Date: Tue, 1 Feb 2022 21:23:58 +1030
From: Kandi Kox <mandistern69@gmail.com>
Subject: Taken, Part 2 (TG Authoritarian)

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TAKEN -- PART 2

by Kandi Kox

The last time I had awoken, it was to find myself strapped down in some
kind of hospital bed, trying to make sense of how I had got there after
falling asleep in a car during my first visit to Paris.

A day or so on, my next awakening was more pleasant, given that I was
curled up in bed next to a warm and naked body. For one glorious moment,
I thought it was Emma, the enchanting redhead who'd inveigled me into
making the trip. But as I clambered back to reality from my slumbers, the
memory of what had happened to me came crashing back.

I'd been taken somewhere, to a place that for all I knew could still be
in Paris, or might be somewhere else altogether. I'd been subjected to a
still-unknown number of medical procedures, which at the very least had
removed my body hair, shrunken my genitals, and left me with a voice that
was higher and softer than my natural tones. I was wearing permanent
makeup on a face that now looked disturbingly feminine. I also had a new
name, Lexi, tattooed on my bottom just in case there should be any doubt
about it.

And on top of all that, I'd been forced to make what was effectively a
pornographic video, with a beautiful young man whose looks were identical
to mine, aside from the long, thin cock that I had sucked and swallowed
with an enthusiasm that was only partly feigned. That was Marissa, the
"girl" (for I could only think of her/him as such) in bed with me right
now and whose cum was nestled in my stomach.

And while I was held in captivity, so too was my girlfriend, the threat
to her life the lever being used to secure my cooperation. Until I knew
she was safe, I could only play along with the attempt to feminise me and
force me into what I was pretty sure would be further obscene and
disgusting sex acts.

With no family to look for me, and the only person who knew or cared
about my whereabouts under armed guard, the prospects of any rescue
seemed non-existent. All I could do was to cooperate and survive, as best
I could.

Not wanting to disturb Marissa, I waited until she stirred to get out of
bed, trying unsuccessfully in the meantime not to think too hard about
what might be about to happen, or conversely to fantasise about some kind
of improbable rescue.

When she did finally awake, we got up to find  a tray waiting for us,
with two large tumblers filled with what looked like milkshakes. The
creamy liquid tasted eerily similar to the spunk I had swallowed earlier
for the benefit of the cameras that still surrounded the bed. Marissa
said they were protein drinks and would be the only meals we would get
while we were here.

When I asked where "here" was, I received no answer. Indeed I could
learn nothing at all from the lovely young brunette about our situation,
something that periodically sent me into a panic, until I could be
persuaded to have another of the blue chill pills which she kept offering
me. I worried about what they might be doing to me, but I needed some way
of tolerating the treatment I was experiencing -- and the pills at least
kept my fear under control.

And so began a span of days that I could never afterwards quite number,
because they had no defined beginning, middle or end, especially in a
windowless room with lighting permanently on. We spent our time sleeping
for irregular periods, drinking our shakes, showering in the little
ensuite attached to the bedroom, trying on the many outfits we found in
the well-stocked wardrobe, or experimenting with makeup, to supplement
the permanent colours painted or tattooed on our faces.

The clothes in particular were a lot of fun, even if I felt more than a
little embarrassed every time I caught myself enjoying something new.
There was underwear of every kind, dresses, skirts and blouses that could
be used to create formal or fun outfits, several uniforms besides the
school clothing we'd worn for our first sexual encounter, and even a
wedding dress with its own special set of bridal lingerie.

Marissa and I each tried that last outfit on, marvelling at how well it
fitted us both. That was itself a testament to how similar we were in
size and body type -- with the obvious exception, I reflected ruefully,
of the scale of the organs tucked away in our respective panties. Mine
had shrunk down to little more than an inch, where hers managed at least
eight times that length in a state of erection that was apparently now
beyond me. I wondered, but didn't ask, whether she had been quite that
well endowed when she first came to wherever we now were, or if her size
had been enhanced.

Throughout this period we didn't see anybody but each other, with all
supplies brought in, or dirty clothes or glasses removed, while we slept.
The door, each time I tried it, was always locked.

The other thing we did, every few hours it seemed, was to have sex. Or
rather, I delivered oral sex in an increasing variety of positions.
Marissa seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of sperm for me to gulp
down, and an energy that I very noticeably lacked.

I came to know every inch of her cock and balls, and also discovered that
she enjoyed having her hard little nipples pinched and nibbled, and her
puckered asshole teased and licked with my tongue. But I never attempted
or was encouraged to insert any fingers, and she could not get at my own
passage, not with a butt plug almost permanently lodged there.

Sometimes we were directed what to wear, say and do, by a voice in an
earpiece. But just as often, we started up without any requirement to do
so. It was enough that Marissa was horny, or that I was bored. Whether
the equipment arrayed around our bed was recording on these occasions was
never completely clear.

If I did something well, the vibrating device inside of me would
periodically come to life, and I got to enjoy the sensation of it
stretching me and throbbing deep inside. But I didn't again experience
anything like the brief, dribbling orgasm that had marked my first
attempt at cocksucking, and my shrunken member remained resolutely inert.

What increasingly worried me, every time I thought about it, was how much
I was coming to enjoy, or even crave, the taste of Marissa's spunk.
Perhaps I was being conditioned to like it by its similarity to the taste
of the shakes, which seemed to be nutritious enough to allay any hunger
while never providing any strength to my atrophying muscles. Or maybe, I
thought more darkly, I was just turning into the kind of cum-hungry whore
that I was being asked to play when the cameras were running.

The pattern was finally broken one day when we had a visitor -- the
unnamed doctor (if that's what she was) I had seen on my first day of
captivity. She instructed me to put on the sheer minidress in which
she'd first dressed me, although this time my heels were complemented by
stay-up fishnet stockings, giving me an undeniably slutty look.

She then waited until Marissa had tidied up my hair, added some glitter
to the makeup around my eyes, sprayed on some fresh perfume and, much to
my surprise, removed my butt plug, which she handed to the doctor.

"You won't be needing that again," said the blonde woman, tossing it
into a nearby bin. "Or your suck-buddy here." She glanced at Marissa.
"Say goodbye to Lexi," she instructed.

For once, the brunette's beatific smile was absent as she hugged me
tight and then kissed me softly on the lips. "Thank you," she said, her
eyes filming over with tears. It was the first time since we'd been
together that she'd shown even a hint of distress.

I nodded to her, unable to speak because of the lump in my throat. My
heart was hammering and my stomach was churning as I followed the doctor
out of the bedroom and down the corridor, towards a part of the building
I hadn't seen before.

Something new was about to happen and I had no idea what -- only that
I'd have to face it without the companion who had become both a physical
and mental support as I endured my captivity and the worrying
transformation I was being forced to undergo. A transformation that had
left me without body hair (there was no sign of it growing back), some
kind of permanent makeup, useless genitals, and a newfound capacity to
suck cock that I was pretty sure was going to be put to use on someone
else besides Marissa,

Walking in front of me, the doctor heard me sniffling. She gave a
contemptuous snort. "Aw princess, are you missing your twin already? Did
you fall in love with that great big cock of his? You wouldn't be the
first, mind ..."

The rage at this woman that I had felt when we first met returned with a
vengeance. But I didn't try to hit her or escape. I was too weak to do
anything and besides, what hope did I have of getting out, even if I
could find an exit? Or of getting any help, looking the way I did?

"You know," continued the doctor, oblivious to my irritation, "you've
been very lucky. We held an auction for the right to be your first
client, and the bidding was just insane. Those videos you and the lovely
Marissa made? They really got our regulars excited. The highest bidder,
the one you're about to go and see, he likes his boys cooperative. The
one who came second, well, let's just say he much prefers his sex to be
... non-consensual."

She stopped suddenly and whirled around, forcing me to step aside quickly
to avoid a collision. She pointed a finger at me. "So understand this,
Lexi. Carry on behaving nicely -- or at least how we want you to behave
-- and we'll make sure you don't get hurt. Oh, and your girlfriend?
Remember her? She goes free, just as I promised."

She narrowed her eyes. "But stray from the path, just once, and we give
you to the one who likes playing rapist. I guarantee you will not find
that as enjoyable as swallowing one of Marissa's copious loads ..."

She spun on her heel and set off again. As I scurried to catch up, I
wasn't sure what I felt worst about -- the very clear picture I'd been
given of the career in store for me, the threat of rape, or the guilt at
realising that it had been several days since I'd last given any real
thought to Emma. When I'd been going to sleep lately, I hadn't been
dreaming of making love to her, as had constantly been in my thoughts
before we travelled to Paris, but of doing something very different with
Marissa ...

Fortunately, I didn't have too long to dwell on these thoughts. I was
led into a luxurious bedroom that was far greater in size and opulence
than the one I'd been sharing with my "twin". It even had a bar off in
one corner. There was also no filming equipment -- or none visible at any
rate.

"Okay, wait here," instructed the blonde woman. "When your man comes
in, offer him a drink, then do everything he tells you to do, for as long
as he wants. Be sure to make him happy, or you know what will follow. And
if he wants to make small talk, make up whatever you like about yourself.
But don't ask him his name, or anything else. Call him sir, unless he
tells you otherwise. Lubricant is in the top drawer over there. Got all
that?"

"Yes ma'am," I acknowledged, in the high-pitched voice in which I'd
now become accustomed to speaking.

As I waited, I wished that I could take another blue pill to calm my
nerves. But once again, the waiting was cut mercifully short, as the door
opened to admit an overweight, balding man in perhaps his
fifties, wearing expensively tailored clothes. He had sharp, aquiline
features and the kind of weathered tan that suggested someone who spent a
lot of time on boats. His eyes lit up as he saw me, reclining on the bed.

"Ah, the lovely Lexi, yes? You look even more gorgeous than in
your videos." His voice was cultured, the accent unmistakably English,
with a resonance and confidence that suggested someone who spoke a lot
and expected other people to listen.

"Yes sir," I responded with a nervous smile, trying hard not to think
about the fact that this was the first man who had seen me in my current
guise -- in person, at least. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

"Gin and tonic please. Pour yourself something as well. And you can call
me Daddy." He sat down on a comfortable looking couch.

"Yes si-, I mean, yes of course Daddy," I responded. As I walked over
to the bar, I could feel the blush spreading down my neck.

"So," he said, as I handed him his drink and sat down next to him,
hoping madly that my shaking hands would not send wine sloshing out of my
glass, "how long have you been dressing like a girl?"

I'm not sure quite what kind of small talk I was expecting, but it
certainly wasn't this. "I've, um, only just started."

"Is that so?" he responded with a twinkling smile, resting his hand on
my stockinged thigh. "Well, you're obviously getting some very good
help."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything about what kind of "help"
I'd been receiving. I was under no illusion that this was anyone who
could or would rescue me. He had willingly paid for my time -- and a lot
of money by the sound of it. He must surely have known or suspected
something about the business methods of any organisation willing to
procure him newly feminised young men.

He asked what I liked wearing most, and I used my recent experimentation
with Marissa to provide some plausible-sounding answers. But I didn't
mention the wedding dress, partly out of sheer embarrassment, but also
because of a vague concern that it might somehow give him ideas.

As we chatted, he kept peppering me with compliments, which I shyly
received, until he reached what was clearly from his heightened interest
a matter of prime concern.

"And you've never been with a man before?" he asked, fixing me with a
piercing gaze.

"No Daddy, I haven't. You're my first." I hesitated, wondering if I
should elaborate, then decided that it couldn't hurt to tell at least
part of the truth. "I mean, I've sucked a boy's cock. But only ... a
boy like me. Not a real man."

"Really?" laughed the client. "Well, no wonder you're so nervous! But
that's a turn on for me, I have to admit. It's nice to be the first to
taste such beautiful fruit." He reached up to stroke my face, then
traced my plump, painted lips with a fat finger, before sliding it slowly
into my mouth. I had to work very hard not to jerk my head back in
disgust.

"So, Lexi," he breathed, "did you like having a cock in your mouth?"

"Yes Daddy," I said, and tried not to think about whether that
statement was a lie. Taking the man's hint, I closed my lips around his
digit and began to suck it gently. He gave a murmur of appreciation, then
inclined his head towards his groin and gave a wolfish grin.

Putting my drink down, I got off the couch, then knelt between the man's
legs and started to unzip his pants. As I extracted his rapidly
stiffening appendage, I saw that it was somewhat shorter than Marissa's,
but far thicker. It was much harder to get in my mouth than hers had
been, but I was still able to get its full length down my throat -- or as
much as I could manage with his pants still on.

After a few minutes of licking, sucking and kissing the now fully erect
organ, in the same way I'd been taught to do with my "twin", I had the
client positively panting with lust. Hoping that I could speed things up,
I asked in my most feminine tones (not that I had any others right now):
"Shall we take our clothes off, Daddy?"

This idea was met with enthusiasm and in no time at all, we were on the
bed, with him naked and me down to my stockings and heels, which he
insisted I keep on. Unfortunately, however, the foreplay was only just
getting started.

First we shared a lingering kiss -- a very different experience to
smooching with Marissa, and one that I had to work hard not to shy away
from in revulsion. The aggressive way he thrust his tongue in my mouth,
the feel of his stubble against my soft skin, the overwhelming
masculinity of his presence -- it all seemed shockingly wrong.

When it finished, I was actually quite relieved to resume my oral
ministrations -- until it became clear that I would need to have my first
encounter with a sweaty and hairy groin. Marissa had been smooth and
sweet-smelling. This was a very different experience. His wiry pubic hair
got everywhere and tickled my nose, while the smell, although not
pungent, was far less pleasant than what I'd become used to.

Nevertheless, as I sucked on the man's hairy balls, used my tongue to
sample the pre-cum leaking from the tip of his circumcised cock, and then
swallowed the full length of his shaft so that my nose was pressed up
against the folds of fat on his belly, I could feel what an effect I was
having on him. And it soon had the desired effect of inducing him to move
on to the next stage -- the one I had been dreading, but also wanted over
and done with as quickly as possible.

To start with, he had me lie down on my back, then pushed my legs back
and over my head, exposing my bottom. To my surprise, he went to work on
me with his tongue, licking his way around the rim and then pushing his
tongue inside my asshole. Despite the stretching it had been getting
lately, it still felt very tight and I was worried about how badly it was
going to hurt when he tried to fuck me. But even so, the rimming was
surprisingly enjoyable.

Next, he used some of the lubricant which I had left handy to grease up
one of his fingers. At first, I tensed up and resisted the intrusion. But
he encouraged me to relax, and eventually he was able to slip it inside
me and then wiggle it a little.

"Oh my goodness Lexi, your pussy is so tight," he commented with
obvious delight. "But don't worry, we're going to take it nice and
slow, we don't want you to get hurt, do we?"

"No Daddy," I affirmed, even though going slow was the last thing I
wanted -- and the talk of having a pussy was more than a little
unnerving. Still, I was grateful that if the horrible thing was going to
happen, it would at least be done by someone who was trying to be gentle.

Since the moment the doctor had come to get me and told me where we were
going, I had been steeling myself against what was about to happen. If I
could take Marissa's cock in my mouth while a vibrator was stuffed in my
back passage, I had been telling myself, I could handle anal sex. But the
reality of having a fat old man poised over me, ready to lower his hairy
body onto mine and penetrate me with the thick organ jutting obscenely
from underneath his pudgy belly -- well, nothing I could have imagined
would have properly prepared me.

During the days since I had been abducted, I had regularly flirted with
the idea of rebellion and escape, but rarely given it serious thought.
But I did now, because I wasn't sure this was a price I was willing to
pay for my own safety, or even that of Emma.

As I looked up into the leering and lust-filled expression of the man who
had paid to take my virginity, the words of rejection sprang to my
painted lips. But they died before they were born, swept away on a tide
of fear and pragmatism. There really was only one way this was going to
go -- and it might as well happen sooner rather than later.

"Fuck me Daddy," I said quietly, but with all the eagerness I could
contrive. "Fuck me with your big cock."

The words both delighted and inflamed him, just as they had been designed
to do. Moving now with an urgency he had previously lacked, he smeared
lubricant on the inflamed head of his rock hard shaft and positioned it
against my puckered entrance. There was no thought of using a condom, I
noted -- just one more worry to add to my litany of woe.

If his finger had found difficulty entering me, it seemed to be
impossible that he could push his big purple helmet through my tight
ring. But he kept working away at it, slowly but gradually widening the
entrance, until eventually one convulsive thrust was enough to get it
inside.

Even so, it took a further few minutes before the client could get any
part of the shaft below the helmet inside of me, or to start thrusting in
and out. Once again, I had to fight hard, with his encouragement, to
relax my muscles and admit him. And even then, it was tough to take.

There was a certain amount of pain, but it was more the feeling of being
filled to bursting that unnerved me. I tried my best to tolerate it, but
I could not prevent little whimpers escaping my throat each time he
pushed a little further inside me, nor tears leaking from my eyes as the
pressure built.

My obvious distress elicited words of both concern and encouragement from
the man penetrating me. Yet at the same time, as considerate as he was
trying to be, I could tell just how turned on he was by being the first
to fuck me in this way. He was getting his money's worth, that seemed
certain.

Gradually, I found the pressure easing somewhat, and for the first time
the older man was able to sink a full six inches or so inside me. He held
it in there for a few seconds, then shifted his weight forward until he
was propped on his arms with his head above mine, my splayed,
fishnet-clad legs now resting on his broad shoulders. His grin was fierce
and possessive as he began to thrust in and out, each stroke widening my
passage.

As the physical discomfort receded, and I stopped worrying that something
inside was about to tear, the experience took on a different character.
Two very different feelings began to steal over me.

One was a kind of existential dread. I was being fucked by a man, and not
just physically penetrated, but in some deeper way possessed.

When I had been giving Marissa blowjobs, even passively as she fucked my
face, I had somehow felt in a measure of control, that I could at any
time close my mouth or move my head aside. But now, with a much bigger
and heavier man pinning me down, thrusting himself into my defenceless
ass, there could be no doubt whatsoever. I was his plaything, his
fucktoy. He owned me. I was his to take and use in every way he chose.

But there was also, perversely, a growing sense of stimulation. No doubt
I'd been conditioned in some way by the vibrating plug I'd been forced
to use. But I could not deny that the thick phallus pressing inside of me
was creating pleasure as well as discomfort.

And that feeling only increased when the older man lowered his head and
started licking and sucking my nipples, which quickly came erect under
his attention. While I had done the same with Marissa, she had not
reciprocated. So it was only now that I was discovering that this part of
my body too was capable of sending pleasure signals to my groin. Whether
anything had been done to me to produce that effect, or the reaction was
entirely natural, I simply couldn't say.

There was no simple way to reconcile my feelings about what was
happening. And there didn't need to be either, I decided. My only
objective right now was to get this over as quickly as I could, and
preferably not to have to watch myself being fucked.

A sudden flash of inspiration showed me how I could do that, even though
it sent a flush of embarrassment coursing through my body at what I would
need to say.

"Daddy?" I said tremulously. The client lifted his head from my nipple
and slowed his assault somewhat. "What is it honey?"

I hesitated, then went on breathlessly: "Do you think you could fuck me
from behind? Because I ... I want to be your bitch, Daddy. Please take me
like a bitch!"

For a moment I thought I'd overdone it. Yet his reaction was immediate
and enthusiastic, and I could see I'd lit a fire under him, if it
wasn't already burning.

In no time at all he had climbed off me, and positioned me at the bottom
of the bed on all fours with my rear angled up. Standing behind me, he
slipped back inside my rear and began to impale me as hard and as fast as
he could manage, his belly now slapping hard against my skinny buttocks.

The plan had worked, as he was clearly now going to finish sooner -- and
I wouldn't have to watch him do so. But what I hadn't banked on was
that he wasn't going to be alone.

Something about the change of angle meant that he was now hitting the
magic spot inside me with every stroke. As what undeniably felt like a
building orgasm started to near, I realised that I had slipped a hand
between my legs and was frantically rubbing my unresponsive penis.

As my climax neared, something made me squeal "I'm coming Daddy,"
almost as if I needed his approval, though whether he heard or not I
wasn't sure.

My orgasm felt stronger than on the previous occasion with Marissa,
though it was still nothing like as intense as when I had last
masturbated, back before my captivity and transformation. This time I
could feel the cum oozing from my ruined cock, though once again there
was precious little of it.

I had little time to dwell on it, however, because the client was nearing
his own and far more substantial release. And with a sickly sense of
shame, I realised that I wanted him to come, and not just to end this
perverted sex into which I had been forced. I actually wanted to know
what it felt like for a man to come inside me.

The experience was certainly dramatic. The guttural noises the older man
made were impressively loud. And there was something bizarrely satisfying
in the way he clutched my hips and pressed as deeply inside me as his
fleshy spear would reach, held it, then thrust again and again until
finally shuddering to a halt.

With each push, I knew, sperm was spurting from his cock, filling my ass
with his seed. And yet I couldn't actually feel that creamy injection
... and somehow, I knew, I had wanted to.

The client took several heaving breaths, before grunting heavily and
collapsing on top of me. I waited for him to say something, but there was
simply a long wheeze, then a silence broken only the sound of my lungs
sucking in air. I could feel my heartbeat hammering in my chest, and his
swollen member still pulsing gently inside me, but beyond that, there was
no motion.

I was about to ask him if he was okay when his weight shifted and he
started to roll off me, but then stopped. He was still held in place by
the organ lodged in my rear. I wondered why he didn't simply pull it
out, then froze as I heard someone else behind me mutter a curse. It was
a voice I half recognised, but couldn't place.

I tried to twist around to see who it was, but I was pinned in place.
Then, to my astonishment, I felt hands on my backside, trying to pry the
cock loose from my tight passage. It took quite a bit of effort, together
with some internal pushing on my part, but eventually it came free. And
then the man's weight came off me and there was a muffled thump as he
toppled off the bed and hit the carpeted floor.

Finally able to rise, I peered down at the crumpled figure. "Oh my
god," I exclaimed, still panting, "did he have a heart attack?"

I knelt down to see if he was still breathing, but then recoiled in
horror as I realised there was a knife buried in the back of his
neck, just at the base of his skull. I opened my mouth to scream, but a
hand slipped over my mouth.

"Not a heart attack, no," said the newcomer drily. "But no need to
yell about it, okay babe? If we're going to get out of here, we need to
be quiet, yeah? I'm going to take my hand away, if you promise not to
scream the house down."

And now I could place the voice, though it made no sense at all to be
hearing it. Nevertheless, I nodded and the hand was removed. Scrambling
back to my feet, I stared in amazement at the very last person I expected
to see: my girlfriend, Emma.

She was clad in black, tight-fitting clothes which accentuated her slim,
athletic figure. The red tresses which usually tumbled to her shoulders
were tied back into a tight ponytail. There were bruises on her face and
her hands were scuffed and bloodied. Her smile looked different to the
one I had come to know and adore, more serious somehow. And there was a
tightness and determination around her eyes I'd never seen before.

She held up her hand to forestall the torrent of questions that she could
see springing to my lips. "Later, okay Jamie? Let's do the escaping
thing first, shall we? Oh wait though." Her smile slipped from her face
as quickly as it had arrived. "Something I need to know first. Did he
...?" She gestured at the crumpled figure on the floor.

Before I could say anything, however, she answered her own question.
Staring between my legs, she shook her head. "Oh, right, he did, didn't
he?"

I followed her gaze and saw the steady stream of cum dripping from my
behind, some of it running down my thighs to stain my stockings. I gave a
mute nod, understanding her query. The strange thing was that she didn't
look disgusted at what had happened, more just annoyed.

"Never mind," she said. "Just put some clothes on and we'll make a
move." It said something about my recent conditioning that I didn't
even look at the dead client's attire, just found my panties and
minidress and put them back on.

"Nice outfit," commented Emma, with a deadpan expression. If she was at
all put out by my feminine appearance, she didn't show it -- any more
than she'd been disconcerted by finding me underneath a corpse.

As we reached the door, the thought that had been trying to get my
attention for the last two minutes finally succeeded. I looked back at
the figure on the floor, then at my improbable rescuer. "Did you ...?"
My voice cracked and I couldn't finish the question. She nodded. "It
was him or you, babe," she said quietly. "Now come on, we need to
move."

As we left the bedroom, I saw two men on the floor, guards by their
outfits, neither of them moving. And as we worked through what proved to
be a warren of corridors, we came across several more in the same state.
Whether they were dead or just unconscious, I couldn't tell, and I had
no inclination to stop and check.

"I've scrambled their security system," said Emma, "but we don't
have long before they realise that we're here. Now where is that ...? Oh
right, here, come on!"

She hustled me through an unmarked door, then up a flight of steps that
seemed to be some sort of fire escape. Behind us, we could hear alarms
going off and voices being raised.

The door at the top was solid and didn't budge when my girlfriend tried
to open it. Her response was to hammer on it three times in quick
succession. From outside, we heard the pattern repeated.

"Stand back Jamie," instructed Emma and drew me to one side. With a
crash, the door opened inwards and a black-clad figure beckoned us to go
through.

We emerged into a quiet, dimly lit street. Whether it was evening or the
middle of the night, I had no way of knowing. But spurred on by the
commotion behind us, my only focus was to scramble into the back of the
van that was clearly waiting for us.

A few seconds later, while I was still trying to buckle myself into the
bucket seat to which Emma had directed me, the vehicle was speeding away.

As the seat belt clicked into place, I braced as we took a tight turn,
then looked across at my girlfriend. She was busy talking into a phone,
too quietly for me to hear over the sound of the engine, but smiled as
she caught my eye. When she finished the call, her smile faded as she
asked: "You okay?"

I pondered the answer. I was dressed as a woman, in fishnet stockings and
heels, with permanent makeup on my face and cum still dripping out of my
ass. Cum that had been put there by a man who was now dead, apparently
murdered by my girlfriend. A woman I clearly didn't know at all. But at
least I was now free -- so that was something at least.

"Okay -- sort of, I guess. But look, what ...?" I waved my hands
vaguely in the air, unsure what to ask first. I settled on the most
immediate questions. "Where are we? And who are you?"

"Nineteenth arrondissement," replied Emma. "So yes, you're still in
Paris, but nowhere near where we were meant to be going. I'm sorry it
took so long to find you, but you were at a facility we hadn't known
about before."

She pursed her lips. "As for me, well, let's just say I have a very
particular set of skills. My job was to be with you when you were taken,
learn what I could, then come and rescue you as quickly as possible."

"So you knew I was going to be abducted?" I asked, incredulous.

"Knew, no. But we thought it was pretty likely. The organisation that
grabbed you? They specialise in trafficking pretty young men who look
good as girls, even without surgical enhancement. You wouldn't have
known it, but you happen to have facial features and a body shape that
don't do much for you as a man, but make you perfect for feminisation.
There are some rich men, and even a few women, who are willing to pay a
fortune to have that kind of toy to play with."

I shook my head in wonder as she continued.

"So we found out this firm has a way to tap into the security system at
certain airports. They use facial recognition software to identify
potential targets, then intercept whatever car has been sent to pick them
up and substitute their own. That's what happened to us."

"So you deliberately used me as bait?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," replied Emma, though her expression didn't
suggest any contrition. "But it was too good a chance to find out where
they were operating from in Paris. And if it's of any consolation, my
colleagues have been able to rescue quite a few other boys from that
place -- some of them much younger than you."

Despite my mounting anger at hearing how I had been used, that at least
was good news -- especially if it meant Marissa was now safe. I thought
about asking for confirmation that she'd been rescued, but decided that
I wasn't ready to start talking about how I'd come to know her, much
less what she might mean to me.

Closing my eyes wearily and leaning back against the side of the van, I
asked. "So where are we headed now? To the police, I assume. That's who
you work for, right? Or are you with a government agency of some kind?"

The mirth that this induced was very far from the reaction I had been
expecting. "The police?" chuckled Emma. "Sorry, cupcake, but we
aren't going to the police. You're way too valuable to the people who
are paying me to just give you away. Same with the others."

A scowl passed across her face. "Of course, you'd have been worth a lot
more if I'd got there before that fat fucker popped your cherry. Still,
you and the rest of the merchandise should fetch more than enough to
cover the costs of this operation."

I was staring at her in horror. "So you're not ...?"

"Not the police. Not government. Oh, and not your girlfriend either."
She smirked. "Though if you'd been looking like you do now when we
first met, you probably would have been. I'm into girls who rock
fishnets and heels."

She laughed again. "But listen, if you don't like how you currently
look, don't worry, your new owners are much more willing to make
changes. If you're very good, they might even ask you what size tits
you'd prefer. Probably also change that name, while they're fattening
up that thin ass. What was it again, Lori?"

"Lexi," I said faintly, as the van decelerated and came to a halt. The
door opened to reveal we were in some kind of warehouse.

"Oh yeah, sorry, Lexi. Cute name, you gotta admit. You can probably keep
that then."

She got up and jumped out of the van, then paused as a thought struck
her. "Unless they're selling you to someone in the Middle East, that
is. They have all kinds of rules about what the girls in their harems can
be called. Though you're pretty enough they'll probably make you some
kind of princess!"

She grinned and held out her hand to me. "Well, come on then Lexi. Time
to find out what excitements your new life has in store for you ..."

THE END (for now ...)