Please Note: I would like to start with a big apology to the late Dylan Thomas, Welsh poet and philosopher who wrote “Under Milkwood” a play for voices – I needed a place to locate Second Life and as he never went back to Llaragub, I sort of borrowed it... Sorry Dylan!
It is the 2040's and somewhere in a small run-down coastal town somewhere in South Wales there is a rather shabby looking Industrial Estate that is long past it's 'sell-by' date. Over to one side of the ram-shackled collection of buildings is an old and dilapidated warehouse long in need of a coat of paint... The little town goes by the name of Llareggub and if you ever want to find the industrial Estate just take a look down Goosegog Lane...
The warehouse, however, sports a large new-looking sign board proclaiming it to be the home of “SECOND-LIFE AUCTIONS Ltd.” The warehouse has no windows and only a couple of doors... It is not as run-down as it looks, but then, it couldn't be!
For the beginnings of our story we must move far away from Llareggub and leave Wales. In fact we must cross the border into England and nose around in the West Midlands, though this is not something that should be attempted by the faint hearted....... You have been warned!
1. Collection and Preparation.
As student parties go it had been quite unremarkable and had followed the traditional pattern of immature boys trying to impress young ladies by drinking more cheap alcohol than was good for them. Although why the sight of drunken lads vomiting in the various corners of the room would impress anyone is mystery lost in the mists of time.
Sam had only gone to the party because it was sort of expected – his mates were there and so was he, where they led – he followed, which, if you think about it, is why we have mates... They were there to lead use into trouble. Besides, as the only alternative had been to hide away in his room and write an overdue essay on the causes of the Korean War, the party had naturally won hands down.
The party which had been lively enough, had progressed along the usual lines for Sam: the girls looked down their noses at him and there was too much booze and over-loud music. All of which combined to produce the usual result as far as the lad was concerned and true to form, he had eventually found himself leaning against the wall at the front of the house groaning, throwing up and swearing that he would never drink again.
He heard the front door open and someone step out, he had looked up and through his self-induced misery recognised the pretty red-head that he had spent the evening totally failing to impress. She turned in Sam's direction, sniffed in that superior way that all unobtainable young ladies do the world over before turning towards the front gate.
Sam returned to his self-inflicted puddle of personal misery and consequently didn't hear the van draw up... Although he did vaguely remember hearing a male Welsh voice call out. “Here's one!”
The red-head had then gasped, sobbed and mumbled something unintelligible.
This was followed a few seconds later by another man who called. “Hey, there's another one over there!”
Almost immediately Sam heard movement close by and then felt hands grab hold of him. “Gerroff!” He muttered just before a dirty cloth was pressed over his face – a cloth that smelled pungent and sweet.
The night suddenly faded to black and fell over as it did so.
(Time passed by...)
There was the sound of paper rustling as someone or something moved and by the sound of things it was a large amount of paper.
Sam wasn't particularly comfortable, it was dark and he couldn't seem to move very much. When he did paper rustled. The smell, the sweet smell, had gone and had been replaced by that of sweat and vomit and urine and cheap perfume. There was the sound of breathing and there was pain, lots of pain.
“My heads hurt!” The lad muttered to no one in particular.
The statement never-the-less received a reply... “How many have you got?” It was a woman's voice and a familiar one at that.
Sam blinked in surprise but it didn't help for the room, or wherever it was that they where, seemed to be in total darkness. “How many should I have?” Sam groaned. “And please don't shout.”
The woman giggled and then said. “Ow!” There was a pause. “Just the one, I think, but don't quote me.”
Sam felt some sensations returning as he became more fully awake and realised that he had cramp in his legs to go with the pounding in his head. He tried to move into a new position but couldn't. “Hey,” he muttered, “I can't move.”
“Me neither!” Answered the woman who seemed to be a lot closer than Sam had initially thought. In fact she sounded like she was right next to him. “I think I'm tied up.”
Sam tried to roll over but it was no good. “Hey, what's going on?” He called out with just a hint of panic in his voice. “Where am I?”
“Please don't shout, my head hurts too.” The woman pleaded.
Sam heard paper rustle as she tried to move – this was followed by a grunt of exasperation and a gasp of pain and annoyance. “I – I think you're right, I'm sort of tied up too!”
Suddenly another realisation struck Sam, this one caused him to panic. “Hey! I don't think I've got any clothes on!”
There was a pause, then a whimper followed by a frightened... “Me neither.” Another pause, a longer one this time, followed by a slightly panicky. “I don't think that it's dark in here, I think it's a blindfold.”
Sam tried to move but only managed a small wriggle in the course of which his bum brushed against something soft. “Was that you I bumped into?”
“Yes, I think so.” She sounded calmer, but it didn't last and her voice became somewhat shrill as she asked. “Where are we? How did we get here? Who are you?”
There was another pause followed by. “What?”
“Sam Pearce... It's my name. You asked who I was.”
“Ah!” The woman answered as she moved in an attempt to ease her own discomfort and brushed against Sam in the process. “Hi, Sam, I'm Rachel Giles.” Another pause. “Do I know you?”
The conversation was suddenly cut short by the clatter of a van door being thrown open, this was followed by the sounds of movement and of new harsh voices that seemed to echo around a confined space.
“What they like?” A woman demanded, her voice was husky and had a hard Welsh accent. “Okay are they?”
Sam heard the rustling sound of something being dragged through scrunched-up paper as Rachel yelped. “Leave me alone.”
“Shut the fuck up, or I'll gag ya!” This was the male voice, older and edgy.
Rachael squealed and shouted. “Put me down.” This was followed by the sound of a hard slap and another squeal.
“I said to shut it!” Sam heard the man bark and then it was quiet and he was suddenly on his own.
After what seemed like an age the lad heard people approaching once more and picked up on their conversation as he heard the Welshwoman say. “...pretty redhead, that, a bit on the plump side but she'll do. Now let's have a look at the other one.”
Sam felt hands roughly grab hold of his ankles and pull him feet-first along the smooth floor: the paper he'd been lying in rustled.
There was a groan. “You fucking idiot, Ron!” Yelled the woman. “It's a fucking bloke! Can't you tell a lad from a girl?”
“Oh shit!” Mumbled Ron. “Sorry, Boss, it was sort of dark when I grabbed him and there was no light in the van when we stripped them. He's got long hair so I thought they were both birds. Well at least he's blond!”
“Big fucking deal, you English moron!” Boss-woman spat. There was an exasperated sigh. “No matter... They're only here to make up the numbers, anyway, ten was a bit light which is why you grabbed these extras, last minute.”
Sam felt himself being lifted and dropped into a chair – a chair with wheels. “Come on,” he heard the woman say, “lets get them cleaned up and presentable.”
For Sam, the next hour or so passed in a confusing blur: it started with an injection that cleared the pain but left him feeling spaced-out... His bonds were removed as was the blindfold. Then someone sat him in another chair, one inside a large shower... Rachel was already in there... The shower, a powerful one with multiple heads, was turned on causing the pair of them to protest loudly.
Sam tried to stand up but was dizzy and fell back into the chair whose arms were the only thing that stopped him flopping side-ways onto the floor. Suddenly there was someone behind them, someone who washed them roughly but thoroughly. He tried to make sense of it all, but his brain, just like his co-ordination didn't seem to be working all that well.
The hands that scrubbed him were not the least bit gentle although the attention was quite impersonal. He objected when his genitals was roughly grabbed and soaped and also when he was hauled half way out of his chair and a soapy finger shoved up his arsehole: well, that wasn't very pleasant either.
“Hey leave off!” He yelled, but was ignored... The person had been given a job and was determined to complete it whether Sam minded or not. It was no comfort that Rachel was treated in exactly the same cavalier fashion. Hell, it wasn't even embarrassing – the onslaught on his dignity had been too sudden for embarrassment to register. The pair of them were washed, their hair shampooed with something perfumed, all by the unseen figure who gave every sign of not caring whether they liked the procedure or not. Perhaps it was the alcohol he'd drunk, perhaps it was the injection he'd received or perhaps it was a little of both, but Sam found that the only resistance that he could put up were a series of shrill, whining complaints – all of which were ignored.
The shower ended and the pair of them were wrapped up in large thick towels and hauled back into the room where, still objecting, they were given some sort of perfunctory examination before the woman known as “Boss” glared at them. Sam recognised her by her Welsh accent although was surprised to see that she looked Indian.
“Well?” She demanded.
“They seem healthy – he's about eighteen and she's twenty or twenty-one. Typical pampered bloody students!”
The room were the pair of them found themselves was dingy and had a disused industrial-look about it. Sam blinked as he looked around in the harsh yellowish light: there were signs of neglect and decay all around them and boxes and other clutter seemed to have been dragged out of the way to clear a space in the middle of the floor where someone had laid a threadbare, but clean, carpet. The two students found themselves standing in the middle of it.
Rachel had tried to use her hands and arms to hide her lady's place and breasts but the woman had flicked her with the end of a leather belt causing her to yelp.
“Stand up straight, the both of you!” The woman commanded. Then she proceeded to walk slowly around them as she stared quite impersonally at their bodies.
“Who're you?” Muttered Sam just before he received a flick from the same belt which stung his backside. “Oww!”
“Keep quiet and keep still!” Rumbled the man.
The inspection continued for a few minutes and only ended when the woman pronounced herself to be satisfied. “Okay, they'll have to do – get them presentable, Ron, then mark them up, and get them down to the hall... The punters will be arriving in an hour or so and I want these pair looking at least passable.”
The man approached and grabbed hold of them both in turn and used a purple marker pen to draw a large “11” on Rachel's shoulder while Sam was similarly marked with a “12”. As Ron stepped back to admire his handiwork Sam had a good view of their captors. Ron looked like the typical criminal muscle familiar from TV shows, or the local pub. Almost a walking cliché, he was large and bulky with a shaved head and a collection of tattoos: some of which were miss-spelt. The prize one which, proclaimed that he was a supporter of “Millworl FC”, was clearly self-inflicted.
The woman was small, ferret-faced and had hard, brown eyes that regarded everything and everyone by their cash-value. Her clothes, however were expensive and her long black hair was clean enough to shine. She was also clearly the one in charge and even Ron seemed to be afraid of her. As she stared at Sam she seemed to calculate his cash value to the nearest penny – an exercise that didn't seem to satisfy her. “If only I had time to advertise you properly...” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head in disappointment. “The gay men would have taken a real shine to you, boy! As it was the only on that I could reach was Neil-the-fairy.” She muttered to no one in particular as she stepped back.
She turned to her underling. “Right, Ron, can you get them down to the hall and put them on display while I go and get changed... The guests will be arriving shortly and they'll think it odd if I don't welcome them personally, like. Oh and try to get something done with their hair and use a little light make-up to hi-light their features: get Gladys to give you a hand, tell her 'I said so!'”
2. Display and Disposal.
Shortly afterwards and still suffering from drug-induced confusion plus the remains of a hang-over, Sam found himself in much more salubrious surroundings. The 'Display Suite', or so Ron had called it, was at least clean and neatly furnished. The lad got the impression that it was a walled off section of a much larger room': the ceiling, or rather the total lack of one, being a give-away. It made him think of a film set, although he doubted that it was anything so innocent.
He found himself perched naked on a podium with a collar clipped around his neck from which a short chain ran back to a sturdy chrome-plated metal post. He grabbed the chain and gave it a tug but all that happened was that it rattled which caused a young woman to yell. “Stop it you dick-head!” In a thick Cardiff accent.
He glanced in her direction and saw that she wore a full face mask and was dressed in a tight purple velvet catsuit: given different circumstances he would have thought that she looked pretty sexy although she was obviously well out of his league. As it was the site of her just made him feel sad. Still, his willy, which obviously had a mind of its own, reacted by starting to stiffen.
The girl noticed and laughed which caused both Sam and willy to wilt from embarrassment.
They had already been briefed or rather told in no uncertain terms how they were to respond to the expected guests. They were, for instance, not to object in anyway when touched, stroked or fondled. They were to remain silent and only speak if asked a direct question and they were, above all to smile when a guest interacted with them and to address them in whatever way the guest required.
Interacted with? Sam had wondered. What the hell does that mean?
The room was warm but smelled slightly of cleaning products including disinfectant and this caused the lad to once more wonder vaguely just what was going on. The little podium on which he stood was the right hand one of twelve that were arranged in a sweeping crescent. Rachel was displayed on the one next to him and looked just as frightened as he felt.
“You okay, love?” He asked with genuine concern.
Suddenly he yelped as his collar stung him. Catsuit girl, or her twin appeared in front of him. “No talking!” She hissed and showed him a little black box with red numbered buttons. “Speak again and you get more of this!”
She pushed a button and this time Rachel squealed. “That was in case you were tempted to answer him!” She added nastily.
Bitch! Thought Sam defiantly as he sulked in silence. From where he was perched he could see all of the other little podiums... Each of them was occupied by a girl: some were blonde, others being brunette while two were ravenettes, Rachel being the sole redhead looked exotic and out of place. They all seemed to be young although one or two might have been in their thirties and all of them were marked with a purple number: all except for a small Afro-Caribbean girl whose number '4' was in white: she looked positively terrified.
Most of the other girls looked as scared as Sam felt but a couple stood there exuding an air of confidence, almost as if they knew what was coming or had done something like this before. One however looked angry and he noticed that she seemed to be shackled and had her hands secured behind her back. He exchanged glances with Rachel although neither of them spoke, fearing the retribution that it would bring; however he thought that he heard her whimpering although on reflection he decided that it was probably himself who made the noise... God, I'm scared but I wish they would get on with it!
Eventually more people entered the room, they drifted in in ones or twos and soon there were about fifteen of them milling around and showing interest in the girls, although Sam, with a couple of exceptions, received barely a glance. The gathering seemed to consist of about twelve women and three men, although Sam wasn't exactly happy about the way one of the latter kept coming back and staring at him.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and when the lad looked up, he noticed that the woman he knew only as “Boss” had entered, although he hardly recognised her, dressed as she was in a long, flowing green evening gown that seemed to shimmer when she moved. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “please feel free to examine and handle the girls... The boy too, if you wish. If you have any problems, my young ladies will be only too pleased to assist you.”
Handle? Sam didn't much like the sound of that.
The Boss continued. “Just to remind you that the proceedings will run along the usual lines – sealed bids only – no haggling. The price you will pay will be £500 more than the next lowest bid and there is no buyer's commission. In the case of a single bid being registered then the lot will sell for its reserve price, no matter what the value of the bid.”
Bids? Sam was horrified. He'd thought that it was just some sort of sick exhibition but it was an auction. I'm going to be sold! Please, God, not one of the men...
The atmosphere seemed to change as the visitors began to circulate and examine the livestock – for that was what, the lad realised that they all were: livestock to be sold to the highest bidder, although for what purpose he dreaded to think. There seemed to be no real pattern to the proceedings with the women and the handful of men moving around randomly. Most interacted with the others while a few seemed to ignore everyone that wasn't on display.
One of the men returned, reached out and gently stroked Sam's thigh chuckling when the boy pulled away. “Don't be frightened.” The man had instructed in a kindly voice. “I know what little boys like.”
A tall, blonde woman moved over to stand in front of Rachel, then cocking her head to one side, she thoughtfully observed the girl for a minute or so before consulting her auction programme, she cocked a sideways glance at Sam before smiling knowingly and moving away.
An elderly Indian woman was suddenly in front of Sam viewing him with distaste. Her dark, bird-like eyes, regarded him contemptuously and then she too has gone.
A small crowd seemed to gather around Rachel and a couple of women reached out to squeeze or fondle her. For a moment it looked as if she would object or burst into tears but she had noticed that one of the masked cat-suit girls was hovering in the background, watching her intently: this was enough for her to restrict any objections to a sulky pout.
“How old are you, child?” A grey-haired woman demanded.
When the girl didn't answer cat-suit girl tapped a button on her little black box. “Answer the lady!” She snapped when Rachel's squeal died away.
“Twenty-one!” The redhead muttered.
The grey-haired woman had smiled, nodded and then moved away and the little gathering dispersed.
The man was back again. He reached out and grasped Sam's penis before squeezing it gently. The lad wanted to object but didn't fancy another electric shock so he just glared.
“I could have fun training you, dear heart.” The man mused in a high-pitched cultured voice.
Much to Sam's embarrassment, his penis twitched and began to stiffen. This caused the man to chuckle again. He shook his head. “You're a bit small.” He said sounding disappointed. Never the less his eyes twinkled as he continued to gently fondle Sam's genitals for a minute or so before moving away.
Small? What's he on about? Sam though, his manhood oddly affronted. I'm six inches soft and more than seven hard! What does he mean, small?
A couple of women appeared in front of him again, one of them being the blonde from earlier. “Changing your preferences, Winnie?” Her shorter companion enquired bitchily. “I didn't think you were into boys.”
The tall blonde snorted. “I was thinking more along the lines of innocent entertainment...” But the look on her face told Sam that her interest was anything but innocent. Her head turned slowly until her gaze fell on Rachel: she smiled again.
People began to circulate more purposefully and several of them could be seen writing things down on small squares of card. Each card was then slipped into an envelope and placed on one of the podiums; some of which acquired five or six while others only one, or in Sam's case: none. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but then it hit him with the force of a truck and he experienced genuine fear. What happens if no one wants me?
He watched as the tall blonde woman returned, wrote on a card and then inserted it into an envelope which she placed on Rachel's' podium. At least someone fancies her! He thought as a weird pang of jealousy suddenly lanced through him.
The man returned, looked at Sam for a few seconds before shaking his head, turning and walking stiffly towards the door. Suddenly he stopped and walked back to Sam, and smiled in a kindly way. “How old are you, sonny? And please call me 'Daddy'.”
Sam hesitated but there was another of the cat-girls hovering just behind the man. “I was nineteen last week... Daddy.” He managed to force out.
'Daddy' positively beamed as he hurriedly scribbled something onto a card. “Poor baby, no one else seems to wants you...! Such pretty blonde hair, too!” He muttered wistfully as he slipped the card into an envelope before dropping it onto Sam's podium.
“We'll have such fun together, baby boy”. He said as he reached out to gently grasp Sam's penis once more before bending down to kiss it. Sam shuddered which caused the man to giggle and although he straightened up, he didn't let go of the lad's organ for almost a minute.
“Ladies and gentlemen...” Boss-Lady cut through the gentle murmur of voices... “...time is moving on so please place your bids.”
There was a final flurry of activity which rapidly died down and when Sam happened to glance down he saw that a second envelope had appeared on his podium and as neither of the other men had come close, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please step away from the lots, ladies and gentlemen,” The Boss-Lady instructed, “and we will determine which of you has been successful.” Then slowly but in a determined manner she made her way over to the empty space in front of the blonde standing on podium one. As this was the highlight of the proceedings she took her time and as far as Sam was concerned, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
She reached down and picked up the two envelopes then proceeded to open them. She made a show of reading both cards and of considering the bids before looking up and smiling. “Buyer 'D' has taken ownership Lot 1 with a bid of £25,750. Congratulations, Antonia, I am sure that she will bring you lots of pleasure.”
As she spoke, one of the cat-girls used a marker pen to draw a large red letter 'D' on the blonde's shoulder. The blonde did not look particularly happy about the proceedings but sensibly remained quiet.
Somewhere in the small crowd, Antonia received congratulations from several others and glares from a couple more. Attention then moved on to the brunette on podium two who was knocked down to one of the men for £18,500.
Podium three's inhabitant seemed to be very popular, the Boss-Lady examined the five bids before announcing that Buyer 'J' was now the woman's proud owner subject to a payment of £45,900. The next three lots were dealt with without any difficulty but Lot '7' caused something of a minor problem. The bid was opened and examined... “Oh, dear!” Boss said in a theatrically sad voice. “The single bid was conditional upon the client failing on previous lots.” Boss looked up. “Dawn, I believe that you were successful in acquiring Lot Five?”
A woman at the back of the crowd answered with a brusque nod.”
“I then declare Lot Seven to be unsold. Do I hear 'reserve'?” The woman that Sam so far knew only as 'Boss' enquired.
“Reserve!” Snapped an Asian woman from somewhere in the crowd.
“Sold to Buyer 'H' for £15,000, and a bargain she is too!”
There were no more dramas and eventually the proceedings reached Rachel who was known to the crowd only as 'Lot Eleven'. The Boss picked up the single envelope, opened it then frowning, announced that the redhead now conditionally belonged to Buyer 'E' subject to a payment of £10,000 and certain provisions being met.
The tall blonde smiled happily and moved over to stand near her property and it was now Sam's turn. For some reason The Boss decided to make a performance of his sale. Slowly she bent down and retrieved the two envelopes from his podium. “Ladies and gentlemen we will now consider the final lot which consists of this rather pretty young man.”
Sam recoiled somewhat at being called 'pretty' but the little man who had shown so much interest in him seemed to like the description and smiled happily adding. “Isn't the baby-boy divine? I'm going to name him 'Cutie-pie!”
The Welsh woman opened both envelopes and made a show of reading the bids. She looked up and gave Sam a nasty smile. “Buyer 'G' has bid £15,500 for the item.” The man seemed to dance a little jig of happiness. “But Buyer 'E' has entered a conditional bid of £21,000.”
The Boss paused, no doubt for dramatic effect.
“What are the conditions?” Enquired the man somewhat agitated as it seemed that Sam, who had suddenly become a 'must have', was slipping out of his grasp.
The Boss woman looked across at the tall blonde who gave her a single brusque nod. “Winnie requests that we neuter the lad. Her purchase of Lot Eleven is also subject to us carrying out this procedure on him.”
“What? No!” Both Sam and his potential 'Daddy' both shouted in unison. The man adding. “You can't do that to the poor baby!”
The Boss-Lady paused and made a show of considering the bids which caused 'Daddy' to become increasingly agitated. “I'll double her offer providing I can have him as he is! I'll even take the girl off your hands too!”
Sam looked panic stricken as he considered the twin fates that lay before him. Gay sex-slave or eunuch? Both prospects filled him with dread!
“I'm sorry, Neil, but the bidding is closed.” The Woman stated with finality before turning towards the tall blonde. “Winnie I am pleased to inform you that I am able to meet the provisions of your conditional bid and award Lot Twelve to you subject to the payment of £16,000. Do you want him left with an empty sac or would you like his scrotum removed too?”
The blonde chuckled. “Remove all traces of it, please, Blodwyn, and have him smoothed over. He will look so much tidier afterwards, don't you think?”
3. Preparatory Procedures.
After the auction, they sedated Sam and locked him up in a tiny Spartan room with a bed, a table and a toilet. But before this they had left him trembling upon his little podium from where he watched as the successful buyers had arranged payment for their lots and then departed accompanied by their property. He was staying, so in their eyes the did not need to bother themselves about him until right at the very end.
He remembered Rachel having a clip board thrust in front of her. It had a single sheet of paper which she was required to sign. Strange. Sam had thought because none of the other lots had had to sign anything.
The red-head had then turned and given him a concerned look before mouthing. “See you soon.” And then she too was gone.
Neil had been one of the last to depart and had remained right up until Boss-Blodwyn announced that she needed to lock up. The man had nodded sadly and turned away before suddenly spinning around and leaping up onto Sam's little podium. He hugged the surprised lad to him before kissing him passionately.
“Oh, Cutie-pie, what fun we would have had together...” He said softly before giving the lad's willy one last squeeze. He jumped down and was suddenly gone leaving Sam alone with his confusion, fears and thoughts: for some reason his penis stood proudly erect and at a jaunty angle.
For Sam, the next few days slipped by in a haze of drug-induced confusion as Blodwyn made sure that he was medicated at all times with a cocktail of euphorics, tranquillizers and will-suppressants. He might not want what was going to happen to him but they certainly made sure that he would be happy about it.
He had remained locked inside the tiny room for a couple of days with nothing to do but doze or eat the odd bland meal that they brought in from time to time... Oh there was the routine of hygiene and the other types of personal maintenance, but that took place against the same hum-drum background as everything else. No one thought to provide him with distractions... Even one of his text-books would have been welcome – if he could have been bothered to read it, that is: for lethargy was one of the side effects of the medication.
At one stage Boss-Blodwyn came in and thrust some sheets of printed paper down on the table and insisted that Sam sign them which he did. The woman had then given him a a contemptuous smile before muttering. “You volunteered to become a slave so it's all legal now!” Before departing as suddenly as she had arrived.
It must have been the third day that Ron suddenly burst into the little room and flung some clothes onto the little table. “Here, put these on, the Boss is taking you on a little trip.”
After he had left, Sam fitfully dressed as instructed and pulled on a pastel pink tee-shirt, baggy boxers without a fly and a pair of wide dark grey culottes. The clothes were old, but clean and seemed to fit where they touched. They had a distinctly feminine quality about them and must have once been the property of some of the various girls who had passed through the place. The trainers that they provided him with, however looked like his own... And on closer examination he realised that they were, one even having a familiar cigarette burn... He also found that some sort of collar had been locked around his neck: he tugged at it, but it seemed very secure.
Then it was out of the room, a short walk across the cluttered and seemingly disused warehouse and into the front seat of a big people carrier. Boss-Blodwyn waiting impatiently in the driving seat. “Where have you been?” She snarled, making the word “you” sound like an insult.
“S-sorry.” The lad muttered. “But I've only just been told.”
“Fucking Ron again!” She snapped before sighing. “Not your fault, boy!” And at that she started the engine and drove out into what looked like a semi-derelict industrial estate.
It didn't take the lad long to realise that they were no longer in the West Midlands, in fact it seemed to be no where in the UK that he recognised and predictably he lapsed into silence and tried to work out just were the hell he was. Blodwyn was silent also, or rather was when she wasn't swearing at other motorists.
The drive across town did not take long, mainly because there wasn't a whole lot of anything that could vaguely be described as “town”. Then after a journey that resembled large-scale dodgems rather more than it did motoring, the vehicle rolled around the back of a shabby and rather nondescript building and stopped. Just before she pressed the 'unlock' button, Boss-Lady made a point of showing Sam the little black box before she slipped it into a pocket. The box had a single red button. Blodwyn smiled nastily knowing that she didn't need to tell the young man just what it was for.
Sam had nodded glumly and said. “I'll behave.”
“See that you do and only speak when you are spoken too. Oh and whatever happens – you are happy about everything that the doctor's going to do!” The Boss-Lady's grating voice no longer got on his nerves as he was now well past mere annoyance.
Then it was out of the car and into the building by way of an unmarked back door. “Ah! Miss Patel,” the receptionist had muttered nervously, “Doctor Fordyce is expecting you!”
And it was into the consulting room which was every bit as shabby and run down as the exterior of the building and indeed, as the area in which it was located. The doctor turned out to be a middle-aged man who chain-smoked throughout the consultation and only put his cigarette down when he was actually doing something that forced him too. He glanced up from the folder that he was reading through, recognised Blodwyn Patel and shuddered.
“'Morning, Blodwyn, and how are you?” He enquired and then added. “A pleasure to see you again.” Even though it clearly wasn't.
Sam suddenly did a double-take when he recognised the doctor as one of the unsuccessful bidders who had attended the auction a few days previously. The doctor gave him a pitying look. “So this is, er, the young gentleman, is it?”
Boss Lady had nodded and then snapped. “Just get on with it, doctor.”
And with that, Sam's waking nightmare resumed. He knew what was about to happen and wanted to avoid it. He hated the idea of everything that the doctor was about to do but felt powerless to resist. He wasn't going to be castrated was he? Surely not, that sort of thing just wasn't done any more, this wasn't the middle ages, after all. It was a joke, that's what it was, a joke!
“Okay, just a couple of jabs to make you more relaxed.” The doctor mumbled before expertly injecting Sam with the contents of several hypodermics. “Right, er, young man, let's take a look at you, drop you trousers, please.”
After Sam had done so the man patted the edge of the raised examination couch and waited while his patient hoped up onto it. Gently, and quite impersonally the doctor took hold of Sam's penis and lifted it to give himself an unrestricted view of the lad's scrotum which he felt and prodded with professional expertise. “Hmm, everything seems to be there that should be.”
“But not for much longer.” Blodwyn Patel could be heard to mutter from somewhere behind the doctor who ignored her.
Then with Sam's 'family jewels' cradled gently in the palm of his hand the doctor began to swab them with alcohol before administering a series of injections to the lad's groin. Then with a shrug, he moved away and lit a fresh cigarette. He took a couple of drags and waited for the anaesthetic to begin to work before calling the practice nurse in to assist him
He turned to Blodwyn while he was waiting. “I can see why Neil Bloxham was sorry to have lost this one... The lad's quite well endowed down there. Did Winnie Morgan put a higher bid in just to spite him, do you think?”
Whatever Blodwyn's opinion on the matter happened to be, Sam never learned for it was at this point that the nurse breezed in and the doctor instructed her to shave the patient.
Thus the nightmare continued. As soon as the nurse was finished the doctor put his cigarette down and joined her and between them they got Sam to lie down on the edge of the couch with his legs, and other things, dangling down although they did provide him with stirrups. Then, when the doctor was happy they set to work. As to what was actually done, the lad never knew for, because of the way he was lying, all he could see was a cobweb festooned light fitting. As for the surgical procedure he neither saw nor felt anything that was done to him over the course of the next half an hour. Although he was well aware that they were doing something as from time to time one of them would touch or move a part of him that was outside the area dulled by the anaesthetics.
When the doctor eventually sat him up all the he could see was the large dressing and the catheter that poked out of it. “There you are, Sam, all done... You'll be a bit sore down there when the anaesthetic wears off but it will be all heeled up in about a week. Come back in ten days and we'll take the stitches out. I'm sure that you'll be pleased with the result!”
They dressed him in his loose-fitting culottes and that was that, in more ways than one! As they helped him to his feet his eyes fell on the small mound of pink fleshy surgical waste and bloody swabs that lay discarded in a dish on the couch near by... He jerked his head away and sobbed at that point for he realised that if it was a joke, it was a sick one.
They kept him sedated and at one point secured his hands behind his back, and it was here that they remained until they were sure that he wasn't going to interfere with the good doctor's work. He spent the next ten days dozing and wondering about the future and what further horrors that it held in-store for him.
At the end of the ten days he was driven back across town and examined once more and the nurse removed the dressing and eased the catheter out. Then the doctor joined her and the two of them cooed: clearly happy with the quality of the work that they had carried out and then set about removing the stitches. When they let Sam see, the lad shuddered for the underside of his penis was now as smooth and streamlined as the top and the skin between it and his arsehole was now a completely smooth sheet. Of his testicles and their baggy sac, there was no trace save for some pink lines, each with it's two rows of stitch marks.
“There you are, Sam, all done.” The doctor proudly proclaimed through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Exactly as your Mistress instructed, in fact she's here to collect you in person.”
And suddenly there she was, the tall blonde herself was bending over Sam, or rather Sammie, as she insisted in calling him. She examined the modified, smooth-looking penis, squeezed it and played with it for a few moments before looking up and smiling. “Thank you, doctor. An excellent piece of work. It's not going to get hard is it?”
The doctor shook his head. “Castration by itself doesn't put a stop to erections, but the amount of female hormones that you had me pump into him will keep him permanently soft and floppy. He'll just need one of those slow-release injections every six months to keep him that way. Feminization will become noticeable in a month or so and this time next year you'll be hard pushed to tell that he was ever a boy. He'll be more cooperative and easier to handle now though he will get mood-swings but they shouldn't last too long.”
Winnie smiled as she reached down, grasped Sammie's penis and began to masturbate him. She carried on sliding the loose skin up and down for a minute or so, but aside from the odd twitch and the little dribble of pre-cum there was no sign of a reaction. The six-inch long trouser snake remained soft and floppy. The tall blonde smiled. “Thank you, doctor, castration really is the only way to tame these hideous things. The world would be a safer place if it were compulsory.”
The rest of the day continued as a whirlwind of visits and appointments, so many that the exhausted Sammie lost track of them. First was the clinic and the massive course of permanent hair removal which, after several hours left him smooth and hairless below the eyelashes.
Next came the nail bar where the technicians carried out both a mani and a pedi and painted them all a genteel shade of peach.
Then it was the hairstylist who tutted at the state of his long student mop and then set to work trimming, layering and styling it into a neat shoulder length bob. “Blonde hair should be worn long,” the stylist proclaimed, “I've lightened yours and added a few highlights. I hope you'll take better care of it in future.”
The beautician came next and when she had finished Sammie was hard pressed to recognise the young woman that stared quizzically at him from behind the mirror. Who is she? He thought before wondering. Where have I gone?
Finally it was into one of the little boutiques that sold just about everything that a girl needed. “My daughter needs a new outfit announced Winnie Morgan haughtily. This student-gunge look just won't do!”
And that was that. Over the course of about a fortnight, Sam Pearce had ceased to exist and without any fuss or resistance, Sammie Morgan had seamlessly taken his place.
“As far as the world is concerned, you are a girl now, so it is up to me to teach you to behave like one!” Winnie had proclaimed imperiously.
As far as Sammie was concerned, she didn't feel like a girl, in fact she didn't feel any differently to before. The only change that she was aware of was an increase in confusion... A lot of confusion.
However she had gathered what remained of her wits and asked Mistress Morgan a simple question. “If I'm a woman, why have I still got a willy?”
Winnie had glared at her. “Because, you are a shemale you silly little bitch, so get used to it! You are also my legal property to use however the fuck I like, so get used to that was well. But at least you can look on the bright side – you don't have that little queer, pawing at you and expecting you to fuck him all the time. You really are lucky that I recognised your potential – you and that little red-headed girlfriend of yours.”
“Rachel?” Sammie gasped, he'd quite forgotten about her over the last few days. “Rachel isn't my girlfriend! I only met her a couple of hours before we were both, err...” Her voice trailed away into a sob as she remembered the life that he had been snatched from.
“Well you are her girlfriend now, young lady!” Mistress Winnie stated emphatically. “So you want to hope that she'll enjoy fucking you.”
Sammie moved into Winnie Morgan's household and did her best to fit in while at the same time adapting to the alien notion of being female or at least the version of 'female' that most appealed to the Mistress of the house.
This was, as Mistress stated, her second life and as such, she was encouraged to make the most of it. It was an easy life, Sammie discovered, as there were even servants and maids and things to do the actual work although both Rachel and herself were always expected to be ladylike and too look their best at all times and to follow the dress code that Winnie laid down.
Sammie had been resident in the secluded manor house for about a week when she discovered the pile of old newspapers: mischievously she informed Rachel and the pair of them, behaving like two naughty schoolgirls, began to go through the news concerning the happenings in the mysterious outside world.
They had been going through the pile for about twenty minutes, and had spent more than a little time giggling over the saucy bits that they gleefully read out to each other. Suddenly the redhead stopped what she was doing and went pale. “Sammie, dear, how long have you been here?”
Sammie paused and looked over the copy of the 'Sun' that she was reading. “About a week.”
“And before that, how long were you having medical treatment for your, er, condition?” Rachel asked with slight embarrassment.
Sammie dropped the newspaper and began to wonder what her friend was driving at. “A fortnight, I think.”
But the redhead carried on. “So it was about a month ago that we were at that party, no longer?”
Sammie nodded. “Can't be more than a month.”
Rachel handed her the copy of the 'Birmingham Post' that had absorbed her attention. “It's a story about two university students vanishing: it repeats the suggestion that Rachel Giles and Sam Pearce have run away together... That's us isn't it?”
Sammie nodded. “Well we have, sort of, silly!” She giggled and then saw the date on the newspaper – it was from last year and was about eight months old.
The girls stared at each other, something more than six months had slipped away without them noticing. “Rachel, what happened to all that time?”
Suddenly they realised that they weren't alone. “What the hell do you naughty little girls think you are doing?” Demanded an angry sounding Mistress Winifred. “I though that I told you to do something useful like tidy up your room, or fuck each other or something... Instead I find you playing with the recycling! What's wrong with the two of you?”
The girls looked at each other. “It's all a bit confusing, Mistress.” Sammie muttered. “I mean, I think that I used to be a boy but something has happened and time doesn't seem to make any sense any more. Why don't we remember those six months?”
“Nine!” Snapped Mistress.
“What?” Asked a confused sounding Rachel.
Mistress sat down on the floor next to the two girls and idly picked up one of the newspapers and leafed through it. “It was nine months ago when Blodwyn Patel had you both kidnapped and and you were auctioned off as sex-slaves!”
The girls shuffled backwards and regarded her with horror. “But why?”
Mistress shrugged. “To make money, I guess. But don't ask me, I don't know what makes the Welsh Devil tick.” She smiled at them... “Don't worry, girls: we've had this conversation before and when you wake up in the morning, you won't remember any of it so I'll answer your questions for you. Where did the time go? That's simple we used it to fuck with your minds, your personalities and your memories...
“Sammie's balls weren't the only thing to be removed... Great chunks of your memories were too.”
She looked at them and shrugged. “How else can I get you to accept what has happened to you if I don't brainwash you from time to time? How else do you think that I could keep you infantilised? You're both in your early twenties but have the minds of schoolgirls. That sort of thing doesn't happen by chance!”
Sammie and Rachel stared back at her in horror. “You control our minds?”
Mistress laughed. “Of course I do. It's for your own good, after all. Think about it, girls... Are you happy here with me?”
Rachel shuddered. “Well, yes, very happy.” She looked across at Sammie who nodded vigorously no doubt thinking of an alternate life with Neil and the narrow escape...
“But schoolgirls?” Rachel asked, slightly puzzled.
“I think that it makes you very cute and what I want is what you get to be!” Mistress smiled and shrugged then ushered them out of the room... The conversation was over.
The next time that either of them went into the recycling room they found that the pile of newspapers (that neither of them could really remember) had disappeared and life carried on as it always seemed to in Mistress Winnie's rambling old Manor House.
Changes happened that the girl's could remember: changes that Mistress always justified. There was the matter of the beds, for instance... When they had first moved in, Rachel and Samantha had each had their own single bed on opposite sides of their bedroom but one day Mistress had got rid of them and bought them a king-sized double bed. “You are far too old to sleep in separate beds.” Mistress had explained. “It'll be much nicer for you to share a big one, won't it?”
The girls had nodded dumbly and wondered what they were confused about. Suddenly they both gave a synchronized shrug... Well Mistress always knows best, well she does, doesn't she? She was in control and that was all for the best, too.
Their clothing, for instance... She had decreed that they should dress in pleated tartan school skirts, white cotton blouses, long woollen stockings and shoes of the type that Americans know as Mary-Janes and that Brits call “girls' sandal”s. When they went out with Mistress they wore blazers and straw boaters which Winnie thought made them look cute. They were rather better endowed than school girls normally were, especially in the 'breast-department'. But, once again this is what she wanted and so this is what she got.
The one thing that seemed to disappoint Winnie was the fact that, despite her heavy hints and instructions, she could find no signs that her 'daughters' were having sex with each other. Eventually she became exasperated and demanded to know – “What the hell's wrong? Don't you fancy each other?
Crestfallen, they had reminded her that since Sammie's penis couldn't get hard, they had nothing to fuck with and so spent their time masturbating each other instead.
“Give me strength!” Mistress exclaimed in mock-annoyance and then showed them where the toy cupboard was. She opened it and grabbed hold of a double-ended plug-in dildo and thrust it into Rachel's hands. “Here, go and work out how to use this one!”
Needless to say both girl's scampered away giggling and headed for their own room.
A few minutes later the girls were up in their large, girly bedroom with its predomination of cliché-pink... Pink flowery wallpaper... Pink and white furnishings... Pink frilly curtains... A deep-pile cerise (pink) carpet... A happy pink 'My-Little-Pony' bed cover... Sammie didn't like pink, or rather she hadn't previously: but when Rachel had reminded her of this a few days before, she had shaken her head vigorously. “I've loved pink for as long as I can remember – ever since I was a little girl in fact!”
Then she had frowned prettily, something that she had just said didn't sound quite right but she just couldn't put her finger on it...
Now she was sitting cross-legged on the foot of the bed looking across at her big sister who was kneeling, naked from the waist down, examining the toy which was bright pink too. Sammie thought that it looked like her willy, except that it was hard and not all floppy. She could almost remember a time when she had been able to get hard like the toy, she frowned but couldn't hold onto the memory which faded away like a dream on wakening.
The toy lad a sort of thick shaft poking up out of its other end, a shaft with a knob on the end. Experimentally, Rachel pressed the knob against her pussy-lips and then pushed going wide-eyed as it slipped in.
“You okay?” Sammie asked, she'd heard her sister's gasp and wondered if it had hurt her.
“Hmmmmmmm!” Rachel answered, a happy blank smile spreading across her face.
Sammie was intrigued by the sight that confronted her: Rachel looked for all of the world as if she had grown a willy and one every bit as big as Sam's used to be. Was mine that big? The girl thought as a memory of an erect, jaunty penis crystallized in her mind only to fade away almost immediately. She stared, fixated at Rachel's newly endowed crotch. “Won't it drop out?”
“No, I can sort of grip it.” She said sounding excited and Sammie could see that she was very wet and her pussy-dew had made a dark patch on their bedspread. “Come on, Sammie dear, let's do what Mommy told us!”
She didn't need further persuading and within seconds was also naked from the waist down and then after hopping back onto the bed found herself on all-fours presenting her bum to her sister who thoughtfully lubed her up.
“What are you doing?” Sammie asked, her voice sounding puzzled.
“I'm going to fuck you, just like Mommy said I should but I don't want to hurt you. That wouldn't be playing nice, would it?” The redhead explained before gently grasping Sammie's slender hips and easing herself forward until the head of the toy was pressing against a certain little rosebud.
There was a pause. “I wish that I was slim like you, Sammie. My hips just seem to go on for ever!”
Sammie frowned for she envied Rachel's round feminine bum and thought that her own made her look like a boy... Another wave of confusing memories suddenly hit her and she gasped when she momentarily remembered being a boy.
“Did I hurt you?” Rachel enquired, concern heavy in her voice.
“N-no!” Sammie answered sounding puzzled. “I just had one of those funny memories, that's all, but it's gone now.”
Rachel nodded. One of those memories! There was a pause, then. “Get ready, little sister, here I come!”
She eased forward and Sammie felt the toy willy press harder against her arsehole. Suddenly the rounded bulging head slipped in and the girl had a sudden premonition of being torn apart and gasped loudly, the gasp ending in a little squeak of. “Oww!”
“Are you okay, Sis?” Rachel asked.
“Y-yes!” Sammie stuttered. “It was a bit of a stretch to take the whole seven inches in one go!” She panted.
Rachel frowned knowing full well that she'd only pushed the head into Sammie. “Is it hurting you? Do you want me to stop and pull out?”
“No! It's a nice hurt.” Sammie said. “Keep going, I'll tell you if it gets too bad.”
Rachel smiled and eased forward again, this time pushing the whole of the toy into her sister's bowel as she did so.
“Ah! Oh! Ah!” Panted Sammie.
Rachel eased back, which produced another moan, before thrusting forward and easing back again. Then it was in-out, forward-back as Rachel's hips seemed to set up a rhythm all of their very own. Each thrust causing Sammie to give a little moan or a squeal or a yelp as the pain and discomfort was overwhelmed by nicer feelings. Oh her sister's cock still hurt when it was thrust into her but there was now more... Much more... There was pleasure... Pleasure that began somewhere below her belly and blossomed into something that filled her whole body. Her sister was fucking her and she liked it.
“Oh, yes! Ah! Ah! Ow!” She squealed ecstatically as the warm glow seemed to wrap its self around her like a large, soft, pink blanket and she was floating! Floating!
Rachel's thrusts increased in frequency and power and soon each one only ended when her mound slammed into Sammie's soft arse with a little 'slap'.
Vaguely the shemale was aware of other sensations... Of something seeming to build inside her... Of her own soft cock swinging backwards and forwards as it flopped around impotently: but even this produced a nice sensation that added to Sammie's pleasure. This was wonderful! She felt tingly and nice as each thrust pushed into her. Rachel seemed to be liking it too as she rode the other end of the dildo that slid in and out while a series in little ridges massaged her clitty with each of her thrusts.
Sammie realised that she wasn't the only one making a noise for Rachel was now grunting in time with the thrusts... Thrusts that suddenly became harder and quicker. She felt Rachel's grip tighten as her fingers dug into the flesh of her sister's little hips.
Something was building, Sammie didn't know what it was, but she could feel it. Slap! – Slap! – Slap! – Slap! Went Rachel. Each powerful thrust accompanied by a duet of squeals and grunts. Sammie could feel something building, something deep down, something in her floppity willy... And then it happened, fireworks exploded inside her as she shook and quivered uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure broke inside her and her soft, floppy willy began to twitch and squirt in time with the sensations.
The pulses of sheer pleasure peaked and subsided but Rachel carried on thrusting mercilessly into her sister for a couple more minutes until she finally slammed in one last time and then clung to her as she felt herself spasm time and time again. Sammie could feel each of the powerful orgasms that burned through her sister simply because Rachel was now grasping her so tightly that it was almost as if they had become a single being. Then as Rachel screamed her release, Sammie came again and orgasmed so violently that she passed out: both of them collapsing into the puddle of colourless cum that the shemale had squirted all over 'My Little Pony'.
“What happened?” Moaned Sammie as she opened her eyes a few seconds later and felt the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm ripple through her.
“I think that I was hit by a truck!” Rachel moaned. “Did you get his number?”
Sammie tried to get up but couldn't simply because Rachel was draped across her back. The plastic cock that was still jammed up her arse didn't help either. Slowly and still feeling slightly numb, the girls untangled themselves and Rachel slipped out of a relieved Sammie before helping the younger girl to her feet.
They looked at each other. “Oh, wow.” Is all that either of them said for several minutes after Rachel eased the toy out of her pussy.
Sammie reached down and lifted up her willy which was still dripping something clear and colourless. “We've simply got to do that again!” She added dreamily.
She suddenly realised that they were no longer alone... Winnie had come into the room without either of them knowing it. “Oh we will, girls, we definitely will!” She said with a large beaming smile. “But next time, I'm going to be between you!”
5. (Second) Life Carries on.
“Welcome to Second Life Auctions,” Blodwyn Patel announced, “I'm sure that you will find something that appeals to you. As you can see there are twenty lots on offer, fifteen of whom are probably female, the others notionally male, there is, I think you will agree, something for all tastes. Have a good look around, examine the lots and handle them if you wish. You will notice that Lot Eight is a matched pair and may not be split. Please enjoy yourselves and remember, we accept sealed bids only, there will be no haggling.
“In case of difficulties,” she continued, “my girls will be only too happy to assist you. The Lots are here for your pleasure, so enjoy!”
All around her the thirty or so guests began to circulate and inspect the young people up on their podiums. The centre one was a little larger than the others and displayed a pair of rather pretty identical twin blonde girls. The catalogue assured the guests that they were eighteen and a half although many thought that they looked much, much younger.
As the guests circulated and tried not to reveal which of the items took their fancy, they never the less began to examine the lots closely while Blodwyn and 'her girls' kept a wary eye on proceedings and answered any questions.
Boss-Blodwyn recognised almost all of the participants and knew all of her regular customers by name: Winnie Morgan was there, accompanied by her two 'daughters', and so was Neil MacPherson. Wendy Dawes, a small, grey-haired lady was also present as was a nervous-looking Doctor Fordyce who would no doubt nip out for a quick cigarette from time to time.
Of the crowd, Blodwyn estimated that two thirds of them were probably women while the other third were probably men... It was 2040, after all, so 'probably' was the best that anyone could hope to manage. The one thing that was true to form was that the women tended to concentrate on the female lots while the men that she had invited tended to pay the most attention to the displayed boys... Doctor Fordyce being the only exception as she knew that he was on the lookout for an intimate female companion.
She had, however, mixed the lots and not grouped the boys together at the one end as she had done in the earlier sales. Mixing them together meant that the guests were forced to circulate and move around as the viewed the merchandise: who knows? Maybe, just maybe this would generate even more competition and encourage the punters to broaden their horizons.
As Blodwyn circulated, she listened! She, for instance, overheard Winnie remonstrate with her daughters. “Come on, darlings.” She heard the woman say. “We're here to select a companion for you two, so which do you fancy?”
The two girls, resplendent in their knee-length tartan skirts, maroon blazers and cute straw boaters gazed around at the naked flesh on display.
“All of the girls!” Enthused Rachel with a dreamy smile.
“Can we get a boy and turn him into a girl?” Enquired Sammie and then wondered what on Earth could have given her that strange idea.
“Give me strength!” Hissed Winnie under her breath, but never the less smiled indulgently at her girls. “We'll see, darlings.” she purred.
Smiling, Blodwyn Patel drifted away and caught sight of Neil MacPherson who was hovering around the podium that displayed Lot Seven, a particularly well-endowed fair haired youth who was in turn eyeing Neil rather nervously. Boss Lady Blodwyn decided to stick around – just in case Neil became a little over excited, which he had a tendency to do.
As she watched, Neil lovingly stroked the boys thigh before reaching around to cup an arse-cheek in one of his small hands. “Oh, you are so beautiful!” He cooed. “We will have such fun together.”
Shaking her head knowingly, Blodwyn gave a wry smile and moved away: but not before signalling to one of the purple cat-suit girls... Well someone still needed to keep their eye on Neil!
The Boss-Lady began to circulate once more, glad that everything seemed to be running smoothly. The twins were proving as popular as she had hoped they would and already seemed to have attracted half a dozen or more bids. The woman smiled and made a mental note to acquire similar lots for future auctions.
A sudden movement caught her eye and, evening gown swishing, she spun around to see that the main doors had suddenly been flung open, despite her explicit instruction that no one was to be admitted without an invitation. As she watched she saw two dark figures enter trailed by an agitated Ron. Now what's the idiot done?
Her irritation subsided as she recognised that the newcomers were police officers... Well the large pale blue patches that splashed the word “POLICE” across the front of their vests was a bit of a give-a-way. Then with mounting annoyance she strode purposefully over to them hoping to prevent them from disturbing the tranquillity of the proceedings more than was necessary. Behind her, Neil had also noticed the newcomers and was now hiding behind the new love of his life around whose leg he peered furtively.
As Blodwyn approached the two black-clad figures, one of them, an inspector, raised the visor of its helmet and stared up at her. For although the pair of them looked robotic, clad as they were in their bulky body armour, they certainly weren't physically impressive. The inspector looked about five foot three and was thus five inches shorter than Blodwyn.
“Good evening, Inspector, looking to obtain a companion are you?” She purred, trying to hide the annoyance that she felt.
The Inspector smiled. “Strictly duty, Ma'am.”
Blodwyn suddenly recognised the woman. “Your loss, Trudy, we really have a choice selection... One of the best shows that I've ever put on, in fact.”
The Inspector grinned. “We're just here to check your paperwork, but I do like the look of those twins...”
“Yes,” Blodwyn replied lightly, “they were signed over to me to part-settle a debt. They really are delightful. And before you ask, I have copies of their J5's on file.”
The other copper swung his visor open. “J5's?”
“The form that the subject signs to renounce their citizenship and existence as a free person!” The Inspector snapped. “If you don't do your homework, Davis, you'll be back in 'Traffic'!”
The younger copper mumbled something that Blodwyn Patel didn't catch before falling silent, although his eyes seemed to be everywhere.
“All the paperwork is in order, all of my lots have signed a J5 or they wouldn't be in my possession. I'll show you, if you'll come this way.”
The inspector shook her head. “That won't be necessary.” Suddenly she turned to her subordinate and snapped. “Davis, nip outside and do a check on the vehicles in the car park, we wouldn't want these good people to be inconvenienced by vehicle crime, would we?”
After the other copper had left, the Inspector turned towards Miss Patel and shrugged before removing a card and envelope from a nearby table and writing something down. After she had finished she strode over to the twins' podium and placed her envelope with the growing number already there. She turned and with a guilty smile muttered. “Well you never know...” Then with a last, longing look at the two girls, she was gone and normal behaviour was resumed by the gathering.
Neil emerged from behind the blond boy, looked up longingly and giggled before skittering away to stare with equal longing at a Mediterranean-looking youth.
Winnie, her 'daughters' in tow, moved purposefully towards a statuesque brunette. “How about her as a playmate?” She asked tartly, her patience showing signs of fraying.
Wendy Dawes, who was a gold-star lesbian and a regular attender at these events where she was well-known for making very low bids was currently staring up at a boy of south-east Asian appearance. As Blodwyn watched, the grey-haired lady sidled up to the podium before gently reaching out to take hold of he lad's small and inoffensive genitals. “Hmmm!” Wendy muttered thoughtfully. She let him go and then glanced at her catalogue before saying. “Hmmm!” Once again.
“Forget the twins... It looks as if nearly everyone has bid on them.” Winnie said as she eyed the little pile of envelopes that sat in front of them.
“Oh!” Exclaimed Sammie. She bent over and then whispered something into Rachel's ear which caused the redhead to giggle and nod.
“Brunette?” Enquired Winnie hopefully.
“Brunette!” Chorused her daughters as they skipped over to fondle the terrified-looking young woman known only as Lot Eleven.
It was, it turned out, a good evening for most involved...
Neil MacPherson obtained the fair-haired lad with a bid of £35,500 and happily danced around the podium chortling and proclaiming that the boy would be known as “Cutie-Pie” from now on. Needless to say, “Cutie-Pie” looked stunned.
Dr Fordyce paid £42,050 for a pretty little Indian girl whose cost would be greatly offset by his fees for surgical procedures performed as a result of other people's conditional bids.
Inspector Trudy Probert won her twins who set her back by nearly £190,000... But then coppers are particularly well-paid although she did plan to save money by keeping them permanently naked.
Winnie Morgan's 'daughters' became the proud owners of their stunning brunette companion who set their 'Mother' back a cool £51,600. Not that she was complaining although she did look relieved that they had finally made up their minds. Her girls, however, were happy and that was the main thing!
Wendy was able to buy the slim and very pretty boy from Thailand for a surprisingly low £32,150, cheating a rather disappointed American man of his new fuck-toy, although the man did succeed in buying another lad to use in the same way. The Siamese boy's J5 stated that he was 18½ and although Wendy thought that he also looked younger, she remained quiet... It wouldn't do to get Blodwyn into trouble with the police, would it?
The Siamese lad found himself getting acquainted with Doctor Fordyce when he was escorted into the consulting room late the following morning for a surgical procedure of an intimate nature. “I want my momma!” Was the last thing that he said before the Doctor cut into him, but as he spoke only Thai, nobody paid him any attention. This was his very first step on the road to becoming a lady-boy and she would of course, be completely happy with the changes that produced her new self – in fact almost as happy as Wendy would be.
The American man's new fuck-toy also visited Doctor Fordyce shortly after Wendy's new companion, although his was just a straight forward castration and there was nothing planned resembling feminization. The boy, whose J5 said that he was in his early twenties, was required to remain male and semi-functional to fulfil the wishes of his proud and ecstatic new owner who knew from experience that geldings are far easier to ride than stallions.
Needless to say, all of them: the buyers as well as their purchases, lived happily ever after – which is as it should be! As far as the young adults were concerned, they were just beginning their second lives and would never be allowed to remember anything that would make them unhappy.
C'est la vie! As the French say.