Retaliation

Chapter Six-1

Chapter Six

Curtains For Curt

A somewhat more sober Curt Centrum tugged uselessly at the cuffs and chains holding him to the cement wall and muttered obscenities into the p***s gag inside the leather hood. He had only a vague memory of leaving the club and then nothing until a few minutes ago when he awoke pinned like a captured butterfly and unable to see, hear or speak. He knew he was naked and that was about all. He had no clue as to who put him in this position, but as the minutes slowly clicked by, it occurred to his normally slow, football fractured mind that this might just have something to do with a recent episode in which he lost his temper after his team blundered its way to a 14-6 loss to Dallas. When he left the locker room that evening after getting a thorough ass-reaming and termination notice by the owners and coaches, Curt took a cab to the Panama Club and proceeded to drink himself simple. He recalled, vaguely, asking a pretty young woman to dance and when she refused and called him an asshole, he took a champagne bottle and smashed it into her head. There was blood, screaming and, while Curt continued pouring one double shot of the tequila after another down his throat, two of his team mates grabbed him in a choke hold and hammer lock, guided him up the back stairs and out the door into a cab. Later, the police searched in vain for Curt, but he was gone. Surprisingly, no one at team headquarters seemed to know who he was, or even remember any sort of incident, the team’s millionaire owners having quickly handed out tiny packages of ten one hundred dollar bills to the witnesses in the club while announcing that the drinks for the rest of the night were on the house.

That was it. He remembered nothing else, but getting loaded after losing a game was such a common occurrence that Curt had trouble arranging the time and place in his alcohol-soaked head. After a few minutes of pondering his present situation and wondering whose d**k was jammed into his mouth, he went back to sleep and was later awakened by someone doing something painful with his junk. His p***s was being handled roughly and something was being placed around his genitals. It hurt more than the usual steel jock he wore to practice and games to protect his precious organs.

What the Hell is this? He wondered. Some sort of cold metal ring was tightened around his scrotum and c**k and it felt like the entire package was being slowly ripped from between his legs.

Who’s f*****g around with Mister Bob and my balls? he pondered, still tugging at his chained hands and feet. His overall bondage had been enhanced sometime during the last twenty-four hours and he was now more strictly connected to the rings on the concrete wall by a heavy chain around his waist and a short single link from his collar.

Never being the brightest bulb on the team Christmas tree, Curt survived high school and three years of college by being enough of an asset to the schools’ football teams to assure his continued retention in the student body, but not much more. His athletic scholarships were threatened from time to time, , especially when he drove his birthday gift from the university fraternity alumni association, a new bright yellow Corvette, across the freeway median and into a station wagon full of Fundamentalist Baptists on their way to church one evening. Curt survived with a few minor scratches, mostly because, as usual, he was drunk. The Baptists didn’t fare as well and Curt lost his driver’s license for three years. An anonymous alumnus of the university arranged for the story to be hushed up and paid the Baptists off handsomely for their injuries and losses.

Curt was a survivor, if nothing else, but as time passed, he got an offer he couldn’t refuse, left college and took the highest paying football contract he could find. He settled into a routine that caused his coaches and other players considerable concern. Curt was a liability, a deadly one, and the list of people and organizations who wanted to see him pay dearly for his errors and be gone grew monthly.

“Well, look who’s here,” a female voice filtered through the leather hood and into Curt’s ears. “Someone must have left us a new soccer practice dummy,” the voice continued while Curt felt a hard jab in his washboard gut. His breath came back quickly because he was used to having the wind knocked out of him in practice and real time games, but this blow was unexpected.

Why is someone beating on me? He wondered. But then, Curt felt something much more painful in his groin. More painful than the full impact of a three hundred pound tackle hitting him in the kidneys. The pain did not abate. It was rhythmic, there was a kind of back and forth motion at his groin. It hurt terribly. To Curt, it felt like someone was sawing off his male package with a tool that felt like a chain saw or, better yet, an electric carving knife that badly needed to be sharpened. The pain increased, Curt screamed into the gag. When he felt the avalanche of his own blood running down the inside of his thighs, Curt knew that his s*x was being cut away. The pain went on and on that then he felt something else as his crude surgeon applied a strong anticoagulant to the sprouting wound in his now vacant crotch while she tied off blood vessels and stitched up the incision.

“Don’t worry, Curt Honey,” the voice next to him said soothingly. “You are far too useful to us for a small surgery like this to be fatal. In fact, millions of men have endured this minor physical adjustment and lived for years afterwards. The key to making it successful is controlling the leakage from a couple of arteries. As long as we do that, you will feel every slice and dice of the scalpel, every cutting tooth of the saw. If you pass out, we’ll revive you and, of course, stop work until you are back with us and fully aware of what is going on. As I said, plenty of males have had this operation done. Some even without anesthetic like you. Some of them even lived out their lives as men, but others, like you, discovered the harsher aspects of the TS life,” the woman’s voice narrated.

“When we finish with you, Curt, you will be worse than just a wimp; a sniveling, one hundred-thirty pound sissy with a burning need to take one d**k in your mouth and another in your ass. You won’t recognize yourself in the mirror when we’re done,” the voice continued.

“In fact,” the narrator went on, “I can show you before and after photos of other males who have gone this route before you. In the end, you will be nicely packaged in a heavy latex suit that will emphasize your new t**s and ass, have convenience zippers for immediate access to your new p***y, your accommodating asshole and your mouth. We’ll see what else may work with this costume, but it’s a starter anyway.”

The voice continued: “The best cosmetic surgery is effective if it is done slowly, one stage at a time. You will undergo several stages: You will lose the junk between your legs not in one operation, but in several while in between cuts we will be shrinking your entire testosterone-deprived system. Your weight will slowly drop as we feed you only what you need to survive. No carbs, no fats, few calories and plenty of fruits and vegetables to work with the hormones. Your face and waist will grow slimmer, your hips increase a bit, your ass will enlarge, but in a proportionate way, we’ll restructure your cheekbones and remove that nasty Adam’s apple. In the end, you’ll look and feel like a helpless, manikin-like female who craves c**k and will willingly do almost anything to get it. Women who you once knew will now pay plenty to ass f**k you while their boy friends pump your mouth with their own d***s.

“All of this sounds like a nightmare and Curt, buddy. It is. But you will know in your empty head that you once had a c**k and balls where now you now have only a small slit that will eventually be surgically enlarged, deepened and functional enough for you to pee from it and get screwed in it.”

This monologue was wasted because Courtney/Curt had already passed out, but her/his captors in their surgical scrubs and masks went about their tasks unconcerned about the possibility of Curt being found in their care. No one really cared anyway.

A few months later, the abduction team got an offer they couldn’t refuse and sold him to Melinda for a few thousand dollars, once they told her about his crimes. Melinda, always anxious to experiment, of course finished the conversion/transition job that had been started, making sure that this new “girl” was all she could be.

The final result was pretty impressive. When she got her first opportunity to see herself in the mirror, Courtney, (the new name assigned to the previous football star), went into shock and had to be revived. What she saw was a black, rubber-enveloped figure of medium height and weight, totally enclosed in shiny black latex. With the eye covers on the hood removed, she saw an imposing figure with substantial breasts jutting from the chest, a perfect ass, tightly contained by the shiny rubber and a head fully enclosed in a rubber mask and hood with small cat ears at the top on either side. A special breathing control apparatus was attached to the front of the mask and Courtney quickly learned that any attempt to touch it had perilous results.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock,” Melinda crooned as she watched the figure stagger around in the steeply heeled boots. The leash attached to her collar prevented her from moving outside the range of the three full length mirrors and the mask’s eye pieces somewhat distorted the image, but Courtney/Curt got the picture. Although his hands were now free, the slippery, incredibly tight rubber gloves severely restricted most manual activity, except for holding onto the remote control which regulated the air in her mask.

“Keep your little rubberized hands on that control, Courtney,” Melinda warned. “If you drop it you will not be able to bend and pick it up because of the steel stiffeners in your corset. Without the remote, your air supply will be restricted and eventually shut off. So pay attention to the leash and remote controller and you will not get any unpleasant surprises, like this... “

As Melinda spoke, she moved a small switch on a control box of her own and Courtney shuddered and then staggered from the strong electric shocks and vibration that nearly paralyzed her. Inside the rubber suit, the attached electrodes on her n*****s, the exterior and inside of her new v****a and the long, flexible shaft well up her ass simultaneously sent waves voltage through her body.

“Even though I do enjoy seeing you chained and immobilized in your cage, Courtney,” Melinda said. “I find the more subtle retraining aspect of this suit and a bit of electricity to be more, shall I say, impressive. For now. To anyone watching you, they simply see a luscious female figure confined inside tight, shiny latex. There is no apparent restraint; no bondage. But you and I know differently. One unprogrammed move and you will get a multi-second charge of power that will slowly increase with each application and you will be terribly aware of the potential. The first time you step out of line, the shocks will be, as you have just witnessed, minor in duration and impact. But, and it’s a big but... as you continue to act poorly, the shocks will increase in strength and length. Over time, a bad little girl like you will find herself on the floor, unable to get up because of the strict steel inhibitors in your corset, nearly paralyzed from the disciplinary shocks. Life in that condition can be short and uncomfortable. So learn quickly and well. Experiment with your invisible tethers if you wish, but the quantity and quality of your punishment will not regress. It will only increase with each mistake. Enjoy your confinement in rubber, Courtney…or should I call you Curt?”

Hearing the unexpected use of her previous name, nearly forgotten after so much time in transition, caused the rubber girl to freeze, turning her sealed in head slowly from side to side, as if seeking the source of the strange, but somehow familiar name. The movement of her collared neck and head triggered a short, but potent burst of electricity to all parts of her rubberized body, the shocks from the internal probes in ass and cunt being most painful. Courtney froze in place, her now blind eyes rolling up in her head; her hands, still griping the remote control, dropping to her sides.

Courtney was learning. It would be a long and unpleasant curve of training. Along the way, she’d discover pain and embarrassment of the terrible experiences that Curt had inflicted on so many helpless women. Courtney would be raped, sodomized, flogged, and kept worse than an animal. She would discover, somewhat to her surprise, that she could be hung by her breasts for extended periods, especially when impaled of singular or double dildo/d***s. She would find that the most astonishingly well hung males could and did shove their c***s into each of her bodily openings with amazing vigor and endurance, despite her whimpering and crying objections which were silenced either by clever gags or another d**k on her mouth. These daily events were to evolve into other equally terrible experiences, but she would always be kept alive and alert to what was being done to her, always reminded of the things she had done to women in her foggy past. She had been converted from a large, husky, athletic male to a tormented, plugged and corseted, statuesque, rubberized female. Curt was gone. Forever. But if he had known what was going on with other former males under Melinda’s control, he might not have felt quite so alone.