“Wondering what’s going on in your sorry behind?” Melinda breathed softly into Hank’s rubber-covered ear. “Well, here’s a news flash. This thick, serrated dong is about eight inches long and it is well up your intestine and perhaps going to stay there, even after I finish, which won’t be any time soon, Lover. I am having a very good time,” She said between deep breaths. “Jamming it up your ass is secondary to having the opposite end doing a far more serious job then you ever did up inside my pussy. Ever heard of a feeldoe, Hank? That’s what this is and it was designed by a woman for women to allow us to do exactly what I am now doing to you.
“Of course,” Melinda added. “It also works between two women and functions, I might add, quite nicely in that regard as well. I have tried it many times, most recently on Sheila who took it quite well, considering that she was strapped to the examination table, gagged with her own slightly used tampons and, according to her, not in the mood for such an engagement. But this giant pecker has the advantage of working either way…with the either the dick up inside me or the fat, bulb-shaped other end inside. Either one works great,” She slowly rotated Her perfect, silicone- enhanced hips, wiggling the long dong slightly in and out of Hank’s ass.
“Maybe,” Melinda suggested, “just maybe, with a lot of asshole therapy and some good lube, if I work on your ass every day, eventually it will be big enough for the vaginal bulb to fit up your ass and the dick will go into my cunt and we can see how that works out. As for the puny little thing that is still attached to your balls, thanks to my presently generous nature, I think that it has no further use for me. Know what I mean, Hank?”
As she said this, Melinda reached around and grabbed Hank’s rigid cock and twisted it hard. Hank screamed and jerked backward, sending the rubber dick further up his colon and evoking yet another round of pain and horror.
In his now deeply confused mind, Hank tried to rationalize the present situation. Was Melinda going to keep him as Her sex slave and would this ass-fucking become routine and would he, in time, but against his wishes, become addicted to having his butt pumped by a woman much as he had not too long ago been fixated on doing the same thing to other women?
The next round of surges from behind him cancelled his somewhat truncated introspection as Melinda, having revived from Her relaxed position on top of Hank, drove the silicone dick ever harder up Hank’s ass. Suddenly, he felt Her shudder and heard Her moans turn into a prolonged scream. He barely felt Melinda’s hand reach around behind him and squeeze the faux ball sac, but he felt the sudden jet of a burning substance that shot deep into his lower tract as she squeezed the faux balls again and again until no more fluid was left.
Inside his intestine, the fire was intense. Whatever She was using, Hank assumed it would kill him, the pain was so great. He obligingly screamed and struggled. Melinda panted heavily, popped the feeldoe out of Her snatch, but leaving the rest of the assembly embedded in Hank’s leaking ass.
“By the way, Hankie,” Melinda shouted on her way out the door. “You just got a load of customized cum and it is mostly just pure old apple vinegar with a bit of cayenne pepper to liven it up. We’ll experiment with different solutions until we find one that is sufficiently stimulating for you. That entire cock thing has an inflated head that will keep it inside no matter how you push and wiggle, so just relax. The dickhead is about the size of a golf ball, but it can get much, much bigger. It will stay there in your ass until we take it out. And, just so you’ll have something to look forward to, when we take it out we’ll mount you on the Chicago Butt-Fucker and that will keep your interest, I’m sure. Bye.”
Hank knew what the Chicago Butt-Fucker, the CBF, was, for it had resided in his Five Seasons apartment for many months, often the source of screams, thrashing about and heavy panting from his female guests as they tried in vain to detach themselves from the mechanical monster with its double dicks pounding away in their hapless crotch crevices. The CBF was handy for carrying on a prolonged fuck session when, due to whatever might occur, Hank had fired his load and was snoring soundly while his captive guest sat with her legs spread and ankles strapped below, her hands bound either behind her or to a dangling chain from overhead, on the double-dicked machine, getting endless, but varied mining operations carried out in her twin apertures between her legs. Hank now realized that his wife had plundered his apartment hideaway and that it was very likely that sooner or later he would be forced to endure the same devices he had used on his guests.
Chapter Eleven
International Transaction
Considering the prices they charged, the hotel’s dimly lit bar was surprisingly well populated. Melinda and Felice sat in a prized corner banquette and sipped avocado-coconut martinis that were mostly juice and a small measure of a rare and virtually unknown alcoholic beverage that was neither vodka nor gin, but tasted somewhere between the two. Flavia Cosmos sat opposite the surgeon and her partner, slowly scanning a multi-page contract that was nearly impossible to read in the dim light.
“I’m sure this will do, Doctor Rostrom. We have great trust in you and know of your many accomplishments in this area,” Cosmos said as she signed the multiple copies of the document and passed it back to Felice who inspected the signatures and folded it back into an envelope that she carefully placed in her large shoulder bag.
“The fee, as noted here,” Felice said with a thin smile, “is payable here and now. You can deliver the parcel at your convenience or we can send a discrete conveyance to pick it up.”
“Delivery has already been taken care of,” said Cosmos, who actually smiled for a brief moment and then slightly nodded to a bearded man standing just inside the entrance to the bar. The man nodded in return and left.
“Please forgive the breach of privacy and trust,” Cosmos said. “But we are always very careful. Security is our top concern. In this case, our caution was unnecessary and the parcel is now lodged in the spacious boot of your Maybach.”
Felice looked a bit shocked and started to get up, but Melinda told her to sit down and looked Cosmos in the eye, saying: “Excellent. I admire your skill and caution. I trust my driver and escort are undisturbed.”
“Oh yes. Of course. We showed them a live video, which is being transmitted from this little pendant,” Cosmos added quickly, lifting the tiny gold pendant that hung around her neck and nestled between her half exposed breasts. “You will find the entire contracted sum in the briefcase under the table,” she added, glancing down at a thin, but expensive-looking leather case on the floor between them. “As specified, the payment is in Euros and Yen, equally divided. This, I might add, is a wise arrangement because the dollar is now nearly worthless and these currencies are available in much larger denominations, so that means less weight and fewer notes to count. Perhaps you find it interesting, as I do, that the largest denomination currency available in your country is one hundred dollars while in Germany and the rest of the EU, a five hundred Euro note is usually available and negotiable.”
“Of course,” Felice replied, thinking that the woman’s fiscal sense was probably excellent, but that her comment about currency was superfluous. She used the toe of her five-inch stiletto pump to quietly ease the case towards her so that it rested against the lower portion of the seat and behind her stockinged calves. “I believe that concludes our business here. Doctor Rostrom and I have paid the tab and you are free to leave when you wish.”
“Thank you. I realize this has been a bit of an unusual project and we all deeply appreciate your interest,” Flavia Cosmos said quietly although there was no one else in the bar. “Can you possibly tell me what you expect the final rendering will be?”
“Doctor?” Felice said quietly, looking at Melinda with her eyebrows slightly raised as if to ask if this question could or should be answered.
“You will be informed when the product is complete and we have assigned all of the required equipment and accessories,” Melinda said amicably. “It is inappropriate for us a
t this time to predict the timing or outcome of the multiple modifications we will be carrying out. I can tell you this: One, it will be both recognizable and unrecognizable, meaning that while I cannot as yet alter DNA, I can assign a wide range of characteristics that make DNA typing difficult if not impossible with current technologies. Two, it will be, from all physical appearances, nothing like the original subject material. That is, it may be heavier or lighter, taller or shorter, blond or brunette. Three, it will be either female or hybrid. That is, it may turn out that the hermaphroditic assignment may be most appropriate. Four, it will be one hundred percent capable of experiencing the sensations you have specified. In spades. The pain receptacles and registers will be of the highest order. To use a nasty little analogy: it will be terminally usable in all apertures.”
“I understand,” Flavia said.
“Nevertheless,” Melinda continued, her face adopting a look that might have implied annoyance at being interrupted. “Nevertheless, I will estimate that in twenty-four months, the product will have been completed and consigned to the recipients you specified, assuming that geopolitical concerns do not interfere. You know how these things go. Governments that are pals one week are throwing nukes at each other the next.”
“I understand. Should that occur, you have the alternate destinations in the agreement.”
“Yes. We know about that,” Felice said.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Flavia said.
“You are quite welcome,” Melinda said, picking up her fur coat and sliding gracefully out of the booth. “In fact, I believe you have set a new record for the price paid to dispose of a disease in our society. Good day.”
The three women left the bar. When they got to Her black Maybach, Melinda had Felice check the trunk, just as a precaution to assure that their new passenger was uncomfortable but alive and well. Melinda sat in the front passenger seat and waited quietly.
“All as required,” Felice said as she slipped into the driver’s seat and started the big Mercedes 500. “He’s been stripped of his clothes and his hair, has a gag the size of a number twelve sneaker in his mouth and his eyes taped shut. They put a locked belt harness on him and we can assume that there is something the size of a boxcar up his pitiful ass. To assure his continued discomfort, he is chained and hogtied, locked to the luggage tie downs and whimpering like a two year old.”
“How appropriate for a former self-elected president,” Melinda said with a bit of a grin. “I doubt any of his long suffering citizens will miss his ass, except maybe the ones who are on his payroll and a few of the well-heeled fools who contributed to his election success. I was thinking that it would be fascinating to have him return back home in a few years as some hot shot celebrity chick.”
“Oh, my yes. Now that has possibilities,” Felice said. “Certainly the decision on what pieces of his present physical makeup you’d leave would be critical.”
“How do you mean that, Felice, my dear?” Melinda asked.
“Well, for openers, if you left his junk more or less intact, but he had all of the other physical looks of a chick, I would imagine his former buddies would have a great time planning to fuck him only to discover that he didn’t have a pussy. They’d have to settle for a piece of his ass and that would perhaps go poorly for all parties,” Felice added, driving the big car carefully through the late afternoon traffic.
“And the other option?” Melinda asked.
“Oh, I am sure that given your talent, there are more than two options, but I was just weighing the dick-no dick scenario,” Felice offered, using her free hand to gesture at times when the traffic seemed to endanger them most. “If we took his cock and balls,” she added. “And left him like a neutered dog or gelding, his life as such could also be worthy of some study. Consider: you leave the country you have bludgeoned into bankruptcy as a wanted man and return a few years later as some broad with big tits, a tight ass and no dinero. How does that play out?”
“Other options?” Melinda asked, enjoying Felice’s always crafty discussion. Felice wasn’t a physician, but she had learned plenty from Melinda and was certainly capable of considering the multiple variations of the present theme: Take a Latin American Dictator and turn him into something else.
“I don’t think they’re paying enough for the full tilt resex job though. If we just do the body cosmetics, facial and some training, I think it would be enough. If we get him to the point where in public and reasonably fully dressed he’d pass as a bitch, I think we would have done our job. But, to go the whole enchilada, I think you could have asked for much more.”
“I agree. However, I think there’s more water in that well and I wanted to make a deal they couldn’t or wouldn’t refuse. Call it planning for the future,” Melinda offered.
“As usual, you see the bigger picture, Doctor,” Felice said and then drove quietly, saying nothing else.
Melinda broke the silence with a question: “What do you know about pony training?”
“Not much,” Felice answered after a pause. “I have seen some of the videos and photos of both pony girls and pony boys, but frankly, it does nothing for me although, come to think of it, Alicia Franklyn once told me she had gone to a pony camp one winter just for the experience.”
“Really?” Melinda said with obvious interest. “Do you think we could hire a trainer and set up a small stable, just for the Hell of it? We have no lack of candidates, that’s for sure.”
“I suppose so. Want me to look into it?”
“Yes. We can use the farm and I want Hank to be the test case. Of course, if we get other applicants, that would be alright, I suppose. Set it up, buy what we need in terms of equipment and try to keep it simple.”
“I’ll get right on it tonight,” Felice said with enthusiasm.
“Oh, and see if you can get that weird guy with the towel on his head who does the woodwork to join the pony crew. I am frankly sick and tired of his goofing off on my time.”
“Ok. You mean Ahmed, the carpenter?”
“Carpenter, my ass. I don’t think he knows a hammer from his dick. I caught him rooting around in my desk the other day and he said he was looking for a pen. I kicked him out and have been thinking about what we might do with him since then. He’s a goof off anyway.”
“He says he has the right to stop work and do his prayer thing, you know,” Felice said. “Says he’s Muslim and can do this without having to punch out.”
“Fuck him,” Melinda added quickly. “Arrange for him to disappear the next time he rolls out his prayer rug. Put him in the cellar and keep him quiet until the pony thing is running.”
“Okay. He says his family is coming over soon, so we best get rid of him quickly. We’ll get on this first thing tomorrow.”
“Sure, as long as he’s on my payroll he thinks we will be frightened by his infidel ways. Daddy will fix his ass if we have any trouble with him. I have the feeling there might be an available spot in the landfill for that little prick anyway, but let’s see if he can be hitched to pull a cart first. And skip the bridle and bits. Put the reins directly on his cock and balls. That should distract him from his prayer calls.”
“Ohhh, that sounds like fun,” Felice said, making notes as they arrived back at the house.
Chapter Twelve
The Bridge Club
Actually, it wasn’t a club for playing cards. It just happened to be a small private club located beneath a famous and ancient suspension bridge in a major US city. It happened that at that time, Melinda was putting together a “chorus line” as she called it, yet another amusement facility for women of substance who wanted something more than a night out watching buff male strippers wiggle their hard bodies in a fancy club; entertainment for females and gay males only. A modern bordello for female clients only…although the occasional guest of mixed gender might show up and be accepted, assuming their bank card was acceptable and they were discrete enough to blend in with the other guests.
Melinda�
��s plan called for no less than a dozen male subjects who would be trained and used for two profitable purposes: (1) entertaining women who wanted slave service with few holds bared, in a safe, secure environment and (2) attracting candidates for gender conversion. She knew there were more than enough women in the first category and that these women would, if given an opportunity, bring men. An annoying boss, subordinate, stalker, an abusing husband or boy friend, or other eligible males were easily lured to The Bridge Club for Melinda’s consideration. She calculated that about five percent of those males offered would have resale value and another five or ten percent could be used in the entertainment halls and private rooms of the club. Her estimates were within acceptable fiscal parameters, her business plan exacting and complete. Within six months she had the property, aptly located with tunnels running into a former warehouse under the approaches to the city’s biggest suspension bridge. The area was less than high class, but Melinda prevailed upon two of the city’s most influential woman council members to increase police sweeps and clean up the surrounding blocks with the rewards being lifetime membership in the luxury club. Caroline Fisher, one of the city council members, was so taken by the concept that she quietly begged Melinda to take her husband as a charter “entertainer.”
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