Chapter Two

Callum froze in the deluxe suite’s doorway as Phoebe’s transformed figure struck him like a hammer blow. Her massive G-cup breasts swelled out—round and grotesque—and pressed tight against the air between them. Platinum hair cascaded down her back and caught the artificial light with a cheap gleam while red ballet boots twisted her feet into a cruel arch. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his head pounded from last night’s haze, but guilt scorched deeper through his chest.

He’d done this to her and chosen that vile modification even though he knew her sexual preferences and how much she’d hate it. Her chest heaved with each strained breath under those obscene weights, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away as the truth clawed into his gut. He’d told himself it was to shield her from Rex’s worse picks, but the lie tasted like soot, and his fingers twitched at his sides with the weight of it.

Shame coiled thick in his stomach and mixed with a dark heat as his cock stiffened at her swaying curves despite his disgust. She’s not yours roared through his mind. Yet, her bare skin shimmered faintly—stretched over those unnatural mounds—and stood as a brutal testament to his betrayal. He gripped the doorframe until his nails bit wood, and lust whispered against his guilt while her trembling silence screamed of his cowardice.

Phoebe’s voice sliced the heavy air and came out a slurred croak that kicked Callum’s chest hard. “Master, how may I serve you?” she gasped, and horror flashed in her blue eyes shadowed with red makeup as her bright red lips shaped the plea. She recoiled, and her hands—tipped with glossy red nails—darted to her face while her voice quavered. “What’s happened to me?” she rasped and stared at her swollen breasts jutting beneath the “Slave 4” collar before “Master” slipped out again, and she clamped her mouth shut with tears cutting wet lines down her cheeks.

Callum’s ribs tightened, and guilt surged raw through him, but his body betrayed him with a hard throb at her quaking form under that tight collar. She’s not yours, his mind bellowed, and her bare curves glinted under the harsh light, yet he saw her old self drowning in this broken shell he’d forged. Her desperate pleas rang out, and shame flooded thick and bitter as his frame shuddered with a pulse he couldn’t kill despite her terror pulling him deeper.

Phoebe stumbled forward, and her red ballet boots clacked loudly against the floor as she lurched toward the suite’s dim interior. Her massive breasts rocked—heavy and wrong—and threw her bare frame off balance while the “Slave 4” collar squeezed her throat tight. Callum’s hand shot out and brushed her slick arm before he jerked it back with a hiss as her platinum hair whipped across her face and framed those sharp red lips.

His mind plunged dark and fast with visions of her kneeling and sucking him dry with a forced shake in her jaw. His groin clenched—a sick ache he loathed—and he staggered back until his shoulder slammed the doorframe as she’s not yours thundered in his skull. Her teetering shape—skin bare and red nails slashing—gnawed at him, and guilt raked his throat raw while her shadowed eyes sparked with panic since he’d wrecked her into this mess. He bolted back with boots scuffing loud and left her trembling in the silence as the room reeked of his shame and what now? echoed in his head.

❖

Two hours after their reunion, Phoebe was back in the training room, and her bare knees scraped the frigid floor as Jimmy’s rough grip hauled her forward by the collar. He’d jammed the red ring gag tight between her teeth, and drool pooled hot and sour on her chin while he shoved her down before a monstrous rubber cock jutting from the wall under glaring lights. “Nose on the sensor, you little slut” he barked with a voice like a cracked stone, and she froze as her G-cup breasts dangled heavy and pulled her chest low beneath the “Slave 4” collar’s chokehold. Her arms strained in a red armbinder behind her back, and the leather creaked loudly as she twitched against the bind.

Her red ballet heels gouged her arches raw, and her toes throbbed under the strain while sweat prickled her bare skin beneath the stark glare overhead. Jimmy’s sneer twisted into something cruel with eyes glinting sharp, and he growled, “Longer you hold it, the less I zap,” as he tapped the clit-zapper’s trigger with a scarred thumb that reeked of stale smoke. She glared back with breath snagging hard in her throat and lurched forward so her nose slammed the sensor while the cock plunged deep and scraped her throat raw as she gagged hard against its bitter taste. Her massive breasts rocked with each choke—obscene weights she loathed—and silent rage burned inside at what she’d become. At the same time, platinum hair matted her sweat-drenched face, and heavy red eyeshadow smeared her lids under the harsh, unrelenting light.

The zapper buzzed in the orderly’s grip, and a fierce jolt tore through Phoebe’s clit as her nose slipped from the sensor while the rubber cock pulled free. She gagged hard, and drool spilled thick from her stretched jaw where the red ring gag held firm as he snapped, “Keep it steady,” with a snarl like rusted iron. Another zap scorched her flesh, and her bound arms yanked uselessly against the red armbinder. At the same time, her G-cup breasts shuddered under the shocks beneath the choking “Slave 4” collar. She glared up with fury blazing in her shadowed eyes and muttered muffled curses through the gag as Hannah flared in her mind, a stubborn spark of herself.

Her toes cramped in those brutal red ballet heels, and each zap twisted her tighter while the conditioning sank deeper and forced her throat to glide smoother over the cock. She hated how her body bent to it—how she improved despite the pain—and silently roared, ‘I’m still me’ as tears stung her face under Jimmy’s looming grin.

Kitty slipped into the training room mid-session and froze as her shadowed eyes widened at Phoebe’s garish new look beneath the stark lights. The last she’d seen her, more natural with brunette locks, vanished under platinum hair and heavy red eyeshadow smearing her face while G-cup breasts bulged obviously beneath the “Slave 4” collar. The orderly spun from Phoebe’s quaking form and barked, “Take over; I’ve got others to break,” with a sneer, twisting his face before his boots thudded out. Kitty stayed silent as regret flickered in her gaze, and she stepped toward the bound wreck.

Phoebe gagged on the rubber cock, stretching her throat raw; her red armbinder creaked tight while the former captain’s hand gripped her head with a tremble. She pushed down hard and pinned Phoebe’s nose to the sensor as the massive breasts rocked under each choke with red ballet heels gouging her arches bloody. Kitty’s chest tightened with muted sorrow. She saw a piece of her old self inside Phoebe, and now she was helping destroy it; her own platinum strands brushed her face while Phoebe’s fury blazed helplessly and unspoken under the relentless glare.

❖

Mid-morning light slanted through the hotel lobby’s tall windows and threw harsh lines across the polished floor as Callum slumped alone in a plush velvet chair. Rex swept in with his tailored suit crisp and gleaming, a predator’s grin splitting his face while he clapped a hand on Callum’s shoulder with a grip too firm to shake off. “Well done on your little pet’s progress,” he purred with a voice smooth as oil, eyes glinting cold under the chandelier’s glow, “she’s shaping up nicely, don’t you think?” Callum’s gut churned, and his throat burned with guilt as Phoebe’s slurred “Master” echoed from hours before, her transformed body haunting him.

The hotel manager leaned in close, and his cologne stung Callum’s nose while he murmured, “That second modification’s due tonight; best not keep her waiting.” He slid the worn pamphlet across the table with a flick of his wrist, its pages whispering threats as Callum’s fingers grazed the edge he’d come to dread. “Make it quick,” Rex added with a smile curling sharp, charm veiling the steel beneath, “we wouldn’t want to waste her new look, would we?” Callum swallowed hard, and his palms sweated against the fabric as her new platinum hair and swollen breasts flashed in his mind, a vision he couldn’t unsee. He might need therapy after this mission is done.

Rex straightened with a lazy stretch, and his gaze pinned Callum tight while he nodded toward the training wing beyond the lobby’s glass doors. “She’s coming along, thanks to you,” he said, tone dipping low and edged with menace. “Don’t let it slip away now.” The air grew heavy with his unspoken threat, and Callum’s chest tightened as the weight of his choices pressed down, unyielding under the man’s looming shadow.

After Rex departed, Callum was left alone in the lobby’s plush chair, his fingers gripping the pamphlet tightly as the hotel manager’s slick words hung heavy like damp rot. The pages crinkled under his clammy hold; he flipped them open while guilt chewed his gut raw after Phoebe’s slurred “Master” lingered from hours past. Her sexy, ridiculous new look swam in his mind, those sharp red lips parted, the exaggerated frame loomed vivid; he cursed himself for picking that first change, knowing she’d loathe it. The list sprawled grim before him, options twisted and vile; his throat tightened as he skimmed the horrors Rex might’ve forced instead.

He stopped on the lips page, his breath snagged hard while dark heat twisted low, picturing her bright red mouth, bigger and more colorful, stretched helpless and full around him. It was wrong, it gouged against who she’d been, but the image seared hot, and his cock pulsed despite shame flooding thick through his veins. Other picks stared up, loss of limbs, teeth ground to stumps; he flinched as those loomed worse, far crueler than a new pair of lips could be. Protect her, he lied to himself, the excuse bitter, yet that swollen pout dangled a sick thrill he couldn’t unsee.

The lobby’s hum dulled to a faint buzz, and his unsteady hand scratched the choice while his mind battled the muck of it all. He’d heard her stumble, seen her bare skin quake under that tight collar; now he’d shape her more, a toy he’d ruin further under Rex’s leer. The pamphlet’s edge cut his skin; he squeezed it harder as therapy flickered distant, a thin hope after this hell ended. Her new sheen, those brutal heels, that doll-like face stayed with him, a mockery of her old fire; he hated how it stirred his blood even now.

The undercover lawyer sank lower, his throat scratched dry while the decision weighed heavy, a load he couldn’t shed. He weighed it against the list’s nightmares, arms hacked off, voice box sliced, figured these new lips were softer, less brutal, but the truth bit deeper. His pen rasped final; he stared at the scrawl, a coward’s mark, knowing she’d despise it beyond what he could stomach.

Callum’s new ‘friend,’ Giles, ambled into the lobby with a lazy grin ten minutes after Rex’s shadow faded; his graying hair caught the chandelier’s gleam as he plopped beside Callum’s chair. “Tina’s sucking like a champ now,” he chuckled with a thick British drawl, elbow nudging Callum lightly, “those training sessions really work wonders, eh?” The air shifted heavy with his casual jest; Callum’s gut twisted tight while Phoebe’s warped image—sharp red lips parted—flashed again in his mind. He forced a nod and kept his face blank as bile rose sour, his choice still raw on the pamphlet clutched in his lap. Why did he keep having these thoughts?

The older man leaned back with a smug stretch, his eyes glinted sly while he added, “You oughta enjoy the perks, mate; she’s yours to play with.” Callum’s knuckles whitened around the crumpled pages; he swallowed a sour lump as Gerald shuffled over with boots scuffing the polished floor. Callum held the form up, and an orderly took his sheet of paper without a word. Callum’s stomach roiled while the weight of the new, ordered lips sank deeper, a coward’s mark he couldn’t unmake. Now, he really needed to start collecting evidence before things turned a lot worse for the both of them.

❖

Late afternoon shadows stretched across the medical room’s sterile tiles as Phoebe found herself strapped into the dentist’s chair again, her bare skin prickled cold against the vinyl. She wore nothing but a red g-string, its thin strap dug into her hips, red fishnet stockings clung tight to her legs while red ballet boots forced her feet into a cruel arch. The red ring gag stretched her jaw wide, drool seeped sour down her chin, her arms, freed from the armbinder, now strapped to the chair as the gray-haired doctor loomed with a syringe glinting under fluorescent light. Her G-cup breasts were heavy but barely sagged and completely exposed; she shuddered at the straps biting her wrists.

The doctor’s voice rasped dry as he leaned close, his breath stank of antiseptic; he murmured, “Your Master’s picked a new treat, huge pouting lips for that pretty face.” She screamed “Mmmppph!!” through the gag, the sound slurred into a wet choke while her shadowed eyes flared wide with dread and fury at the violation to come. He jabbed the syringe into her neck; the sting flared hot and sharp, and her muffled protests faded fast as the drug flooded her veins with a numbing haze. Her bare thighs quaked against the chair, fishnets rasped soft, and she fought to cling to thoughts of her girlfriend in her mind. This all had to be reversible.

Her head lolled heavily, and the room blurred into a sick swirl while the doctor’s hands adjusted straps with a clinical grunt, pulling at her naked flesh. The g-string rode higher, the stockings stretched tautly, and her ballet boots creaked under the strain as her body slackened, helpless under his grip. Rage burned silent and futile; she cursed Callum’s name in her fading thoughts; the needle’s bite lingered bitter as darkness swallowed her whole.

Phoebe stirred hours later in the medical chair, her head throbbing heavily as the sterile room swam into focus under stark fluorescent light. The straps held her wrists firm, and her exposed body shuddered coldly against the vinyl; she wore only a red g-string, fishnet stockings, and ballet boots creaking tight. Her jaw ached from the constant effects of the ring gag, and drool stuck on her chin; she blinked hard and caught her reflection in a polished tray nearby. Her swollen breasts loomed bare, and her breath hitched sharply as she saw her new lips—huge, permanently pouting, bright red slabs dominating her face, swollen beyond reason. These weren’t the same lips she had when she left that damned salon; these were only made for one thing.

She rasped a choked “Aghhhh!!” through the gag, the sound slurred into a wet gurgle while her shadowed eyes widened with raw panic. The mirror mocked her; those monstrous lips quivered, a grotesque caricature of her old self stared back, and she jerked against the straps with fury blazing uselessly. Her bare thighs tensed in the fishnets, the g-string bit her hips, and she loathed the doll-like mask Callum had forced on her with this change. Tears stung her lids and streaked her painted cheeks as the doctor’s grunt echoed in her ears; his “pretty face” taunt lingered bitterly.

Her chest heaved with shallow gasps, the prominent lips trembled under every breath while dread sank deep into her gut like cold lead. She’d fought to keep her old life alive in her mind, but now this warped reflection threatened to bury everything, a toy reshaped beyond salvage. The ballet boots gouged her arches, her body bound helplessly; rage burned silent as the room’s antiseptic stink clawed her nose, and the nightmare settled in.

Jimmy barged back into the medical room with a grunt, his boots thudded heavily on the sterile tiles as he loomed over Phoebe’s strapped form. Her naked torso thrashed against the chair while he dangled a red panel gag with a long rubber cock jutting out. “Still fighting, huh?” he sneered with a voice like gravel, his scarred fingers unbuckled her ring gag. Before the undercover lawyer was able to plead for mercy, the orderly jammed the new panel gag in fast. Her swollen breasts heaved, her huge pouting lips stretched obscene around the rubber as it plunged deep and gagged her.

The orderly’s leer twisted cruelly; he buckled the gag tight while her shadowed eyes blazed fury beneath smeared red makeup. “This’ll give you a nice, pretty voice,” he mocked, his breath stank of smoke as the gag’s tech hummed, tweaking her cords with each forced breath, making her natural voice appear high-pitched and vapid. Her thighs quaked in the stockings, and straps bit her wrists as the blond thrashed around. She was being transformed with each passing moment. That bastard had better discover the evidence they needed quickly.

❖

Evening light dimmed through the Star Lounge’s tinted windows as Callum sank into a leather chair, his fingers curled tight around a half-empty drink. The room hummed low with wealthy guests; their voices drifted sharp over clinking glasses while cigar smoke coiled thick in the air. “That blonde’s new rack’s a masterpiece,” one suit chuckled across the bar, his tone slurred with liquor, “those lips’ll be next, mark my words.” Callum’s stomach lurched hard, and his throat burned as Phoebe’s warped silhouette—obscene red mouth parted—flashed vividly in his mind; her “improvements” matched the crude praise too well. Sure enough, as he peered over, the two men observed Phoebe as she was being wheeled out of the medical unit.

The chatter sliced deeper, and another voice rumbled, “She’s built for fun now, worth every penny,” his laugh grated on the undercover man while Callum’s knuckles pressed against the glass. He hadn’t seen her since that morning; her slurred “Master” echoed fresh now. These bastards crowed over his choice—her heaving chest, her ruin. Guilt clawed his own chest, and he forced a sip past the bile rising sour. Had he fucked up this bad? The mission loomed distant, no evidence in sight, her transformation was his doing instead. He stared at her obscene bare frame from the distance; she had turned into a caricature of sexual fantasy.

The lounge’s velvet walls pressed in, his breath snagged tight while their lewd praise looped relentlessly through the haze of smoke and clatter. He’d picked her fate, her G-cup burden, now her lips too, all to keep her “safe” from worse—a lie that tasted like ash. His jaw clenched as the men’s eyes glinted sly; they didn’t know her name, just her body; his shame sank deeper under their smug nods.

Rex confidently strode into the Star Lounge with a predator’s glide; his tailored suit shimmered under the dim lights as he slid into the chair beside Callum. “Your girl’s transformation is stunning,” he purred with a smooth and sharp voice; his eyes glinted coldly while he leaned close over the cigar haze. Callum’s throat scratched dry, and his fingers tightened on the glass as Phoebe’s warped frame—those swollen lips parted—flickered in his mind again, her ruin praised like a trophy. “She’s a gem now,” Rex added, his grin curled tight, “thanks to your keen taste.” The compliment didn’t feel as satisfying as Rex intended.

The hotel manager tapped the table; his cologne stung Callum’s nose while he murmured, “Day six brings her final modification; perhaps you could choose something useful for a slave.” He slid the pamphlet forward with a flick, its pages rasped softly; Callum’s gut twisted as Rex’s leer pressed heavy, urging, “Pick wisely; she’s nearly perfect.” The air thickened with menace, Callum’s jaw clenched while guilt churned sour, and her distant, gagged cries echoed from memory under the lounge’s velvet hum. He had only just condemned her to her latest modification. Could he seriously pick another just like that?

Callum slumped more profoundly into the Star Lounge’s leather chair; his fingers shook as he flipped the pamphlet open while cigar smoke coiled thick around him. Rex’s leer lingered in the air; his “nearly perfect” words rang hollow against the chatter praising Phoebe’s warped frame. Nearly perfect? He may have just destroyed her law career before it ever got off the ground. Guilt gnawed his gut raw; he’d shaped her ruin twice now, her slurred “Master” haunted fresh from that morning as he stared at the list’s grim sprawl. Options loomed cruel: tongue split, limbs hacked off. The possibilities were too dark for him to contemplate. Rex had made it clear prior that the hotel would choose for him if he didn’t make the choice himself.

He paused on “shortened calves,” his breath caught tight as dark heat twisted low, picturing her forced to crawl or teeter forever on those brutal heels. It was wrong; it stripped her further, but the image seared hot, her G-cup chest swaying helplessly under his choice stoked a sick thrill he loathed. Other picks glared even worse: voice box snipped, spine fused stiff. He flinched as those cut deeper, far more disturbing than having to wear heels all day could be. Keep her safe, he lied to himself. The excuse still tasted bitter in his mouth, yet it was the best option; at least, that’s what he told himself.

The lounge’s velvet hum pressed in; his pen trembled while guilt churned thick with the filth of it all. He’d seen her wheeled out, bare skin glinting under lights; now he’d bind her more, a doll he’d wreck under Rex’s supervision. He thought about other options. Could he forgo the choice altogether and restlessly search for evidence to end the mission. The lawyer thought about the ramifications of getting caught. Surely, there was only one choice; he had to continue.

Callum’s jaw clenched, and his throat rasped dry as he scratched the choice; the decision weighed heavy like lead he couldn’t shed. He weighed it against the list’s nightmares—limbs lost, voice choked—figured calves were kinder, less brutal, but shame bit deeper still. He scrawled his selection and handed the form back to Rex. Rex grinned and clapped. “A great choice, Sir,” he said. As he left Callum in peace, the undercover lawyer shuddered. What had he done?

❖

The artificial light radiated around the windowless ‘rest room’ in the slave quarters as Phoebe hunched naked inside her cramped cage, her bare skin scraped cold against the metal bars. She wore only her red ballet boots, her feet agonizingly en pointe, a red armbinder cinched her arms tight behind her back while a red ring gag stretched her jaw humiliatingly. With her enhanced chest pressing against her knees, she shuddered as the plugs pulsed relentlessly in her pussy and ass, each throb forcing her breath into sharp gasps. Her huge, pouting lips parted as she was forced into her new evening ritual.

The plugs surged hard, her thighs tensed slick with sweat while the armbinder’s leather creaked against her hapless struggles, the forced pleasure running through her horrified her. She’d fought to hold Hannah’s memory, her girlfriend, her only refuge as she was subjected to this humiliation, and now those pulsing waves threatened to drown it. Her ballet boots pressed against the edges of the cage, giving her no room for comfort. She loathed this toy she’d become, Callum’s doing; his choices carved her into this Dominae vision of submission.

Phoebe shuddered; the plugs throbbed relentlessly inside her pussy and asshole, while dread sank into her bones, each pulse mocked her fight to stay herself. She’d clung to her old life, now this cage and those relentless jolts threatened to bury it, a doll reshaped beyond recall. Her chest heaved fast, her mind screamed mute as the night’s chill pressed in, and the nightmare pulsed on without end.

The plugs pulsed inside Phoebe’s orifices, and her bare knees pressed hard against the metal floor while sweat slicked her tensed thighs under the artificial glare. She rasped “Anngghh Ungh” through the red ring gag as the sound slurred into a wet choke, her huge pouting lips quivering while her heavily made-up eyes squeezed shut against each throb that mocked her fight. Her armbinder creaked tightly and bound her arms behind her back, forcing her into an uncomfortable crouch while her swollen bust pressed heavily against her knees. She’d fought to keep her other life alive in her mind, yet now the conditioning pulsed stronger and drowned her resolve in forced waves as her red ballet boots gouged the bars.

Rage burned silently within her, and her jaw ached under the gag’s humiliating stretch while the plugs twisted pleasure through her gut, a sick tide of sensations she couldn’t halt despite her hapless struggles against the armbinder’s leather grip. She’d battled to hold her old self intact as her bare frame jolted with each beat. Still, wave after wave of orgasmic sensations made it difficult for her to think much of anything.

Kitty slipped into the slave quarters with a bowl of gross slop and knelt beside Phoebe’s cage, her pink gag ball gag gleaming dully under the luminescent light while her own platinum hair hung limp against her shoulders. Her tattooed make-up eyes flickered softly with regret as she slid the bowl through the bars and brushed Phoebe’s trembling arm with gentle fingers, a mute comfort against the plugs surging deep while the blond captive gagged and writhed against the metal. Phoebe’s swollen lips stretched obscenely and rasped muffled fury through the gag as her armbinder held firm. Kitty felt regret. It was one thing to be subjected to the Dominae custom but another thing altogether to become an accomplice for unwilling Earth women, even if these particular women signed up for it.

The slop was unappetizing as Kitty’s hand hovered close, Phoebe’s chest heaving fast under the plugs’ cruel beat amid the haze of torment. The former captain’s gaze softened, and she stroked Phoebe’s hair with a quiver, her own burden mirrored in the blond’s warped ruin while a plug entered her hard and bucked Phoebe’s naked frame with a high, slurred cry.

Phoebe was starving, and as much as she detested the gruel, she leaned forward and prodded her tongue out, shuddering at the taste of the slop in the bowl, eating like some dog. Her eyes widened as the relentless pulsating of the plugs forced yet another orgasm, the young lawyer crying out through the gag. Would this nightmare ever end? She thought.

❖

Late evening settled over Rex’s luxury office as Callum stepped through the heavy oak door; his boots sank into the thick carpet while cigar smoke hung in the air. Rex looked up from his desk with a grin; his tailored suit caught the chandelier’s soft glow, “Glad you could make it,” he said, his voice smooth with a little kick. He waved a hand, and Callum gasped as Jimmy hauled Phoebe in; her bare frame stumbled into the light, and her huge, pouting lips swelled grotesquely under the shine. She wore a red latex g-string tight on her hips, red now familiar ballet boots propping her feet into a cruel arch, her “Slave 4” collar gleaming around her neck with a red ring gag dangling freely below it, nipple clamps pinching her swollen breasts with a silver chain swinging between.

Rex nodded at Jimmy, “Show him how far she’s come,” he said, his grin stretching as the trainer grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked her down. Phoebe dropped to her knees, her heavily made-up eyes locked on Callum, “Master,” she slurred urgently, the word slipping out thick and desperate. At the same time, she leaned toward Jimmy, pleading for help in her gaze. Callum’s stomach flipped, and his pulse quickened as she took Jimmy in her mouth, her lips stretching obscenely while he watched, caught between a dark thrill and sinking horror. Rex leaned back, “Nice progress, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and smug as Phoebe’s muffled sounds filled the quiet, her clamped chest heaving under the strain.

Callum sat frozen; nausea climbed his spine as her fury flashed beneath the act, her trained frame bent to this twisted show. He’d shaped her, those bloated lips, that enormous chest; now she knelt, her lips bobbing up and down her hated trainer’s own huge cock; her gag reflex had totally disappeared, and she was sucking him off like a pro. Jimmy gripped her hair, and she moaned softly; Callum’s breath hitched, arousal warring with shame as the “demonstration” dragged on.

Jimmy finished with a grunt, emptying his load into the trained lawyer’s mouth, and Phoebe swallowed it like a professional. He slipped the ring gag back into Phoebe’s mouth and tugged it tight; her pouting lips quivered before the bulky man dragged her out, leaving Callum alone with Rex in the plush hush. Callum blinked. What was that performance for? Rex eased off the desk, his shoes clicking softly on the carpet, “You’ve got some interesting connections,” he said, his voice casual but pointed, eyeing Callum like he’d caught a whiff of something. “I know you work with a person of interest,” he added, leaning in close, “don’t worry, I won’t be telling your employers about you and your fiance’s dirty little secret.” Callum’s throat tightened, his mind raced; Rex seemed to know that he worked for Shaw & Willis but hadn’t connected the whole picture.

The hotel manager paced a bit, “Here’s the deal,” he said, his tone dropping low and tempting, “Bring me someone valuable, and Phoebe’s yours on Dominae.” He flashed a grin, “You’ll live like a king, trust me,” handing Callum a sleek device, its cold weight settling in his palm like a promise. “She can’t know our true intentions,” he murmured, his eyes glinting sharp, “you’ll need to make sure of that.” Callum’s stomach sank, and her clamped silhouette lingered in his head; he’d already altered Phoebe; could his stomach betray another? The air felt thick; Rex’s offer dangled heavy, a lifeline laced with poison.

Callum clutched the communications device; his own was confiscated when they checked in; his fingers fidgeted as Phoebe’s gagged exit replayed, those pleading eyes, that slur of “Master,” while Rex watched him, waiting, assessing. He’d turned her into this freak show, her lips bloated beyond sense, and now Rex pitched a way out, her as the prize in some twisted game. Guilt chewed at him. Could he ditch the mission for this and drag someone else into the mess? The office’s velvet walls loomed, and her silent fury echoed; he wondered who this “valuable” person was while the deal pressed in. Was he seriously considering the offer?

❖

The next day, Callum paced along the hotel lobby before standing by a potted plant, his fingers fidgeted with the sleek device Rex had handed him last night. Guests milled around, their chatter buzzing low over the marble floor; he pulled his coat collar up and dialed Mariana on the comms unit, his voice steady despite the knot in his gut. “Hey, it’s me,” he said, keeping it light, “There’s something I need to tell you. Nicola is here. Yes, here, at the hotel,” he paused. He had never heard his boss so emotional. “I’ve struck up a deal to bring her home, some kind of release agreement. They may want you to make some concessions, but they’re deadly serious. No, don’t worry about us, we’re fine.” His stomach flipped; the lie tasted sour as he pictured Phoebe’s transformed body, her plump, oversized lips as she took another man’s cock in her mouth with ease. Was he now dragging Mariana into this mess, too?

Mariana’s voice crackled back. “You’re sure about this?” she asked with finality, sharp and skeptical. He could hear her pacing through the line, her emotions boiling over.

“Yeah, just get here,” he urged, “it’s our shot to wrap this up,” his pulse ticked up as he leaned against the wall, replaying her blowjob again and again in Rex’s office, those pleading eyes begging him to stop it. Guilt gnawed at him. The lobby’s hum faded, and he rubbed his neck, wondering if she’d buy it or see through the crap he was spinning. Either way, he didn’t think he had a career to come home to anymore.

The call clicked off, and his boots tapped nervously on the marble. He’d sold her out, his own boss, and the gravity of the situation weighed him down. This was a gamble he couldn’t undo.

Mariana pushed through the hotel lobby doors barely two hours later; she wasn’t going to waste another moment. Her heels snapped on the marble floor, and a briefcase swung in her grip as she scanned the bustle with a lawyer’s edge. Rex leaned against the reception desk with a grin, suit sharp under the overhead lights, “Mariana Shaw, good to see you,” he said, voice smooth and laid-back.

She shuddered. The man immediately knew her name. However, she had been on TV a bunch of times, so she was used to that. The dark-haired named partner marched up, “I’m here to collect Nicola Shaw? Where is she?” she demanded, tone cutting through the noise, dropping her briefcase on the counter like she ran the show.

He nodded toward the elevators. “You mean Princess?” he chuckled, using her pony name. “Upstairs, all set,” he replied, keeping it easy, his hand resting near the desk’s edge.

Mariana crossed her arms, “Let’s get this done,” she said, eyes narrowing as Rex flashed a smile.

“Sure thing, just one moment,” his tone stayed calm before tapping the counter. Suddenly, Mariana heard a hissing noise, and when she stared up, a thick dark fog ejected from the air vents. Mariana frowned, “What’s that—” she started, then coughed, words slurring as the haze thickened, knees buckling as she crumpled to the marble, out cold before the clerk flinched. She hadn’t noticed Rex put on his gas mask. “You bast—“she muttered out before another coughing fit overwhelmed her.

“You wanted to see your sister, and you will,” he grinned, looking down at the hapless lawyer as she slumped to the ground, out cold.

Two orderlies stepped in, also wearing gas masks. Rex waved a hand, “Move her out,” he said, voice low and smug as one of the orderlies approached. The vent clicked shut, and the gas soon dissipated in the air. Rex removed his mask and laughed. That was easier than he imagined. Always use someone they trust, he thought to himself.

Mariana lay slumped in the orderlies’ arms, her dark hair fanned out across the marble. Her briefcase tipped beside her as the last of the gas faded into the hum. Rex kicked back against the desk, his grin stretched wide. “Told you she’d bite,” he said to the orderlies, his voice casual with a smug edge, his suit sharp under the overhead lights.

The men in white coats picked her up, one grabbing her arms and the other collecting her feet. “Be careful,” Rex nodded. She’s got value,” he mused, his tone light like he was sizing up a deal. His hands were in his pockets as he eyed her limp form.

The orderlies adjusted their grip, one hoisting her shoulders while the other grabbed her legs, her coat dragged soft across the floor; Rex waved them on, “Take her outside,” he said, keeping it easy, his eyes glinting sharp. She’d come for Nicola, and he’d deliver, just not how she’d hoped, the plan ticking along without a hitch, her fate sealed right there at reception. “The embassy’s gonna love this one,” he added, a chuckle slipping out as they hauled her toward the service lift, her briefcase left behind like a forgotten prop.

Her breathing stayed shallow, and the lobby’s hum swallowed the silence. Rex rubbed his hands together, already plotting the next move while the orderlies vanished with her down the hall. No fuss, no fight—she was out, and whatever came next was his call. He was going to enjoy this.

❖

Mariana jolted awake, and her head was pounding, a nasty whiff of hay and sweat hitting her nose while restraints dug into her wrists and legs as she blinked in the dim haze. She felt her arms twisted up tight behind her in a red reverse prayer armbinder, and her legs wobbled in an awkward motion, giving no support to her heels. She was wearing red hooves, scraping whatever was under her. She wore a thick red bit gag, which was jammed in her mouth, forcing her to bite against the rubber while she kicked and thrashed.

Then she froze, Nicola was standing there, all done up in matching red gear with a bit gag too, her tired stare barely flickering as Rex’s voice cut in, “Hey, check it out, a matching pair,” casual and smug.

“Mmumpphhh!” Mariana cried out as she thrashed in his direction. Her arms appeared chained to the roof of whatever building she was in, the hooves clip-clopping with each motion.

Mariana got mad fast, kicking at the hooves and hearing them clack while Nicola’s eyes met hers, a mix of fury and weariness passing between them as Rex stepped closer. She squinted, noticing slatted walls and dirt crunching underfoot, hay brushing her legs; this wasn’t any old room; they were in a freaking stable.

Rex grinned, “These two’ll fetch a sweet deal on Dominae,” like he was sizing up a sale, their muffled snarls bouncing around while he kept it cool.

Mariana’s muscles burned as she bucked against the armbinder. Nicola just stood there, harness creaking a bit, and Rex hung back, smirking like he owned them. “Shipping’s set up soon; we need to get you trained a little first,” he said, voice slick; their glares contrasted, with Mariana fuming inside, but her sister had been in this situation long enough. She didn’t see the point in fighting.

Rex paced the stable, boots kicking up dust as he eyed Mariana’s thrashing, her hooves clacking loudly while Nicola stayed still, her harness creaking faintly in the cool air. “Folks on Dominae pay big for sisters,” he said, grin stretching wide, tossing out the line like he was chatting up a buddy, his tone light but dripping with smug control. “You’ll be a hot ticket, trained up nice,” he added, stepping closer to Mariana, her muffled snarls hitting the slatted walls as he ran a hand along her armbinder, testing its hold. She jerked hard, fury boiling, but the chains overhead kept her stuck, hooves slipping on the dirt.

Nicola’s stare stayed blank and defeated. Seeing her sister rose a fire in her, but discovering how quickly her stubborn sibling was subdued and controlled showed just how helpless they were. Rex chuckled, “Princess has got the hang of it; you’ll catch on quick,” his voice slick as he nodded at her sister, the stable’s dim haze wrapping their defeat.

He pulled a crop from his pocket, tapping it against his leg. “Gotta break you in before shipping,” he said, eyeing Mariana like a project. Her fight amused him, while Nicola’s stillness showed how long she’d been at this. The air hung heavy, their gags subduing any real comeback.

Mariana’s legs burned, and her feet ached; she bucked again, the extreme hooves making it impossible to drop her feet to the ground. Rex circled her, his crop hovering close, “You’ll learn to love it,” he mused, smirking sharp while her glare cut back, fierce but fading fast. “Buyers want spirit, but not too much,” he said, voice low and easy before he turned to the former lieutenant. “Isn’t that right, Princess?” He grinned.

Nicola muffled a groan that sounded a lot like a neigh. She had been punished mercilessly since arriving at the hotel. They didn’t tolerate her biting, and they soon had her tamed.

Kitty tottered into the stable in her pink ballet boots, her pink gag muffling a sob as she shuffled toward Mariana and Nicola, hands trembling while she carried a bundle of straps, the crop still tapping in Rex’s hand nearby. She knelt by Mariana, adjusting her red harness and tugging it tight; a solitary tear spilled down her cheeks as the chains overhead rattled, Mariana kicking futilely, hooves clacking loudly against the dirt. Kitty’s fingers worked fast, cinching Nicola’s gear next, ensuring no slack, no chance for escape, her quiet whimpers mixing with their muffled snarls in the dusty air.

Mariana jerked hard, “Mmmph!” bursting through her bit gag. Fury blazing, she caught Kitty’s teary eyes, recognition hitting like a punch. She knew who Kitty was—the famed starship captain turned bimbo pet. Kitty flinched, shame washing over her, her head dipping low as she tightened the straps.

Rex chuckled from the post, “Get ‘em snug, Kitty. " His voice was casual and sharp. He watched her tears fall, amused by the whole scene. “Good girl,” he taunted.

Mariana bucked again, hooves scraping uselessly while Kitty stepped back, hands shaking, another tear dripping onto the hay as Nicola stared at her former colleague. How their lives had changed in just a few short years. “They’re set now,” Rex said, grinning widely. “Time to get them trained,” he nodded to Kitty. The former captain bit into her big pink ball gag, her plump, permanently candy-pink lips wrapped around it. Mariana’s torment had only just begun.

❖

Later that evening, Callum strode into Rex’s large office by invitation. The oak door creaked shut behind him as Rex leaned back in his chair, suit sharp under the chandelier’s glow, tossing him a grin.

“Hey, good work,” the hotelier said, voice smooth and laid-back, lacing his fingers behind his head, “Your call to Mariana? Worked like a charm; she came running.” He stretched and chuckled. Was this all a game to him? “Plan’s ticking along perfectly, and you’re getting your reward, just like I promised, something sweet for a job well done.”

Callum sank into a leather chair, hands fidgeting with his coat, “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, voice low and hollow, barely meeting Rex’s smug stare as the office’s hum pressed in. He’d lured her, his boss, his friend, and now she was gone, stuck somewhere because of him.

Rex chuckled, “You’re a natural at this,” his tone casual but sharp, oblivious to the storm churning inside Callum, who nodded faintly, trapped by his own mess.

The desk loomed between them, papers scattered; Rex kicked his feet up, “Stick with me, you’ll see,” he said confidently, grinning like it was all a bit of harmless fun, all. At the same time, Callum’s guilt burned hotter, and there was no way out in sight.

Phoebe tottered into Rex’s office right on cue. Her Achilles tendons had been shortened from Callum’s latest pick. Now, she was wearing insane, heelless ballet heels with steel caps, clicking loudly on the floor. She also wore the same red latex g-string and “Slave 4” collar she wore the last time she was in this office.

Rex glanced up from his kicked-back pose, grin stretching wider, opening his arms. “Here’s your treat, Callum,” he said, his voice slick and easy, waving her over. She’s all trained up.”

Rex clapped his hands together with glee before instructing the gagged lawyer, “Fuck him good, doll.”

Phoebe paused, eyes flickering with a broken glint, then shuffled to Callum, her conditioning kicking in hard. She tottered forward before her hands began fumbling to unbutton Callum’s pants while he sat frozen, guilt still churning.

Her well-manicured fingers slid his pants down, and she climbed onto his lap. Phoebe began straddling him, her g-string moved to one side and her pussy sinking onto his cock as the leather chair creaked under them.

Rex watched with that same smirk. “Go on,” he muttered, leaning back. Callum contemplated fighting it, but his body gave in. With this sexy lesbian now riding his cock, lust took over, his hips twitching up as she rode him. Phoebe’s stare stayed almost expressionless, a trained shell. What was she thinking? He thought to himself. Did she despise him like he despised himself?

She thrusted faster, Callum’s breath shortened, and he began to cum inside her, spilling into her as the betrayal locked tight. His orgasm locked in Phoebe’s own climax, and she screamed in ecstasy. Her pleasure gave Callum a brief reprieve from guilt. At least he brought her pleasurable sensations, whether it was conditioned or not.

Phoebe stayed perched on Callum’s cock; her shortened calves pointed her toes towards the floor as she sat still, heat lingering while Rex leaned forward across the desk.

He grinned wide and sharp. “That package you delivered me? She’s joining her sister, and they’ll be hitting Dominae as a ponygirl pair,” he laughed. His voice was casual but loaded, and he tossed out the bombshell like it was no big deal. “Buyers love a matched set, and we’ve got plenty more lined up.”

Rex tapped a pen, “The economy on Dominae is in ruins since we opened our borders with Earth, but these untrained Earth women are untapped potential,” he spoke so nonchalantly about kidnapping a bunch of innocent women, hinting at a bigger trafficking web.

Callum’s gut sank, hollowed out, “A pair?” he muttered, voice flat, her warmth pressing down as Rex nodded, “Yep, Mariana and Nicola, all trussed up and sold together, as a unit,” chuckling like it was a joke.

The undercover lawyer pictured them; Mariana and Nicola were two of the toughest sons of bitches he knew, now hapless ponygirls because of him. His guilt clawing deeper while Rex kept it light, “You’re part of this now,” he winked, implicating Callum in all of this.

All the while, Phoebe sat gagged and helpless on her fake fiance’s lap, trussed up and presented like a sex toy for his amusement. Surely this isn’t how her story ends?

❖

The following day, Kitty stood in the training field. She gripped a whip with her long pink fingernailed hand. Nicola and Mariana faced her, arms forced behind their backs in reverse prayer red armbinders connected to their harnesses. Their hooves sank into the dirt. Kitty’s large pink gag muffled her voice. “Mpphh, mpph Mmpp!” She cracked the whip. It stung Mariana’s flank, and Nicola flinched, too.

Their harnesses creaked. Huge, heavy hummed inside both of them, inserted deep. The devices synced their steps with jolts of forced arousal. Mariana’s face burned red with both lust and abject humiliation and fury. She stumbled on her hooves into the soft soil, and Kitty whipped her again. “Mrpphhh!” The former captain directed reluctantly. Her own pink ballet boots wobbled on the soft ground. Tears running her cheeks with each smack. She hated this as much as the two new ponygirls.

Nicola trotted beside her sister; she was a pro at this. Mariana kicked out at Kitty, but the plugs buzzed harder as punishment. A moan slipped through the former named partner’s gag. Humiliation hit her like a brick. She glared at Kitty. The whip snapped once more. “Mmphhh!” Kitty yelled with a muffled tone.

As time passed, the two sisters improved their performance, their movements syncing slowly. The plugs forced their compliance, and they soon started trotting in unison.

As the plugs continued to buzz relentlessly, Mariana couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped, almost stumbling over as a climax overwhelmed her, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She bit down on the gag and cried out in pure ecstasy.

Nicola stumbled beside her sister, her own plugs assaulting her pussy and ass. The former lieutenant steadied her sister with her shoulder. It was tough. Her arms stayed bound tight in the red harness. She groaned out in forced pleasure and pity for her sibling. This training was relentless.

Kitty paused, whipping as she watched Mariana shudder and scream out. Kitty didn’t want to assist the very men who betrayed her, but the alternative was so much worse. It was every slut for themselves now. Another orgasm ripped through Mariana. She staggered forward. Her scream turned to a whimper. Kitty smacked her ass with the whip, forcing both ‘ponies’ to continue trotting.

Rex stood on the edge of the field with his arms folded, examining the training. He watched Kitty whip Nicola and Mariana into rhythm. Their hooves trotted steady now, and plugs kept them synced. He nodded. Satisfaction glinted in his eyes.

Jimmy stood nearby as he supervised the special guest trainer’s work. Rex turned to him. “They’re shaping up nice,” he said, his voice staying casual. “Get them ready for shipping.” He grinned. “Market value’s sky-high for a pair like this.”

Nicola’s head hung low. Her harness creaked faintly. Mariana’s glare was dissipating. She moved like a real ponygirl, with the plugs buzzing away inside of her. They had broken the tough lawyer. Jimmy grunted. “On it, boss.” He cracked his knuckles and smiled. He enjoyed his job.

❖

Two Days Later

Phoebe stood rigid in the Dominae-Earth Space loading dock. She stood motionless inside a display case. Long blond hair, heavily made-up face, shortened calves, massive pouting lips, and ridiculously large, enhanced breasts. She was boxed up tight. The tag at the bottom of the box reads “Property of Callum Knox.” Scrawled across the top of the box was the word “Tits.” That was her name now. Her body stayed still, conditioned to obey. Her furiously fighting eyes were the last remnants of her old self.

Workers diligently shuffled around the dock. They gave the new slave one more look-over. It was a long journey to Dominae. She wore a short, tight Lustex maids dress with a white apron, a frilly choker with the word ‘Tits’ labeled across the front, red Lustex Gloves and stockings, and a pair of extreme heelless ballet boots. She couldn’t move much. Her large red ball gag muffled any sound.

Once she was checked over, the men approached with wooden crate sides and assembled it around the box. Soon enough, she was packaged and ready to be shipped out to Dominae, the poor former lawyer trapped in darkness until the trip came to an end.

Her chest heaved slowly inside the crate. She hated her new ‘owner’. He had betrayed her, the company, her boss, and the women of Earth, and now he was taking her to start a new life on Dominae.

Nicola and Mariana were being loaded onto the spacecraft’s animal zone via the loading dock. A burly man pushed a cattle prod against Mariana’s exposed asscheek to keep the pair moving. Locked together with a chain connected to both of their collars. They wore identical red harnesses, exposing their breasts, including Nicola’s enhanced E cups. Rex had promised Mariana that she will get her enhanced when they arrived in Dominae. Not an offer she was looking forward to. They wore red and black ballet boots and bit into a thick red bit gag attached to a face harness with full blinders.

“Keep up,” one worker said as he took hold of the girls reigns and pulled them, forcing Mariana to stumble. One more prod to the ass soon got her back into a trotting rhythm with her sister. Their plugs moved about with each step, reminding them of the objectified animals they had become.

As they entered the spacecraft, they were chained to a post and forced to stand for god knows how long the entire journey would take. A workman checked over the two ponies before giving Mariana a smack on the ass. “I wish I could afford you back home,” he grinned. Mariana glared back at him.

Once the women were secure, the workman laughed and left the ponygirl sisters alone to await their new fate.

As the inspector gazed around the spacecraft hold before takeoff, he examined the two dozen boxes packed inside. Each one held an earth woman inside, unwillingly taken and ready to be sold. Some were trained on Earth, while others still had their fiery spirit.

Each woman was gagged, bound, and secured to the craft, a requirement for Dominae space travel.

Callum folded his arms and watched the unloading with guilty curiosity. He had made his decision, and he now had to live with it. He witnessed Mariana and her sister being loaded onto the craft and his new prize being boarded up, ready for transport. “We’re ready to start boarding passengers, Sir,” a crew member spoke.

Callum sighed and took one last look around. His time on Earth was over. It was time to start a new life on Dominae. A new life with his new toy, Tits.

As he boarded and the spacecraft underwent its final checks, it took off. Callum stared out the window, Earth shrinking smaller. There was no turning back now.

The End.