved on to dressing as a female pair at Dressing for Pleasure type events and similar functions. With a careful diet and make-up, he usually passed. They went to parties in other cities, had a ball slipping into girl-only events, suckered overly enthusiastic men into dangerous liaisons, and actually made some reasonable money in the process. When things got boring, they moved up scale and entered some golf and tennis tournaments and usually whipped the knickers off the competition. Occasionally, the CD got overtly groped or raped, but they always came out of it okay.”

  “Invading female toilets, dressings rooms and showers must have been a rush for them,” Delia offered, fascinated.