Reply-To: an105831@anon.penet.fi
- I did not write this story and I make no claims as to its content. I * am simply providing a service to the alt.sex.stories newsgroup (and * therefore the entire 'Net) by continually reposting these stories. I * am working on the assumption that any document posted to the 'Net becomes * public domain. However, if you are the original author of one of these * stories, and you wish for me to remove from my archive, let me know. * * These stories deal primarily with female domination, forced feminization, * and strong transsexual themes. If you get squeemish from this stuff, * STOP READING NOW. * * All requests for subscriptions or reposts will be utterly ignored. * It's simple enough: just wait for the story to come around again. * * If you have stories that you would like to add to this archive, PLEASE * SEND ME AN INDEX -FIRST- so I can figure out what exactly I need. * * -- The Archivist * TRANSGENDER ARCHIVES * an105831@anon.penet.fi
Ani Chan -- Part 1 by Bill Eastburn
My fourteenth birthday was the happiest time I can recall. Mom held a big party and invited all the neighborhood kids. I got lots of neat presents, and felt on top of the world. Two days later my life turned around.
I was at school when the principal came into math class and brought me back to his office. I knew I couldn't be in trouble. I was always a good student. Mr. Kavitz had a long, serious look on his face as he told me how a drunk driver had hit mom's car. She did not survive the crash.
I was devastated. Even though I knew big boys don't cry, my tears apparently didn't. My mind went numb, and tears literally rolled down my face.
Mr. Kavitz tried, but there was nothing to be done to comfort me then. Mom was the one solid anchor in my life as well as my best friend, and now she was gone. I don't even remember dad. He died when I was real little. So I was now all alone in the world.
Some time later, I docilely followed a big woman from the state Human Resources office to what would be my new foster home. None of this really set in for a long time.
The Kramers, my new foster parents, were not like mom at all. They were very strict and showed little, if any, affection for me. I guess they were in the foster parent thing for the money. I was not happy there at all.
Mom had a little insurance policy on her, just about enough to cover the burial. She had been living on the insurance from dad's death years ago, not having the skills to get a good job, so there was not much left over for my legacy. It was under $200, as I recall.
I went to the funeral with the Kramers, who made all the right noises for my benefit but really did not care. The sight of mom laid out in her casket brought the tears and numbness back. I kept wishing she would wake up to take me home, but, deep down, I knew I would never see her again.
Life goes on, of course, and I sort of settled into the Kramer's family routine. I was probably too numb to do much else at that point. We got along fairly well, except when Mr. Kramer made is broad hints I should cut my long blond hair to a style more befitting what he thought of as a boy's style. I rebelled immediately. My hair was my pride and joy, and one thing mom had really loved. I was not about to get it cut off for this stranger. Mrs. Kramer finally got him to compromise. I could keep the hair if I kept it neat and clean. It was better than nothing I guess.
While all this was going on, my school work dropped off. I just could not apply myself to class work, and had no heart for homework. I probably should have expected it when Mr. Kavitz called me into his office later in the year to inform me I would not be promoted with my class. I was not expecting it, however, and once again fell into the pits of despair.
To make matters worse, the Family Court judge had placed me in the Kramer's care until I graduated from High School. Being left back meant I would have to stay with them another whole year.
I guess everything that had happened over those few months pushed me over the edge. I collected every penny I had saved over the years along with the remains of mom's insurance check and ran away from the Kramers with little more than the clothes on my back. I really had no idea where I was going to go, or how I was going to survive, but I knew I had to get out of there.
I went to Canby Park and sat at one of the picnic tables for a long time trying to decide where to go. The more I thought about it, the more attractive a warm place seemed to me. It was late May then, so it was not cold, but the memories of the long winter leapt into my mind unbidden.
Two places came to mind. Florida was warm, but lots of old people go there. Besides, I had heard the Kramers planning a vacation to Disney World this summer. That left California. Maybe I might even get lucky and find a spot in the movies, or, at worst, become a beach bum. California it was!
Now, how was I to get there? I counted all the money in my wallet over and over. It always came to $412.76, far short of enough for an airplane ticket. About that time, a discarded newspaper page blew into my legs.
I picked it up, irritated at its intrusion into my privacy. I was all set to ball it up and throw it back on the ground when I saw the big bold ad for a 'See America' pass on Amtrack. It was only $362, and 'sunny California' was one of the destinations listed. Elated over this discovery, I took the city bus to the train station.
The ticket seller gave me some funny looks as he took my money, but he did sell me the ticket. I settled down on one of the hard benches to wait for my train, which would be there in several hours. I was so excited to be on my way, I never noticed the hard bench.
Once I got on the big silver train, I was entranced to watch America streaming by the windows, even the industrial areas in the cities. I found the bathroom, and slept in my seat. The train would take several days to get to California. Once, I went to the dining car, but the prices for the hamburger and coke I had put a big dent in the few dollars I had left. I decided I would get some crackers or something at the next station and live off those until I got to the west coast.
We were in St. Louis when I met Diana. I was off the train buying more crackers. They did not seem to last as long as I hoped. The train had an hour layover there.
I almost ran into her, literally. I was thinking of crackers, and not watching where I was going when I saw her black dress just a few inches from my nose. I stopped with a start and looked up to see her liquid blue eyes. I blushed, but was not sure why.
At fourteen, I was just becoming aware of girls as different creatures. I was still more interested in being with the guys, and girls were too different to fit in. Yet, they were beginning to intrigue me a little. The girls at school were changing. They no longer wanted to play ball, and their busts were beginning to spring from their chests. Diana was different.
Her bust was obviously well developed, and she was comfortable with it. She carried herself with the assurance of one of the guys, not the awkwardness of a young girl going through puberty. She seemed to wear her dress naturally, as if it were a second skin, and she did not wear the garish makeup the girls at school played at using. In short, she was the most beautiful creature I had ever encountered.
Diana was real friendly. She immediately put me at ease over our near crash, and we began to talk. I learned she was 22, and on her way to Santa Fe to visit friends. She, in turn, learned almost everything about me. I forgot the crackers when she offered to ride with me as far as she was going.
Miles upon miles of America passed by the window, and I did not notice. I was captivated by Diana. She was easy to talk with, even if I did most of the talking. I had never been easy around girls, besides mom, but it was easy with her. She was kind of like mom in some respects, but much different in many others. I think I was smitten with puppy love during the trip. I was sad when the train pulled into Albuquerque. That stop mean only an hour or so left with Diana.
She seemed to know what I was thinking, because she offered to show me the sights of Santa Fe if I got off with her. After being assured my ticket would still be good on a later train, I agreed to stay with her for a few days. We got off the train in Santa Fe together.
There were two big guys in suits waiting for Diana at the terminal. She went to them and spoke for a few minutes, pointing towards me from time to time. I could not hear a word they said, but could tell from their nods the agreed I could come along with them. Shortly, all four of us piled into a late model Cadillac.
Someplace near the outskirts of Santa Fe, the guys decided they were hungry and pulled into an Italian restaurant. I was just about to say something about my meager finances, when they told me it would be their treat for a friend of Diana's.
Everyone in the place, from headwaiter to busboy, seemed to know Vinnie and Sal, the two guys with me. There was a lot of good natured greetings, and lots of smiles. Once we were seated, a guy in a black three piece suit came over to chat with them. They introduced me to Augie, the owner of the restaurant. I was flattered.
Sal ordered for us, since I had no idea what was on the menu. We had lots of food, and wine ran like water. I had never had wine before, but it seemed to go with the meal, and I agreed to try it when Vinnie and Sal insisted. It did taste good, but I soon felt a buzz and a detachment from reality. I recall Vinnie, Sal and Diana smiling at me as the wine hit.
"Looks like Jimmy isn't used to wine," Sal said with a chuckle.
"I guess not," Vinnie agreed, smiling broadly.
Augie came over, and handed me a pill.
"Here, kid," he said. "Take this and you'll feel better."
I took the pill eagerly, mostly to make the room stop spinning. It did, and faded to blackness.
I have no idea how long I was out, but it must have been for some time. I awoke groggily, feeling something was out of place.
I heard voices saying, "This will be an easy one."
"Yea. Diana did well," another voice said.
"Make sure she gets a treat for this one," the first voice replied.
"Oh, you can be sure of that," the second voice replied, chuckling.
"Aha!" the first voice said, noticing my eyes beginning to open. "Our friend is waking."
I felt the bite of a hypodermic needle in my butt, and fell back into the darkness.
When I woke again, I knew something was wrong. I was on my back in a bed, but could not roll over. As my eyes opened, I discovered straps holding my arms and legs to the bed, and one across my chest as well. A pain in my arms made me look around, finding IV bottles attached to both arms. For a moment, I wondered if I had been in an accident. Then I recalled the events since Santa Fe. I screamed for attention.
A big guy, dressed in hospital whites, came into the room. He said, "Shaddup!" Then he hit be across the face.
The force of the blow, it really an open handed slap, and its unexpectedness, quieted my screams and brought tears to my eyes. I was in shock as I watched the guy prepare a needle, through the blurring tears. Almost as soon as I felt the needle in my butt, I slid back to the blackness.
When I woke again, the scene was different. I could move around, but my arms were held above my head somehow. As my mind cleared, other differences became apparent. I twisted around to see what was holding my arms, and found them attached to the headboard by a chain.
While I was twisting, I felt a strange pulling at my chest. My concentration was on trying to find out about my arms at the moment, so I put that in the back of my mind for the moment. As I twisted around again, wondering where I was and what was going on, I saw Diana sitting by the bed. I really felt reassured to see her friendly face.
Diana giggled, got up, and pulled the sheet down from my body. As I watched her exposing me, I freaked out, for two breasts were jutting up from my chest. I screamed.
Diana slapped me across the face.
"Quiet, dearie," she said.
Her blow was even more unexpected than the nurse's earlier. I was hurt even more, because I thought Diana was my friend. I was also totally confused.
All at once, I felt an urgent need to urinate. I knew I couldn't get to the bathroom, being chained to the bed, so there was only one thing to do.
"Um, Diana," I stammered.
Diana giggled at my discomfort. "I'll bet you need to pee," she said, almost as if she could read my mind.
"It always seems to happen this way," she said.
While she was speaking, she moved my legs over the side of the bed, and began to unchain my arms. Then she grabbed me by the arm, leading me to a small bathroom.
My hands were now cuffed behind my back, so I could not reach down to grab my dick and pee. I guess I figured I'd do it without aiming, or, maybe, Diana would hold it for me.
Diana saw my hesitation, and laughed again.
"Sit down on the hopper, silly," she said, laughing harder.
I was embarrassed, but in desperate need, so I followed her suggestion. I just managed to get seated when the gushing began. I would have a hard time remembering when I had to go so bad, or when the relief was so good.
When I finished, Diana did a strange thing. She grabbed a couple sheets of toilet paper and wiped my crotch area. I nearly died as I felt the paper go inside my body.
Diana giggled as it dawned on me I had a cunt down there instead of a dick. I turned crimson, and tears rolled down my face.
"Oh, don't be silly," she said, through her giggles. "I've had a pussy all my life and am not embarrassed about it."
I was too choked up to answer I was a guy, and I should have a dick.
She took my arm and led me back to the bed, where she attached the chains again. She did allow me to sit up on the bed though. As soon as I was secured, she pressed the call button on the bed. A moment later, a guy in a lab coat came in.
I flinched as he began to poke at me. He slapped me across the face, and I got the idea very quickly.
"Hmmm," he murmured. "Looks good."
I was mortified as he lifted my new breasts.
"A little small," he said to himself. "I guess I'll have to fix that."
Then, he slipped his finger inside my new cunt. I have never felt so violated in my life.
Diana, who had been quite so far, said, "Get used to it, dearie."
That pushed me over the top, and tears began rolling again.
"She'll do," the doctor said to Diana. "Bring her down to OR 4 in about half and hour please."
"Yes sir," Diana said.
With that, the doctor left the room.
Diana was gentle as she wiped the tears from my eyes. She hugged me, and I felt comforted, even though I knew she was no longer a friend.
"Well, I guess it is time," she said, with a sigh.
She unchained my arms, and led me out into a long, white corridor.
I panicked. I was naked, in a girl's body, being led down a long hallway filled with men.
"Keep calm," Diana advised, whispering in my ear.
That must have been easy for her to say. She was fully dressed, and not chained up.
We managed to get to the operating room, though I must have been red all over. Diana had me lay on the table in the center of the room, and proceeded to immobilize me by strapping my arms and chest to the table with thick leather straps. Then, she maneuvered my legs into stirrups I had not noticed at the foot of the table. With my legs up in the stirrups, I could not move, and felt totally exposed. Tears began to well up again.
"Oh, calm down," Diana said, in an exasperated tone. "You will get used to this after a couple of times."
A couple of times! She could not possibly mean that! I was a boy. Boys don't have to be put in this position.
Diana obviously noted the look in my face and said, "You still haven't figured it out yet, have you? You are a girl now. You had better get used to that very quickly."
Until the words were said out loud, I had been holding out hope this was some wild nightmare. Now, I could not ignore my situation. I collapsed onto the table in long, deep sobs.
I was so enveloped in my sorrows I never noticed when Diana left the room and the doctors entered. I was brought back to reality by a sharp pinch in a strange place. I had never felt anything like it before, and it hurt. My mind localized the pain in a moment, as I felt some cold, hard instruments probing my new pussy.
"We don't usually do GYN exams in here," the doctor at my feet said, "but we have to do another procedure and might as well do it all at once."
Murmurs of assent from other surgically garbed figures around me told me he had not spoken those words for my benefit.
I felt the instruments withdrawn from me, and the doctor spoke again.
"She looks normal," he said.
"When I looked at her earlier, I noticed her breasts are a bit on the small size," he continued.
"But cute," one of the others said. They all chuckled at that.
"Cute doesn't count," the doctor said, laughing. "We'll do an augmentation now."
Augmentation?
I saw a green arm hovering over my chest, and a very cold feeling. Then my chest lost all feeling.
My head could move a little, but not much. It was enough so I could see the doctor take a scalpel, and do something to my breasts. He put the scalpel down after a moment, and picked up something that looked like a plastic baggie. He saw me looking, and moved his fingers on the baggie, making it quiver like jello.
"Number 3 silicon form," he said, in his professional voice. "I think it will be big enough."
I almost fainted right there, even though was not speaking for my benefit at all. Everything so far was weird enough, but now they were building up my new breasts.
The doctor began stuffing a baggie into my chest, obviously through an incision he made moments ago. I felt no pain, but could feel pressure as he seemed to be stuffing the form through a too small hole. Once he was satisfied, he did the other side.
"OK," he said, finally. "Now, watch closely. We want to make the stitches small and tight."
He was obviously talking to the others again.
After working for a while, he was finished.
"Very nice, if I do say so myself," he said.
"OK, staff," he said. "We have another one in room 3. Let's see if you learned anything."
With that the group left the room.
I lay on the table for several minutes, reflecting on what was happening, before Diana returned to lead me back to my room.
"Your breasts may be a little sore when the anesthetic wears off," she said, chaining me to my bed again. "It will pass in a few hours, and you'll be good as new."
Her words made me look down at my chest, which I avoided to this point. My new breasts were now much bigger.
Diana giggled and said, "Looks about like a C cup. You'll almost be as big as me."
She was still laughing as she left me alone.
Time passed slowly after that day. In fact, I lost track of the number of days. The routine was the same for each one of them though. I was chained to the bed except for twice a day, when a nurse would come and lead me to the bathroom. I was always humiliated when the nurse wiped me, but there was little I could do about it. At different times, another nurse came in and fed me some kind of stuff. It tasted horrible, had the consistency of apple sauce, and there was never enough to satisfy me. I tried to convey the last to one of the nurses.
"You have to watch your figure," she replied, unsmiling.
The diet did not improve.
One thing consistent was none of the attendants spoke to me. I could not get them to answer questions or tell me anything at all. Diana's conversation on that first day, and that brief comment from the nurse, were the only words directed at me all during this time. I had nothing to do but reflect on what was happening to me, and what was to come.
A week, or maybe ten days, after my breast augmentation, the doctor showed up in the room. He quickly went to work removing the stitches from his handiwork. The only words he spoke to me were instructions to hold still. His comment about not seeing any scarring was to himself.
The pain from the operation went away a day or so after the operation, and the stitch removal did not hurt, though the feeling was unusual.
The day after the stitches came out, Diana came back into my room again. She was accompanied by a big guy, who looked a bit familiar.
"Doc says she's ready," the big man said.
As soon as he spoke, I recognized the voice. That and the face clicked into place. This was Augie, the owner of the restaurant outside of Santa Fe.
"Get her ready," Augie continued. "We'll ship her out this afternoon for training."
"Yes sir," Diana replied.
"Oh, and Di," Augie said, as he was leaving the room, "this one is the best yet. Get another like her and I will give you the house near Reno."
Diana was positively beaming with pleasure.
"Madam Di," he laughed, leaving. "I like that."
As soon as Augie left, Diana turned her attention to me. "Are you going to cooperate, or do we do this the hard way?" she asked.
I had no idea what she was talking about, but the past couple of weeks had me convinced these people were not playing games.
"I will cooperate," I said.
"Good," Diana said, smiling.
She unchained my hands, for the first time since I had come to the room, and handed me a sheer blouse.
"Put it on," she directed.
I sighed, but resignedly put the garment on. It covered, but hid nothing on my chest.
As soon as my arms were in the blouse, Diana put the handcuffs back on.
She produced a very short, red wrap skirt, which she draped around my waist. I was dismayed to see it showed most of my leg, just covering my crotch, and wrapped a very short distance over itself. It was obviously designed so it would show almost everything when I walked.
A pair of very high heels followed, and completed my dressing.
"Don't you look cute," Diana said, giggling, as I tottered on the unfamiliar heels.
"Come on," she said, taking me by the arm.
She led me through the halls again, and outside to the desert.
As I suspected, the skirt parted widely whenever I took a step. My newly augmented tits bounced all over my chest as I walked as well. Perhaps, tried to walk on those heels would be a more appropriate description. All in all, being dressed like this was as humiliating as being paraded down the hall nude.
There was a small jet waiting on the desert runway. Diana led me right up the ramp, and buckled me in one of the seats. She slipped a padlock through the ends of the seatbelt, so there was no way I could move from the seat. Before she left, she handed the key to the pilot, and kissed me on the cheek.
"Learn well, cutie," she whispered. "Maybe you can come work for me some day."
With that, she departed, probably to go find someone else for whatever was going on.
Several other passengers got on a few minutes later, big men in suits. I gather this flight was for them, and I was just going in the same direction.
The flight was fairly uneventful. We flew for several hours, mostly in darkness. One of the big guys sat next to me and toyed with my new breasts for most of the flight. He slapped me when I started to protest, so I let him have his way. It would be much less painful, I figured.
One of the big guys got the key to my seatbelt from the pilot when we landed, and unlocked it. He grabbed my arm and led me, not too gently, off the plane. I stumbled along on the high heels, trying to not fall on my face. We went into a large house.
Just inside the door, someone behind me slipped an iron collar around my neck, locking it with a snap. My handcuffs were unlocked.
"Take of clothes," a harsh voice said.
I must have been too slow for them, for I received a smack across the face and felt the blouse ripped off me when I hesitated a moment. The skirt was removed just as quickly.
I kicked off the shoes myself, both anxious to get off those heels, and to avoid whatever rough method they might use to remove them.
I felt a chain slip around the collar, and was led by it to a small room upstairs. The chain was locked to a radiator pipe, and I was left alone for a while.
I surveyed the room. A very thin mattress adorned most of the 6 by 8 foot room. It looked terribly uncomfortable, but I was almost ready to sit down on it when the door opened again.
A middle aged women came in, unlocked my chain, and led me out of the room. She said nothing to me, just pulled me along by my leash.
We went to another room, almost twice the size of mine, but whose main feature was a barber chair and some sinks. I was thrust into the chair, and the woman strapped me in place. I could not move a muscle when she was done.
The older woman left, and several others came in. The proceeded to wash my hair, trim it, and load it down with chemicals. I felt them violating my beautiful blond hair, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. This merited me a slap from one girl, who had been rubbing some kind of cream all over my face. I must have been in that chair, suffering all manner of indignities, for several hours.
There were no mirrors in the room, so I had no real idea what they had done to me. I could see my fingernails and toenails were painted, and assumed they had me all painted up on the face as well.
The old woman came back, and led me back to my room by the leash again. She locked it lower on the pipe this time, and I was forced to lie back on the mattress. When she saw me there, she smiled and left.
I lay on the mattress, which was every bit as uncomfortable as it had looked, for some time. There was little I could do about it anyway. Then the door opened.
The guy who had fondled my tits during the flight entered, and proceeded to strip all his clothes off. Without a word, he placed his knees on either side of my head, and drew my head to his crotch.
"Suck!" he ordered.
Not sure what to do, I hesitated. He slapped me hard, causing me to gasp. While my mouth was open, he stuck his penis inside.
"Suck!" he repeated.
I pulled my head back a fraction of an inch, but he merely placed his hand on the back of my head, and forced it forward. I began to suck, hoping to get the intruding penis out of me as soon as possible.
He began moving my head back and forth with is big hands, causing his penis to slide in my mouth. I kept sucking, hoping to get this humiliation over with as soon as possible.
Soon, I felt a salty taste in my mouth. I thought he had come at last, and I would be free of the intruder momentarily. I was wrong. He intensified the sliding of my head, and his penis seemed to double in size, almost choking me. Then, it began to twitch violently, and I felt loads of his semen spurting deep into my throat.
As he came, he forced my head tighter to his crotch. I could barely breath, and his penis was spurting deeper down my throat.
"Swallow!" he ordered.
I had already swallowed some of his semen. I could not help it, it came in too violently, and had nowhere else to go. Now, I had to force myself to swallow the rest of it. Maybe that would satisfy him, and he would get his big prick out of my throat.
He felt me swallowing, but held me tight to his crotch for several minutes, until he was satisfied I swallowed everything. Then, he allowed my head to fall back slowly.
"Suck!" he demanded, even as his penis began to slid out of my throat.
I sucked for all I was worth, hoping to get this torment over.
His dick began to get limber, and smaller, and he finally allowed it to pass my lips. He would not let me go yet, though.
"Kiss!" he demanded.
I kissed his prick gingerly.
"Kiss!" he demanded again, much louder now.
I closed my eyes and planted a big smacker on the head of his penis. That seemed to satisfy him.
He got dressed and left without another word.
I lay on the mattress, humiliated, and reminded of the humiliation by the taste of his semen in my mouth.
This scene was repeated three more times over the next hour or so. I began to get the idea what was expected of me, and resigned myself to this humiliation whenever the door opened.
As the day wore on, I had more and more visitors. With each one, I became more accustomed to giving head, though the humiliation of having to never left me. I began to notice how each man had a slightly different taste, and a slightly different technique. When I caught myself thinking about this, I became even more humiliated.
In the late afternoon, the first guy came back again. He started out just as before, but removed his penis as soon as it became hard. He slid down my body, forcing my legs apart, and entered my cunt without further preparation.
His first few thrusts hurt terribly. He was lubricated from my saliva, but my pussy was dry. This changed after a few thrusts, and his prick slide in and out much easier. I just lay there, enduring his thrusting and feeling my breasts bouncing all over my chest, as his thrusts moved me. I can't say I enjoyed my initiation into womanhood, but it could have been worse.
When he was finished, he brought his mucus covered dick back to my mouth, and forced me to suck it clean. Then he got dressed and left, without another word.
The humiliation of my situation returned with a vengeance as he left, particularly when his semen began to drain out of me and down my leg. I found out why I had heard women complain about the wet spot that afternoon.
Seven more men came in to use me over the next few hours. I counted each one. Some were rougher than others. Some played with my tits, others with my cunt, and allowed me to become lubricated. Others just began dry. One even brought me to a small orgasm. Still, it was humiliating.
As darkness fell, a couple women came into the room. They gave me a douche, cleaning me for the first time, and repaired my makeup and hair. I guess being used the way I had been really did damage to the beautician's work earlier.
When the women were finished their repairs, one of them unchained me, and led me from the room. I was taken downstairs, and chained under a big dinner table. I had an idea what was to come by now, but hoped it would not.
Before long, legs appeared all around the table. They were all men's legs. I heard Augie's voice above the din, obviously addressing me.
"Cunt!" he said. "Start sucking!"
I hesitated for a moment, and got a kick in the butt for my waiting. I figured I better comply.
I picked a set of legs, unzipped the pants, and began to suck, blushing all the while.
When I finished with him, I had a mouthful of semen and nowhere to deposit it. I had to swallow. A hand appeared under the table with a scrap of food in it. I grabbed it greedily. It was the first real food I had seen in days.
Augie's voice called out, "Cunt, now you get the idea. You suck and if you do a good job, you get table scraps. Otherwise, the cum is your dinner. Now suck!"
It was a long dinner, more than long enough for me to get to each cock. Most of the time, I got a table scrap when I got done. I tried to stop for a breather once, but got a kick in the ribs for my trouble, so I just kept going around the table.
I thought I was done when I saw the men leaving the table, and heard it being cleared. Once again, I was wrong.
One of the women crawled under the table, and unclipped my leash. She brought me out from under the table, them pushed me so I was bent over it. She clipped the chain to a hook on the other side of the table, so I couldn't get up, then left me.
I felt a rough hand feeling my butt. I tried to steel myself for what I knew was going to come, but could not even imagine the pain as his cock thrust roughly into my asshole. I screamed out through my tears of pain.
"She hurts!" Augie cried, laughing.
"She must be too tight," another laughing male voice said.
"I guess we'll just have to loosen her up," Augie said. A chorus of laughter followed this pronouncement.
Every thrust into my ass was like a spear inside me. I probably stopped crying out after about ten. It was not that the pain lessened, it was getting hard to breathe and cry at the same time.
Augie left his load in me, and was immediately replaced by another man. Each one of the diners took a turn on my butt.
When the last one got finished, I heard Augie laugh. "I think she's loose now," he said.
The others laughed heartily at my humiliation.
I was left chained to the table for a long time, sure all the men were ogling me, but unable to see them.
"Cunt!" Augie said, sometime later. "You are nothing but a cheap whore. You are in training now. When you learn your lessons to our satisfaction, we will put you out on the street. Do you understand me?"
I fought back my tears and said, "Yes."
The hard smack on my sore butt came before his words, "Yes SIR!"
"Yes sir!" I repeated.
"Good!" Augie said. "Camilla, take this whore back to her crib"
With that, I was taken back to my room and again chained so I had to lie on the mattress.
Several men came and used me that night. I did not resist, or even check to see which ones they were. I just surrendered to them.
I woke up the next morning to find a man's cock right in front of my lips. As the man's hand came behind my head, I opened my lips to accept this degradation. I sucked for all I was worth.
"You're learning," Augie's voice said, laughing.
He climbed off me, got dressed and left without another word. I waited to see what humiliation would be next.
About an hour later, the older woman, Camilla, came in and led me to another room. There, she instructed me in how to use cosmetics for the several next hours.
It was the first time I had seen myself in a mirror as well. I was fascinated to see how feminine I looked after the styling and work they had done on me yesterday.
You might think learning to use cosmetics was easy after the humiliations I had already endured. However, Camilla showed me how to use something then made me repeat her actions. If my hand shook, and I got a line crooked or something, she beat my shoulders with a slim bamboo rod she had. It stung like hell.
When she was satisfied I had learned something, she took me back to my 'crib.' Someone had put a mirror and some cosmetics in the room while we were gone. Camilla told me I would have to keep my face and hair presentable all the time from now on.
I learned what she meant very soon. Another guy came in for a blow job, which I did fairly proficiently. I was getting lots of practice. When he left, I saw what it had done to my lipstick. Hastily, I repaired it before my next visitor could come in.
The next week was an endless repeat of that first day. The only break I got from being sexually abused was the classes I was given in cosmetics, hair care, and hygiene. I was expected to apply those lessons immediately after learning them, and punished severely if I messed up.
The second week, I was moved to a slightly larger 'crib' in a building behind the main house. Here, I found I was not the only whore in training. There must have been twenty girls in residence, and we were all used regularly. We did not have to work under the men's dinner table for dinner any more, except for special punishment, but dinners were not nearly so good either. Mostly, we had to lie around and wait to get used.
One day, a couple of men brought a crying girl out to the courtyard between our building and the main house. They chained the girl up to a big post in the center, and all of us were called outside to witness what was to happen.
Augie announced the girl had tried to escape from the house she worked at. This would not be tolerated, he continued. Saying that, he took a big whip, and began flogging the poor girl. She fainted after about fifteen lashes, but Augie had her revived, and started the count at one again. She got fifty lashes, and her back was completely raw when he was done several hours later. She was left chained to the post for the next three days, and whipped every day.
The last day, we were all told she was to be addicted to heroine and sold to the cheapest brothel he could find. If any of us wanted to join her, we could just try to repeat her actions. We never saw the poor girl again.
By the end of the third week, I was beginning to get used to all the fucking. Oral, anal, vaginal, it didn't matter any more. I just did it. Then, I felt a horrible cramp inside me. I wondered if all this abuse had torn something inside.
I screamed out, and other girls came to see what the problem was. I explained my pain, though my screams. The girls merely giggled.
"Your first period, isn't it?" one of the girls asked.
"Don't worry, the first always hurts most," another advised.
Well, that killed off any remaining doubt, if there was any, about being a girl.
At least for the next few days most of the men avoided using my pussy, though my asshole and lips got extra work. When I stopped bleeding, everything went back to the usual.
It was about a week after my period when Augie showed up at my crib, for the first time since I had been moved from the main house.
"You're almost ready," he said nonchalantly. "It's time to test you out."
I wondered what he could possibly mean. I had been used every which way possible for the past month or so.
Camilla showed up with the same kind of clothes I had word on my arrival. The blouse was whole, but it could have been the same set. This time, I noticed some writing in Spanish on the rear of the skirt. I wondered about it, but knew better than ask.
"Get dressed," Augie ordered.
I quickly complied, not wishing to face any punishment.
Camilla removed my collar, but handcuffed my hands behind me. Then she took my arm, and led me out of the compound.
We walked down a dirt road, through an obviously poor Mexican or South American village, to a garish cantina. Once inside, I was uncuffed, and installed on a barstool. I was told to sit there until told otherwise.
I did not sit long. A latino came in before long, and broke into a smile at seeing a buxom blond sitting at the bar. He said a few words to the girl behind the bar and placed some bills on the bar. She pointed to him, then me, then a room at the rear of the building. Her last motion could not be mistaken, a finger pushing in and out of the circled fingers of her other hand.
The man grabbed my arm as I slid off the stool, and led me to the back room. He had obviously been there before.
It was a quick 'wham-bam-thank you ma'am' screw, but he seemed satisfied, leaving with a smile. I found a douche bag ready, and cleaned myself up before returning to the bar.
Word must have gotten around the village quickly, for I spent most of the afternoon and evening in that small back room. The longest I spent on the stool after that first man was about ten minutes. I was sore and tired by the time Camilla came to collect me at dawn. I did not understand the words, but the tone of the calls that followed our walk back to the villa left no doubt people knew all about my profession now.
I got to take a shower before I was brought into the main house that morning. Augie was there, smiling, with some Oriental gentlemen. I judged from his smiles I had passed whatever test the cantina provided. The Orientals were a question mark.
"Let the gentlemen see you, cunt," Augie directed, never one to use a polite word around me.
I felt their eyes devouring every curve of my body. Then they stepped forward, probing all over me with their hands. At long last, they stepped back, leaving me humiliated, and nodded to Augie.
"Well, well," Augie said, a big smile passing over his face. He turned his attention to me then.
"We had planned to train you for a high class operation in the States, but these gentlemen have made an offer for you. Since I think travel enhances the working girl, I have accepted. You belong to them now."
Camilla pushed me to the two Orientals. From somewhere, she produced my clothes, and I was ordered to dress.
We left the villa for the airport moments later.
The flight was interminable. It lasted forever and ever. I was locked to my seat, as before, with the seatbelt. This time it was Oriental hands roaming all over my body. Otherwise, the trip was very similar.
We landed at a small private airstrip on an island. That is all I could tell from the window. At least I was not chained up when I was put in my new room.
I spent a week on the island, getting screwed every way possible, and learning how to bow and scrape before men. I later learned this was the training school for high class yakuza prostitutes. High class or not, I was ready to leave when the time came.
I was given a dress before we left. It covered much better than the clothing I had worn earlier, but was cut very low around the bodice, and very high in the legs. There was little doubt what kind of woman would wear a dress like this. I assumed the Japanese script on the back was some kind of advertisement.
We flew to Tokyo. At least I think it was Tokyo. It was a big city at any rate. No one ever told me where we were. I was installed in a fair sized room above a large, posh bar, and left alone for a while.
Around nightfall, an older Japanese woman came in with a dress for me. I put it on at her gestured direction. It was as revealing as the earlier dress, but frillier. The bodice was corset-like, and the mini- skirt very flounced and short. A pair of six inch heels completed my wardrobe. As since the beginning of my captivity, I have not even been offered any underwear.
Once dressed, I followed the mama-san to the kitchen area. There I joined the other girls for dinner. It was rice and something I probably shouldn't ask the ingredients of. It was not very good, but filling. I eyed the other girls as I ate.
There were eight of them. All were dressed similarly to me. Six were obviously Japanese, but the others were Americans or Europeans. I was the only blond in the group. All of the other were very pretty, but none spoke.
After dinner, we went to the ladies room to repair our make-up, and I followed the girls into the bar area. Obviously, this is what was expected, as mama-san smiled when I passed by.
The bar was very dark, but there were neon lights in a garish display over the bar itself. One corner contained several sofas, and was harshly lit. I had a sinking feeling as I followed the others to this corner. With gestures, mama-san explained I was to remain here until someone came for me. I sighed, but resigned myself to this fish bowl.
We sat on the sofas for a while with nothing happening. Then, a kimono-clad waitress would come to take one of the girls by the hand. The girl followed immediately, trying to smile, even if some of the smiles were a bit strained. I just sat, watching as girls went out into the darkness and returned sometime later. Several hours later, one of the waitresses came and took me by the hand.
I followed her into the darkness. You could not see anything with the lights on us in our corner, and the first few steps into the darkness were blind as well. It took a bit for my eyes to begin to pick up shadows.
I followed the waitress past a number of tables full of men to one in the corner. There, the waitress bowed to one of the occupants, and placed my hand in his. He looked at me expectantly.
I remembered my training, and bowed deeply to him. His face broke out into a wide smile, and he drew me to his lap.
I sat on his lap for a long time as he chatted with the others at the table, idly fondling my breasts and vagina all the while. I must have been blushing very red at being handled this way. Then, one of the others had a girl brought over, and two of us were being man- handled by these men. After a while, the ones without girls left the table. Then, the remaining two men got serious about their fondling.
I endured this for what seemed to be hours, but was probably only a few minutes, when the man gave an unmistakable gesture I should stand. I stood, and he took my arm, leading me upstairs to my room.
He had my dress unzipped before the door was even closed, and I was on the bed by the time it hit the floor. He used me in every way possible over the next few hours. He was all smiles when he gestured I should get cleaned up, which I did quickly. He even helped me put on my dress, not without pinching my nipples, before he led me back down to the bar. He bowed to me as he left, and the waitress escorted me back to the lighted corner.
The others giggled as I returned to the sofa.
One of the Japanese girls, Miko, the girl who had joined us at the table earlier, whispered to me, "Matusaska-san rike you!"
I did not know what to do. I just sat and blushed.
I only had one more encounter that night. The bar was open until dawn, and we girls were available all during that time. It was very similar to the one with Matusaska-san.
I was falling into a routine around the bar when mama-san had me dress up in the dress I had worn when I arrived. She took me to join the other girls, and we marched as a group to a beauty salon, getting lots of leers in the busy streets of Tokyo. We had our hair done to mama-san's specifications and were taken back to the bar. We were never allowed out of the bar except the weekly trips to the beauty shop and the monthly ones to the doctor for our VD check.
Except when my period was flowing, the first day was repeated over and over for the next several months. When I had my period, I was dressed in the first dress, and taken to the docks to give head to the workers down there. Most days I went with four or five men, sometimes more, sometimes less. I found I was popular with the customers, probably because of my blond hair. I hated every moment of it.
Ani Chan -- Part 2 by Bill Eastburn
About six months later, mama-san had me dress in my evening dress and brought me down to the bar in the afternoon. I was presented to an older Japanese man, who I was informed was the oyaban in charge of this bar. He looked me over critically, both dressed and stripped. Then, he smiled.
"I hear good thing about you," he said.
I did not know what to say, so I just made my deepest bow to him.
"Vely good!" He was absolutely beaming at that show of respect. "I give you reward. You come."
I managed to pull my dress up and follow him outside. We got into an enormous Toyota. I did not know Toyota made a car so big!
The windows were all tinted, so I could not see where we were going. It probably would have passed me by anyway, since the old oyaban kept fondling me in the back seat, and a stretch of several miles would have passed while I gave him a blow job.
At last, we arrived at our destination. We stepped out onto a dock where the biggest ocean liner I have ever seen was docked. The oyaban let me directly up the gangway, where we were met by a number of uniformed ships officers and a few civilians in expensive suits.
A torrent of Japanese followed, none of which I could understand. I was pointed to quite a number of times during this deluge though. I simply stood and awaited whatever was to come next. When they finally decided whatever it was, one of the officers took my hand and led me into a large salon.
"Take off cros," he ordered.
I complied, conscious of the dozen pair of eyes watching my every jiggle.
"Turn," he ordered, after they had an eyeful of one angle.
I was forced to make small turns, completely nude, until all those present saw every angle of me. Hands came next, of course. I was thoroughly checked over.
At last, each of the men in suits nodded assent, and the officer led me, still nude out of the room. We went through the ship to a small beauty shop, where I was reworked, and then to a small ships store. I was given my new clothes.
The clothes were more an illusion than of much use for modesty. The nightie is open at the front, tying with a single ribbon below my breasts, but not hiding anything at all. The mini-skirt is so short it showed my crotch even when standing, and there is no top to wear with it. I was told to put the mini on. Two evening gowns are sheer, and lacking a bodice, but they did have long slits from top to bottom. A pair of high heels and some cosmetics finished off what I was issued. As usual, there was no underwear in evidence.
Next, I was taken to be photographed. They shot me from every angle, and were not overly modest about the poses. One print of me standing, totally nude, was given to the officer as he led me down into the lower levels of the ship. He put that picture in a holder on the door of a small stateroom, and pushed me inside. I could hear the lock click as he left.
Stateroom is a pretentious word for the room I was in. It has a bed, a small bathroom, with a bidet, and a vanity for my cosmetics. At least it is a little bigger than my room back at the bar.
This was the point at which it dawned on me I had been sent from one brothel to another. I wondered if this was supposed to be the 'treat' the oyaban mentioned.
Yakumoto Maru was, in fact, a floating brothel of the highest caliber. The girls were selected from the finest of the yakuza's shore based operations. It was considered the highest honor a yakuza whore could be accorded to be made part of the Yakumoto's company. I found this out much later, of course.
Hours later, a ship's officer opened my door and pointed at one of the evening dresses. I put it on, and he bade me to follow him. We went to the galley, where I was fed with the other girls. The fare was no better than back at the bar.
All the other girls were dressed as I was. The colors of the dresses was about the only difference. We were a medley of various races and nationalities. A number of the girls were stunning Japanese, but there were quite a few buxom blonds as well. There were only two black girls, and a few brunettes and redheads. It appeared the Japanese like blonds or other Japanese.
After dinner, we were herded up to the salon area. The ship has eight main salons. We were divided into eight groups, and sent to different salons to await the customers.
All the salons are laid out similar to the bar I had worked before, so at least I was not completely lost. In any event, the first customers came aboard soon after we arrived, and I was occupied throughout the evening with one customer after another.
We were in port three more days, during which the routine never varied. We were locked in our rooms all day, then brought out for dinner and to work the customers. The salons were always full, and all of us girls had several customers a night.
The fourth day, we sailed. The routine changed dramatically when we cleared port. Our rooms were unlocked and we were allowed the run of the decks. Mini-skirts were the order of the day. There were not so many customers while we sailed, but they seemed horny all the time.
We would be accosted while walking on the deck, sunbathing, or whatever. There were always officers around to assure we complied with the customers whims, of course, so we were probably used as much while asea as we were in port.
That first sailing was only three days, then we were locked in our staterooms for the next port of call. The routine went back to port- side, where we worked at night but were locked up all day. Thankfully, this port call was short, only two days. Then we were asea again, with the freedom that accorded.
We picked up more passengers at the second port, so we were kept busier than the first sailing. Still, we were not locked in our rooms all the time.
This voyage lasted almost two weeks. It was glorious, or would have been had we not been kept so busy. It was almost regrettable when shore appeared off the side of the ship.
This time, however, we were not to be locked up. Instead, we were taken to the ship's store and issued short, revealing dresses with the Yakumoto Maru logo stitched on the back. We were taken ashore and put in buses. We rode for almost an hour when the buses stopped at what appeared to be a large apartment complex in the hills. We learned differently in short order.
We were led inside and given a tag with a number on it to pin to our dresses, then were escorted to rooms corresponding to the number on the tag. These were to be our rooms, and were the functional style rooms we were used to. Then, we were brought downstairs to a large lobby area. Customers came into the lobby at all hours of the day and night, took our tags to the desk, paid the fees, and got the keys to our rooms. We worked at Bados for a week before the buses came to take us back to the ship.
Our next stop was Sapporo, where it was ice festival time. It was bitterly cold on deck, but we spent most of the time in our rooms or the salons, of course. The crowds at night were bigger than any we had encountered so far, probably due to the festival. We stayed in port for two weeks to supplement the on-shore brothels.
About this time, one of the yakuza oyabans aboard took an interest in me. He began to take me from the salons, or even open my room during the day to be with me. I guess I should have been flattered, but I was getting so much sex one more customer more or less did not matter that much. He kept it up for the next several weeks, and then invited me to his stateroom one night.
His room was a real luxury suite, with all the luxuries in place. After he used me on his bed, he kept fondling me, his eyes off in a distance. He seemed to be thinking about something important. Then, he abruptly came back to reality and returned me to my room.
The next day, an officer came and had me move my belongings into the oyaban's suite. I have been installed there for the past six months.
Kendo-san is not really bad, as far as a lover goes, and I don't have to work the crowds like the other girls. He even bought me some real dresses at our last port call, even some frilly panties. He treats me like a lady in every way, and it was he who gave me the pet name Ani-chan.
I should be grateful to Kendo-san, but deep down I really cannot. I still remember I was born a man, you see.
Kendo-san saw my moodiness, and inquired about it last night. How can I answer him truthfully? How could he believe I am a man when I am carrying his baby?
FIN