by Nikki J
Mike fumed. It wasn't his fault that they had lost the biggest account in the company. He had done his job. It was that lout, Tony, who had dropped the ball, costing the company millions of dollars. None of that, however, mattered. Tony claimed that it had been all Mike's fault, and being the CEO's nephew, Tony got the benefit of the doubt.
And so Mike found himself packing his belongings into a cardboard box while a security guard waited to escort him out of the building. He had been with the company for almost twenty-five years, and had made them millions. But all that seemed to have been thrown away in favor of some little prick who was related to the top man. He slammed a coffee mug into the box a little too hard, and it shattered.
“You okay?” the security guard asked. Mike had seen him every day for around ten years, but he didn't know the man's name.
“Yeah. Just frustrated is all,” Mike responded, running a hand over his smoothly shaved, chocolate colored head. It wasn't about the money. He had plenty saved up. It was about the principle of it all, that his long history with the company meant nothing. Loyalty, it seemed, had been tossed aside like so much refuse. Once his few possessions had been packed away, the security guard walked him from the building. It was embarrassing to be treated like some sort of criminal.
He stood just outside the building for a moment, a little dumbstruck as pedestrians strolled past him. What was he going to do now? He had no real family to speak of, having been divorced for almost a decade, and he'd never had children. Mike had given his life to that company, and they had spit in his face for his trouble.
After a few minutes, he did the only thing he could think to do – he went home.
A few days passed, and Mike dropped into deeply melancholic state. He didn't want to do anything, so he just sat in his recliner watching television all day. He supposed that he could have looked for another job, but he knew that it would do little to ease his depression. Besides, they would probably just fire him the first time they needed a scapegoat.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into month, and before he knew it, nearly half of a year had passed. Mike rarely left the house, instead choosing to spend his time idly passing the time. One bright spot was that his savings had nearly tripled over the last month thanks to some canny investing by his stockbroker. Most people would have been ecstatic to have become a multi-millionaire, but not Mike. What use was money when you had no purpose?
Very little held any interest for him; he barely ate, hardly slept, and had almost no contact with the outside world. Mike was in a very, very dark place. He knew what he wanted, at least subconsciously. He wanted them all to pay. He wanted Tony to feel lost. He wanted revenge.
It took a while for that thought to forge through the layers of depression, but when it did, Mike began to plot. He began to take care of himself again, and soon, was back to his old self. He now had purpose. He was going to kill Tony.
And so, Mike began a training regimen he designed to prepare for accomplishing his goal without getting caught. He had no desire to see the inside of a prison cell, so he poured every ounce of his energy into the endeavor. He was a man possessed by a mission.
One morning, Mike was just getting back from a session at the firing range when he pushed the button on his answering machine.
“Mike. It's Omar. I'm in town for a few days, and thought I'd give my old college room mate a call. Let's get together. My number's 421-555-2351. Give me a call,” the voice on his answering machine said.
Mike smiled. He had always liked Omar. He was a little militant in his racial views for his taste, but all in all, Omar was a good guy. And he was always interesting. Mike decided to call him back.
He dialed the number, and on the second ring, Omar picked up. “This is Dr. Bell.”
“Not just Omar, huh? You're Dr. Bell, now?” Mike asked jokingly.
“Mike! How's it going man?” Omar queried.
Mike responded, “Not great. Going through a bit of a rough patch, actually.”
“You up for lunch today? You can tell me all about it,” Omar offered.
“Sounds good,” Mike said. After deciding where to eat, Mike hung up the phone.
Mike arrived at the sports bar a few hours later, and found Omar sitting near the bar, watching a college baseball game. Omar wasn't a big guy at only five feet, eight inches. Nor was he heavy. But he had a commanding presence. They shook hands, and exchanged greetings before Omar asked, “So what's been troubling you, friend?”
And Mike recounted the story of his dismissal. Omar wanted to make it a racial thing, but Mike was adamant that his being black had had nothing to do with it. It was simply a matter of being a convenient scapegoat for an incompetent man who had gotten his position based on nepotism. Omar seemed unconvinced, but there again, everything was about race with him.
“So what are you going to do? Get another job?” Omar asked.
Mike shook his head, and said, “No, I don't think that would work for me. Besides, I'm good on finances now, what with my luck with the stock market.”
“What then? Travel? See the world? You could always come work in my company. I need good people,” Omar offered.
“Nah. I have a plan --” Mike said, then thought better of it. He trusted Omar completely. They were almost like brothers. But he didn't want to trouble his friend with his murderous intentions. “No, it's better you don't know.”
“What? Revenge, then?” Omar asked. He knew Mike pretty well. “Are you going to blow the whistle on some sort of fraud or something?” Missed the mark by that much.
Mike laughed, “In that company? No, they're clean as a whistle.”
“You're not going to do something rash, are you?” Omar asked, genuinely concerned. Mike didn't answer, and instead looked up at the baseball game. It was the local university playing some out-of-state school. And then Mike noticed something.
“Oh that's just too much,” he said. Omar looked at him questioningly. “That kid – the one at bat,” he pointed to the screen. “That's the kid of the bastard who got me fired. Phillip is his name. Tony – that's the one I worked with – was always going on about his kid the ball player, about how he was going to be in the pros one day. That kid right there was his pride and joy. He even took pride in how much ass that kid got.”
Mike shook his head in disgust, then looked up at Omar who had a strange look on his face.
“You want to get back at this guy Tony, do you?” Omar asked.
“More than anything,” Mike responded.
Then, Omar asked, “And you said you have access to plenty of money, right?”
Intrigued, Mike answered, “Millions if necessary.”
“Then I have an idea,” Omar offered. “It will require a significant investment on your part, but I can give you the revenge you seek.”
“You'll have him killed?” Mike asked.
Omar laughed. “No. I'm not a murderer. I'll just take away that which is most dear to him.”
Mike listened as Omar explained how, through his research as a biochemist and geneticist, he had developed a drug which would solve his problem in a very unique way. The more that was explained to Mike, the more it excited him.
Finally, Mike said, “Let's do it. What do you need to make this happen?”
“I'll need money. I'm not sure exactly how much, but I can get back to you on that. And we'll need a facility,” Omar said. “Other than that, you just have to figure out a way to get him where you want him.”
Mike smiled. He had been training for a few months now for just such a job. “That won't be a problem.”
And so Mike found himself in an old SUV he had bought a few weeks earlier. He had been watching Phillip for a couple of days, looking for the proper time to take him. The right moment, however, had not presented itself. Tony, it seemed, had not been exaggerating about the kid's ability to pick up women. Mike supposed that being a star college athlete had its advantages.
The kid was big – bigger than Mike for sure – at about six foot, two inches tall and every bit of two-hundred and twenty pounds, but Mike was sure that he could take him down. After all, Mike had once been a Gold Glove boxer, and he had been training for months for a moment like this.
He watched as Phillip exited the building (it contained indoor batting cages for the ball players). The kid turned, and laughed at some joke a friend had made, and waved goodbye as he separated from the group. He walked towards a red sports car, and pushed a button on his keyring. The car's lights blinked, and the doors unlocked.
As it happened, he had parked in a very dark area of the lot, and he was alone. Mike would never get a better chance. He opened the door, and stepped out of the SUV. With silent footsteps, he crept up behind the bigger man. He held a syringe in one gloved hand. The kid never saw him coming.
Mike grabbed the bigger man around the mouth, preventing any scream, and quickly jabbed the needle into his neck, injecting the tranquilizer. Phillip was out in seconds.
Mike dragged him to the SUV, and with great effort, got him into the back of the vehicle. Panting, he closed the doors, and leaned against the SUV.
Police milled about, drinking coffee, talking amongst themselves as Tony nervously fidgeted with his cell phone.
“Sir, are you listening?” a detective asked.
“What? Oh, yeah,” Tony responded. “We should expect a ransom call or letter within the next day or so.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Why him? He never hurt anyone.”
“It's likely that it has something to do with your family's business. Whoever took him probably knows you can afford to pay,” the detective explained.
A note had shown up the night before, saying that Tony's son, Phillip had been kidnapped, and that the abductors would be in touch. Tony hadn't heard from his son in a couple of days, but that wasn't that unusual. The boy didn't need constant supervision, after all; he was a grown man.
And then, Tony's cell phone rang. All conversation stopped, and the detective said, “Answer it. We're tracing the call.”
Tony pressed a button, and then pulled the phone to his ear. “Hello,” he said.
“We do not want money,” a voice began. It had obviously been run through some sort of device, because it sounded like it belonged to a robot. “We merely want you to suffer. I just want you to know that it is your fault that your son has been kidnapped.”
“Don't hurt him!” Tony pleaded.
“Who--” He pulled the phone from his ear. “They hung up.”
The detective looked at a technician sitting in front of a laptop computer. The technician shook his head. “I can't explain it. I've never tried to run a trace this complicated before.”
“Obviously, we're dealing with professionals.”
Philip awoke to a splitting headache and a nauseated stomach. He looked around groggily. He was in the corner of a small concrete room, almost like a jail cell, except that it had no bars, just solid walls with a single door. He was completely naked.
He stood, crossed the room in a couple of steps, and tried the door. Locked.
“Hello?” he called. His voice echoed off of the concrete walls. He banged on the door, and yelled, “Let me out of here!”
He screamed a few more times before he realized it was no use, so he sat down, and leaned against the wall to think. Who had cause to kidnap him? He didn't really have any enemies that he knew of, so he supposed it must be money they were after. Philip felt secure in the knowledge that his father would pay anything to get him back.
But that didn't mean he couldn't try to escape. Think about that headline – Star Baseball Player Escapes from Perverted Kidnappers. He liked the idea of that. So, Phillip sat and waited for an opportunity to make his escape.
It happened about an hour later, and he was ready. The door knob turned, and the door started to open. Phillip sprang into action immediately. The man on the other side was huge black man, but Phillip had surprise on his side. Phillip barged through the door, knocking his would-be guard to the ground. The man hit his head on the concrete floor, knocking him cold.
Phillip sprinted through what looked like the corridors of a massive bunker. The walls were concrete, just like in his cell, and the ceilings were relatively low. He made turns at random, trying to find his way out, and was eventually rewarded when he saw a heavy door at the end of a hall.
He burst through it into a blinding sunlight. He looked around, and was dismayed to see that he was in the middle of a desert. Sand stretched as far as he could see. He turned around, and saw that the building looked like one would expect – a huge concrete block, almost perfectly square.
Phillip decided to take his chances, and turned to make a run for it. He made it three steps before a blinding pain erupted in his side. He collapsed onto the hot sand, writhing in pain. Drool escaped his mouth as he convulsed.
After a few seconds, the pain subsided, but its aftermath left Phillip severely debilitated. He turned his head to see a short, bald black man with a goatee standing over him with a tazer clutched in his hand.
“You won't escape so easily, Phillip,” Phillip heard the man say before unconsciousness took him.
Phillip awoke in his concrete prison cell once again. This time, his head was foggier than before, but this time, he was not alone. The man with the goatee sat on a stool before him. Phillip saw the tazer in the man's hand.
“Ah, you're awake at last,” the man said. Phillip glared at him. “I suppose introductions are in order. I, of course, know who you are. My name is Dr. Omar Bell, and I absolutely, unequivocally hate you. Not because of who you are or what you've done. No. I hate you because of what you represent. I say this not to frighten you, but instead, intend it as a warning. You will get no quarter from me. I will see my plan through, your feelings, your life, or your future be damned.”
“I don't know --” Dr. Bell raised the tazer, and Phillip shut his mouth immediately.
“You will not speak unless instructed to do so,” Dr. Bell commanded. “As to what's in store for you, that is a little complicated. Let's just say that I'm testing a world-changing drug on you.” Phillip looked alarmed. “Don't worry. It will not harm you. You will remain healthy enough. If it comforts you, know that if I intended to kill you, you would already be dead.”
“This drug will merely change your outlook on life,” Dr. Bell assured. “When we are done, you will be released. In the meantime, bad behavior will be punished. Good behavior will be rewarded.”
Dr. Bell stood up, and walked towards the door. He opened it, and then turned, saying, “Oh, and don't try to escape again. We can make your stay here very unpleasant. Besides, we are in the middle of the Sahara desert. Where would you go if you did escape?”
And with that, he was through the door, and gone. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind him.
Mike had watched the entire encounter on a computer monitor which received a video feed form a small camera in the cell. Omar walked in.
“How'd I sound?” Omar asked, smiling.
“Like an evil genius,” Mike responded, smiling as well. “So, tell me again exactly what is going to happen here.”
“As you know, a few years ago, I bought a formula from a former colleague. He had used it to get revenge on some fellow who had bullied him years before,” Omar paused. “I can't even remember the man's name. He's gone now, anyway. Well, this drug was quite unique, but it wasn't perfect for my needs. So I began working on the formula, engineering it to do what exactly what I wanted it to do.”
“Which is?” Mike asked.
“I want to get revenge on the white population of this world. You know how I feel about the subject. We are owed much more than a few jobs from affirmative action. We need more than equality to make up for the oppression of the past. We need reparation. The white man must be punished,” Omar explained, his voice rising with each sentence. He composed himself, and then continued, “We are superior, you know. Look at professional sports. We are stronger, faster, and if we weren't kept down by an unjust system, we'd be smarter, too.”
“Can you cut to the chase, Omar? I've heard this all before, and you know how I feel,” Mike said. “What is going to happen to Phillip in there?”
“Basically, he will become a sissy,” Omar explained.
Mike thought for a second, and then said, “You said that before, but what does that mean?”
Omar smiled, and then said excitedly, “It's like something out of science fiction, and you won't quite believe it until you see it.”
“Just tell me in plain English what it does, Omar,” Mike said impatiently.
“First, he will gradually shrink,” Omar explained. “Basically becoming about the size he would have been had he born a female. It's a complicated process where the drug changes the genes --”
Mike interrupted, “So he gets smaller. I don't need to know how.”
Slightly irked, Omar continued, “Most of his muscle mass will be lost, and his body's shape will change. His waist will shrink, his hips will widen, and his ass will round out.”
After a few seconds, Omar kept going, “Now my favorite part of the drug is this – his nipples and his asshole will become erogenous zones, and will adjust their function accordingly. His anus will gain elasticity and become quite sensitive to penetration. His nipples will get hard when he's aroused, and they resemble women's nipples – without the breasts upon which to rest, of course.”
“He will lose most of his body hair. Some of our test subjects have retained a small tuft just above their genitals, but most have lost even that,” Dr. Bell continued. “His voice's pitch will rise, and his penis and testicles will shrink considerably.”
“And finally, he will begin to produce female pheromones while becoming receptive to male pheromones,” Omar finished.
“The beauty of it is that he will have a very feminine body, and he will be attracted to men. And then, once he's been penetrated, it reinforces that attraction because it is extremely pleasurable for them. That, combined with the psychological effect of losing his masculinity, and maybe a little conditioning, and he will be the epitome of sissihood,” Dr. Bell finished excitedly.
Mike thought for a moment, and then said, “Pictures. We need to send pictures of his development. If he's going to change that much, we need to make absolutely sure that Tony knows that it is his son.”
“Get up,” the guard said as he opened the door to Phillip's cell. “Now,” he said. Phillip obeyed. “Come with me.”
Phillip followed the guard obediently out of the cell. They walked for a few minutes, turning down this corridor or that. Eventually, Phillip got lost, and was glad for the big guard's lead.
Finally, they came to another metal door, and the guard led Phillip through. It was equipped like a photo studio. In one corner, there was a black backdrop surrounded by various lights. In the other was a variety of cameras on tripods.
Dr. Bell was standing near one of the cameras. When he saw Phillip and the guard enter, he said the guard, “Wait outside, Clarence.” When Clarence had left, shutting the door behind him, Dr. Bell said, “You know, I was a photography minor in college. I was never very good at it, but I quite enjoyed it. I've found that, with the exception of money or power, nothing gets a woman naked like the prospect of an artist making her his subject.”
Phillip stood naked beside the backdrop, trying to cover his privates.
“Oh don't bother covering yourself up. You're going to be spending quite a bit of time naked,” Dr. Bell said, smiling. “Ah, there we go,” he said, clicking something in place on a camera. “Now, I want you to stand over there in front of the backdrop. Good. Stand sideways, and put your hands on your knees. Stick your ass out a bit. Arch your back. Good boy. Now turn towards the camera and act like you're going to kiss it.” Omar took the picture.
“Now sit down,” the black man instructed. “Spread your legs, and put your hands on your ankles. Pull your knees up some. Good.” Click. He took another picture.
“Good job. Now, stand back up. Face the backdrop. Arch your back. Really stick that ass out there. Put your hands at the top of your cheeks. Higher,” Omar smiled. “Now look back at me. Give me a little pout. Fantastic.”
“You're doing so well, Phillip. Last one, okay. I want you to lay down on your stomach, now. Lean on your elbows. Arch your back. Always arch your back. Pull your feet up in the air,” Dr. Bell instructed. “Now look back at the camera. Smile.” He took the final picture.
“Clarence!” Dr. Bell called. The door opened. “You may take our guest back to his room.”
The whole way back, Phillip felt embarrassed. He knew he couldn't have stopped it, but he felt he should have at least resisted instead of doing everything his captor wanted. He couldn't help but wonder what Dr. Bell was going to do with those pictures, however. He knew he had been posing like a girl, and he prayed that no one he knew would ever see them.
Tony received an email the very next day containing the pictures of his naked son posing like he thought he was in Playboy.
“What are they doing to you, son?” he whispered to himself.
He debated whether or not he should tell the police about the pictures, weighing the embarrassment versus the potential gain. His need to see his son free won out, and he called the detective who showed up an hour later with another policeman and a technician whose job it was to track people over the internet.
“It's a long shot. It's not that hard to cover your tracks online,” the detective explained. “But we have to try everything. Now show me this email.”
To his credit, the detective didn't bat an eyelash at the racy photos, and for that Tony was thankful. He did, however, catch the slightest of chuckles come from the technician when he saw them.
Tony inwardly groaned, but kept his mouth shut. If these people could help find his son, he could put up with it.
The next day, Phillip awoke feeling cold. It only took him a moment to figure out that it was because all of his body hair had fallen out – it coated the floor where he had slept fitfully that night. He stood, and paced his cell, wondering what else was going to happen to him.
He was subjected to another photo shoot that day, and when he returned, the hair was had been cleaned. That was something, at least.
Phillip spent the rest of the day either pacing his cell or sitting in the corner, thinking about his predicament. He knew that escape was out of the question. And he also knew that Dr. Bell was going to finish what he started. But he doubted that he'd ever be set free. People just didn't do that. He had to believe, though. That was his only chance at coming out of this alive. He had to do whatever Dr. Bell wanted. He fell asleep that night wondering what that might entail.
“No,” Dr. Bell said. “He has to be taught. It won't just happen, not in this isolated place. Normally, he'd observe women and mimic them. It's something that their subconscious brain does. The feel like women. They have similar urges. They want men. Women get men. So they want to act like women.”
“But if he can't see any women, his mannerisms won't change much. He might do some things from memory, but he needs constant reinforcement of how it should be done. That's why we need to teach him,” Omar finished.
Mike was still unconvinced. Omar wanted to hire a few women to teach the kid how to act, how to move. But more people cost money, and increased their chances of being caught. He certainly didn't want to be caught.
“Two women, not three. And they never see me,” Mike compromised.
“Fine. We can make do with two,” Omar said. “But they have to be beautiful. Otherwise, his lack of arousal won't mean as much.”
“You've done this before, haven't you?” Mike asked.
“I have,” Omar answered.
Another picture arrived in Tony's email a couple of days after the first. His son was posing the same way, but something was different. Tony stared at the photos for a few seconds before he realized. His son was completely hairless from the neck down.
That time, embarrassment won out. He closed out the window, and walked away from the computer.
A few days after that, he got another one. This time, his son seemed smaller. It wasn't that noticeable at first, but after comparing the two sets of photos, Tony judged that Phillip had gotten about an inch shorter and lost a bit of muscle mass.
A week later, he got another email. This time, Phillip was definitely shorter. He supposed that they could have been using some sort of photo manipulation to make him seem that way, but something told him that they were changing his son.
Eight days after that, Tony opened another email with a sense of dread. The photos inside were even more alarming than he could have expected. His son had lost another few inches in height (a total of about six inches, Tony estimated), and quite a bit of weight. He couldn't weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds now.
Another two weeks passed before Tony received another set of photos. This one was accompanied by a video. He looked at the photos first. Phillip was absolutely tiny. He was, at most, a hundred and ten pounds, and about five feet three inches. But even worse, his body's shape had completely changed. His once narrow hips had widened. His waist was slim, and his rock hard, muscular ass had rounded out into one which belonged on an eighteen year old cheerleader. Even his stomach looked different, with a slight curve to it.
Try as he might, Tony couldn't help but notice his son's genitals. They were absolutely tiny. His penis couldn't be more than an inch and a half long, and Tony could hardly make out the boy's balls. And then there were his nipples. The areolas were, as far as Tony could tell, about an inch wide, and the nipples themselves were probably a quarter of an inch long.
Reluctantly, Tony launched the accompanying video. On it, his son stood, still naked.
Phillip said to the camera, “Dad, I'm okay.” Even Phillip's voice had changed! Tony had heard women with lower pitched voices. Phillip continued, “They've been treating me fine, I guess, and they say I'll be able to come home soon. They've been honest so far, so I think they intend to let me go. That's it.” And the video cut out.
The last couple of months had been strange for Phillip. He knew he was changing, but he couldn't really get the full scope of it. Sure, he could easily see that his penis had shrunk. He could feel that he was shorter and lighter (he had to look up at Dr. Bell now), but it was easy to deny how much he had changed when he never had to see it.
That changed when Phillip was moved to another room. He gasped a bit when he walked into what appeared to be a fully furnished teenage girl's bedroom. The bedding and walls were pale yellow. Posters of boy bands were pinned on the walls, and a dresser with a huge mirror stood in the corner.
Phillip couldn't help but stare at his reflection. He had changed so much.
Besides the changes to his body, his brown hair had grown down to his shoulders, and his face, though still recognizable, was feminine enough that it could have belonged to a sister or female cousin.
“You may shower in there,” Clarence explained, pointing to a door on one wall. “And clothes are in the dresser.” With that, he turned, and walked out the door, closing and locking it behind him.
Phillip didn't hesitate. He had dreamed about being clean for weeks, and he quickly entered the bathroom. It was bare, except for a bottle of body wash (in a soft pink bottle), a fluffy pink towel, and a loofah in the shower.
Phillip shrugged, and turned on the shower. He squealed at the cold water before he reached down to adjust its temperature. Soon, steam rose from the relaxingly hot water as Phillip poured a bit of the body wash onto the loofah. It smelled fruity.
He lathered himself up, enjoying the hot water as he did. When he cleaned the crack of his rear end, however, his hand brushed against the opening of his anus, and he almost let out another squeal. It was so sensitive! But certainly not in a bad way. Part of him wanted to explore that sensitivity, but he resisted the urge.
Soon, Phillip had finished washing his nubile body, and he dried himself with the towel. He let it fall to the floor when he was done, and crossed to the dresser. His nudity still bothered him, though not as much as it originally had.
He opened a drawer. Inside was women's lingerie. He sighed, picking up a pair of red lace panties. Phillip knew what was expected of him, though he could not fathom what the purpose was. He only knew that if he disobeyed, he'd get the tazer again...or worse, they'd send him back to his cell. Besides, they were just clothes.
He rummaged through the drawer, looking for something that was at least cotton. He found some which were pale blue with yellow dots. Phillip slipped them up his smooth legs and over his ass.
He looked in the mirror. His penis barely even showed.
He opened the other drawers. Inside of one, he found a couple of leotards and some stockings. Inside of another, he found some shorts (the sort he'd seen the cheerleaders wear at practice in high school). And inside the final drawer he found a collection of tank tops and tee-shirts.
He chose to put on a pair of the shorts and a tee-shirt. The tee-shirt was small, but not uncomfortably so. Even so, it barely came down to his navel, while the shorts rode somewhat low. The result was a generous sliver of showing skin.
He looked at himself in the mirror again. Turning, Phillip looked at his girlish ass. What had they done to him?
“I look like a girl without tits,” he mumbled to himself.
Saying it out loud made the realization really hit home, and he started to sob. He threw himself down on the bed, and cried into his fluffy pillows. Soon, though, the combination of an emotionally exhausting day and the warm, soft bed culminated in his drifting off to sleep.
He dreamed of big, black cocks.
Tony received another video a few days later, and immediately closed the email. He didn't need to see what they were doing to his son. But after a few minutes, he opened it back up, and launched the video.
Dance music began, and then an image faded in. Phillip stood motionless in what looked like a dance studio. The was wearing some short cheerleader shorts and a tight little tank top which showed his midriff. The bass thumped, and Phillip's head bobbed with it. Then he started to gyrate his hips with the beat. Finally, he started dancing very suggestively with the music.
Tony shut it off. He didn't need to see that. A few minutes later, however, he turned it back on and watched the whole thing. When Phillip finished, he was out of breath. But what Tony noticed was that he held one forearm perpendicular to his body, with his wrist bent, while the other fanned his face exaggeratedly. It was a decidedly feminine gesture.
A week later, Tony received another video. This time, though, it was different. It didn't look staged like the others. It looked like someone had simply made a home video. In it, Philip was wearing a similar outfit to what he wore in the video before, but this time, the top of his shorts was flipped over, exposing more skin and giving a peak at his pink thong.
The video was just of Phillip stretching, and man, was he flexible. He effortlessly did a split, then bent forward at the waist until his chin touched the ground. He held the pose for about twenty seconds, and then stood up.
Languidly, Phillip bent down, giving the camera a great view of his plump ass. After a few seconds of that, Phillip just stood there, obviously waiting on something and chatting with someone (there wasn't any sound). He gestured femininely while he talked, and his back stayed slightly arched.
And then Phillip started shaking his booty, laughing, like someone had dared him to do it. And then the video faded to black.
Tony felt so helpless. The police had no leads. He didn't know what was going on, and his son now more closely resembled a daughter.
Phillip was exhausted. They had been giving him dance lessons for almost two months now, and Phillip had to admit, he was a natural. The athlete in him was proud. The man in him was embarrassed. He suppressed the man. Embarrassment did him no good there.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his dance lessons. The steps were harder than he could have imagined, but he was doing well. Tomorrow, he thought, he would start wearing heels. His instructors were gorgeous, though they had never given names. One was a statuesque black woman with an accent who taught him ballet. The other was a shorter (though still taller than him) white girl with blonde hair.
What worried him is that they should have turned him on. He had seen them naked (most of their sessions were done in the nude) many times, and their bodies were perfect. But other than an abstract admiration of beauty, he felt nothing. His penis didn't even twitch when he thought of the beautiful women.
But they were playful, and they often shared jokes (even if a few were at his expense – they liked to make fun of his small penis), and Phillip found that he quite enjoyed the company. Sometimes, Dr. Bell would video his dance sessions, and Phillip tried to do his best. He wanted to please the man so that he may be released sooner.
After lying on his bed for a few minutes, Phillip realized that he needed to urinate. So he got out of bed, and went to the bathroom. He pulled down his shorts, and then his panties. His tiny penis in hand, he tried to aim it, but it was hard to really grip. The result was urine on the floor and on his hands. Finally, he realized the answer to his predicament, and sat down. Much cleaner, he thought, and then wondered why he had never sat down to pee before.
When he went back into his room, he noticed something sitting on his dresser – a big, black dildo. He didn't know how it had gotten there. He supposed someone must have come in while he was in the bathroom, but he hadn't heard anything. Strange.
Since that first day in the shower when he had inadvertently brushed his sensitive anus, Phillip had found his fingers lingering in the area during showers. Soon, he had taken to fingering himself, though he never did it for long. Embarrassment kept it from going much further. But now, two desires were rolled into one. He wanted to please his masters so that he may be set free, and they had obviously put the dildo there to be used. They wanted him to use it. On the other hand, he was very curious how it might feel. His fingers felt good, but a dildo that size? Somehow, he knew it would be wondrous.
So much of his masculinity had faded that it hardly even put up a fight when Phillip quickly stripped down and grabbed the realistic looking dildo. He studied it as he held it in his dainty, feminine hand. It was gorgeous, with veins popping out along its shaft and a pair of generous balls at the base.
Almost instinctively, he licked it, and recoiled at the taste of rubber. He looked around for something with which to lubricate his ass, but he found nothing. So he sat on his bed, leaned back and spread his legs. After sucking on his finger a bit, he reached down, and started fingering his asshole. To his surprise, it was already wet.
With the other hand, he played with his hard nipples. He reached for the dildo, grabbed it by its shaft, and sent it down towards his anus. Outside of a little pain (which passed very quickly), it went in without protest.
Phillip gasped. What had he been missing?! He slid the dildo in up to its base, and his body quivered. Slowly, Phillip pulled it out, and then pushed it back in quickly. In and out it went, and he couldn't help but moan girlishly. In and out, over and over. He came after about thirty seconds, but he kept going. He came again about three minutes later. His forearm got tired so he switched arms. When that arm got tired, he set the base of the dildo on the floor, and rode it. He was in ecstasy. Phillip had never felt pleasure like that.
He dildo'd himself for hours until, finally, he could take it no longer, and fell asleep, the dildo still in his ass as he lay curled up on the floor.
Tony received another video, and didn't even go through the motions of resistance. He didn't want to see its contents, but he had to. He had to know what was happening to his son.
This one was in a different location; it looked like a teenage girl's bedroom. Phillip lay on the bed in only a red lace thong. Tony could barely make out the bump of his son's small penis in the tiny panties.
The camera panned slowly away from his son to a beautiful tall black woman. She was completely naked, and she had an amazing body. She walked slowly over to the bed, and the camera followed.
Phillip propped his head up, and smiled, then reached down, and slipped his panties down his legs, removing them. He then threw them to the black girl, who caught them in the air. Phillip spread his legs wide, exposing his little penis. The black woman chuckled, and then lowered herself between Phillip's legs.
The camera closed in, and Tony could see that the black woman had taken Phillip's balls and penis into her mouth and was sucking it while fingering the boy's asshole. That went on for a few minutes. Tony tried to look away, but he was strangely compelled to keep watching.
The black girl pulled away, and Tony couldn't help but notice that, even though Phillip seemed to be enjoying himself, he hadn't gotten hard. The black girl climbed over Phillip's naked body, and started kissing him. Phillip wrapped his smooth, shapely legs around her as they made out. Then, they rolled over, and Phillip straddled her. He planted kisses all down her body until he was face to face with her pussy. And then he started to lick. He lapped at her pussy for a good ten minutes before pulling away smiling.
The black girl kept her legs spread, and soon, the two were scissoring, Phillip's small, flaccid cock rubbing against her pussy. And then it dawned on Tony. They were making love as two girls might. His son was the lesbian lover of this girl. After the two were finished, the black girl got up, and left.
Tony thought the video was over, but it kept going. It cut to an overhead view, and Tony thought it looked like a security camera. Curious, he didn't shut it. After about forty-five seconds, Phillip stood up, and looked around nervously. Then, he crossed the room to a nearby dresser. He opened a drawer, and pulled out a dildo.
It wasn't long before he had his legs spread wide, with the dildo buried deep in his ass. He worked it in and out like he'd done it hundreds of times before. There was no sound, but Tony could see that his son was screaming with pleasure.
He closed his computer in disgust. Then, he reopened it, and watched the video again.
Phillip was proud of himself. He had completed an entire dance routine in five inch heels without falling once. In fact, the dance was perfect. He was a little out of breath (dance was hard!), and his instructor let him rest. They were both naked (except he wore heels), and he couldn't help but admire her ebony body. She was perfect. And even with five inch heels on, she was still about an inch taller than Phillip.
She had been coming to his room and making love to him for about three weeks now, and though skeptical at first (he still wasn't really aroused by women), he found their time together enjoyable. Especially when she fingered him. That felt wonderful. But inevitably, after she left, Phillip always got a craving for something more...solid. So, he usually followed their lovemaking with a nice dildo fuck.
A pat on his ass broke him from his reverie, and he heard his instructor say, “Let's get going, love.”
Phillip smiled, and said, “I don't hear any music.”
When the music began, he started dancing again.
Tony was actually eager to open the latest video. He was ashamed, but he couldn't help it. He could hardly even think of Phillip as his son anymore. He was just some...he didn't even know what to call him.
It had been three weeks since the last one, which he had watched no less than a dozen times, so it was with great excitement that he launched the latest.
It was in the bedroom again. This time, Phillip was on the bed with his face buried in the pillow with his ass in the air. Soon, the black girl appeared again, and she was holding a double-sided dildo.. She crossed over to Phillip, who Tony could see actually pushed back as the black girl put the dildo in. She worked it in and out a few times before she left it there, buried in his ass.
Then, she got on all fours with her ass facing the dildo, and backed up. She reached back and guided the dildo's tip into her pussy. Then she backed up some more. Soon, the two were ass to ass. They sat there for a moment before they started rocking back and forth. They moved in perfect rhythm, as if they had a beat to work with. They fucked ass to ass for a good fifteen minutes before the video faded.
Frustrated, Tony watched the video three times before he went to bed that night.
The next video came only a week later. This time, the black girl fucked his son with a strap-on dildo. Phillip seemed to enjoy that more than anything Tony had seen so far.
A month had passed since his instructor had started strap-on fucking Phillip. He knew that she didn't enjoy it as much as some of their other activities, but she kept coming back, and that was enough for Phillip.
Each time, though, he couldn't help wondering what a real cock might feel like. The thought occupied his mind whenever it got too idle. He knew he wasn't really sexually attracted to women anymore. Any man who didn't get hard at the mere sight (much less that actual sexual contact with) of his two dance instructors would not find attraction amongst any of the female population. So, he figured that he must be attracted to men. No, that wasn't all. He knew he wanted a man. He knew that he wanted cock. Whether it had always been there, he didn't know. But Phillip hardly cared.
He got his wish almost a year and a half after his abduction. It was strange. He was standing in the dance studio, having just finished stretching when Clarence led seven very naked men into the room.
Phillip couldn't help but stare at their cocks. They were all extremely well hung. Behind them entered Dr. Bell. Once they were all lined up, Dr. Bell stood beside an awestruck Phillip, and said, “You may have whichever one you want. Choose.”
Phillip was dumbstruck, but he managed to say, “Only one?”
Dr. Bell smiled, “Oh very well. You may have two.” Phillip smiled broadly. It was a hard choice. Each different ethnicity was displayed. There was a black guy who was hung like a horse. There was an Asian looking fellow, a Latino, a white man, what Phillip supposed was a Native American, and an Indian. They were all tall and muscular, and none of them had a small cock.
Phillip approached the black man, and timidly touched his cock. The black man smiled down at Phillip. The small boy took hold of the big cock, and pulled him along like it was a leash. He stopped in front of the Latino, and grabbed his cock.
“I want these,” Phillip said.
Dr. Bell said to the others, “You may go.” The other naked men filed out. And then to Phillip, he said, “Go on, then. Get to it. Enjoy your present for being such a good boy.”
Phillip immediately dropped to his knees, and started licking the black man's cock. He held the Latino's cock in his other hand, stroking it while he sucked. Then he switched, and licking became sucking. He was such an eager little cocksucker. After a few minutes of vigorous sucking, the black man pushed Phillip to all fours, then got on his knees behind him. A moment later, and he was fucking the boy's round ass while Phillip continued sucking the Latino. After a few more minutes, the black man came on Phillip's lower back, and the two men switched positions. This time, however, the Latino sat down, and Phillip rode him while sucking the black man back to erection.
On and on like that, switching places from time to time. Cumming over and over again, the men fucked the little sissy. And all the while Dr. Bell filmed it. They fucked for hours before they all collapsed in exhaustion.
Dr. Bell zoomed in on the cum covered Phillip as he lay on the floor of the dance studio, completely fucked out.
Tony watched the latest video without taking a single break, even though it was almost three hours long. He just sat at his computer mesmerized by the sight of his son being fucked by two men.
An hour later, and he was watching it again.
He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn't help himself.
Once Phillip had gotten a taste of real cock, the dildo was a poor substitute. What once had been the highlight of his day was now merely a holdover until he could really have sex.
Once in a while, he was allowed a good fucking, but never more than once a week. Phillip was sexually frustrated. Soon, he started thinking of his dance lessons as what they really were – another tool to get men.
He didn't think about freedom as a goal in and of itself anymore. No, it was just a step towards getting what he really wanted – more sex.
He re-doubled his efforts, putting more sexy in his dances. The instructors were impressed.
After a while, his frustration faded, and he wasn't quite as horny. He supposed that it would fade over time, which was probably a good thing. He didn't want that clouding his head all the time.
After he had been imprisoned for almost two years, Dr. Bell came into Phillip's room.
Then, he asked, “Do you want to leave, Phillip? If so, we will take you home.”
Phillip was taken aback by the directness of the question, and hesitated.
“It's not a trick. If you wish, we will send you home,” Dr. Bell reassured him.
“Yes,” Phillip responded.
“There is one condition,” Dr. Bell said. “You may not tell anyone who we are.”
“Of course not, Dr. Bell,” Phillip said.
“Or we will turn you back,” the doctor added.
That scared Phillip enough that he would tell no one.
Phillip was sent home on a first class flight, and was greeted at the airport by his father (who Dr. Bell had notified). His father looked at him strangely, and not just because of how he had changed. No, there was a hunger there.
Soon, they were home, but it was strange for Phillip. When he got into his room, he immediately stripped his clothes off – he was far more comfortable nude than clothed. Without thinking about where he was, he left his room (still nude), and wasn't even aware of it until he bumped into his father in the hall.
Awkward, he thought. He could make the beginnings of an erection in his father's pants. Phillip remembered to wear clothes from then on.
A few days passed, and things returned to some semblance of normalcy. Phillip's father got him a job as a secretary at his company (it was the family business after all). The official story was that Phillip was, in fact Tony's niece, and he was from then on referred to as Patricia (or Tricia for short). It wasn't long before he had a reputation as an office slut.
As for Tony, well, Tony received one more email from the kidnappers. It read:
I hope you like what we did to your pride and joy. I wonder if he still gets a bunch of ass (or is he the ass that other jocks get now). Again, we want to make sure that you know that this all was your fault. Your dishonesty made this happen.
Your former co-worker, Mike
P.S. A message from my friend Dr. Bell – You're next.
Tony re-read the email three times, and then sat for a few minutes, thinking. Who was Mike?
Dr. Bell sat at his desk. A small recorder was in front of him.
He said, as if to himself, “Subject experienced complete sissification within three months. Pheromone reception and production adjusted within six. Slightly lower pheromone levels. We don't want them to be sex-crazed to the exclusion of all else. Also, decrease anal sensitivity a bit for same reason.”
“Other than that, test completely successful. Moving on to testing on other races.”
And he leaned back, smiling. His plan would soon come to fruition.