CHAPTER ONE--TRANSFIGURATION AND ENSLAVEMENT
"You can have a quiet night's sleep and then I'll come to see you in the morning and we'll take it from there," said Jill. "Sleep tight Steven-or Stephanie."
It was some many hours later that the light came on, followed shortly thereafter by the clank of the key in the lock. I had been away in the land of the dead, exhausted by the events of the night before, but I awoke with a start as the key turned. The proposal, bet, call it what you like, made by Jillian came rushing back to me. I had tried to consider it before I fell asleep, but it had been a losing battle. I didn't know if I could manage a month as Stephanie, always on my guard against letting my cover down. What would they be getting me to do? I did not know if I could face the girls in this guise. Doing it when I had no choice, and when my captors had been likewise role-playing was one thing, and that had only been for a very short time. Doing it every day, all day, interacting directly with the girls in their everyday life was something different--something I didn't know if I could pull off, or face, for that matter. Yet a part of me did not want to leave this lifestyle and these people. Another part of me said the money made it worthwhile, and a further voice pointed out the faith the girls had in me in putting their own money against Monica's.
I think it was that aspect which decided the matter for me--it was the fact that they were prepared to justify their faith in me with their own money.
The door opened and Trish walked into the cell. I had been expecting Jill or Monica and Trish's presence surprised me. She stopped and smiled at me as I scrambled to my knees on the mattress.
"And what is your name, my dear?"
The meaning behind Trish's words was obvious. I hesitated momentarily before taking the plunge.
"It's ... Stephanie..." I said awkwardly.
Trish beamed at me. I sensed it was from genuine pleasure at my decision and my continued presence in the house, rather than any anticipation at the fate which lay ahead of me.
"Excellent! I'm very pleased." Then she became serious. "However, over the next couple of hours I am going to explain to you your duties here and the rules you must obey. You will be treated like any slave serving in Bilboes. You will be punished if you disobey or fail to carry out orders properly, and will receive no special treatment from anybody. Between you and me--and this is to go no further--we're delighted at your decision and the chance we have to win this bet with Monica. But you'll have to do the hard yards.
"This morning you'll be shown how to behave. A different girl will be responsible for you each day. She will decide what you wear and what tasks you will perform, and she will be responsible for your behaviour. Any disobedience will reflect badly on her and she may also share your punishment, which I'm sure you wouldn't wish. You will address us as 'Mistress' and will not speak unless spoken to or unless it is required as part of your task. Before you go upstairs now, you will be washed thoroughly. Your corset will come off once a week, but other times you must wash with it on. Since it will be secured at the back, you will have no option in the matter, and one of the girls will be required to help you remove and replace it for your weekly full shower. Is that clear?" I nodded. "Is that clear?" she repeated, a sudden sharp edge to her voice.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"For the next couple of hours you will disregard the instruction only to speak when spoken to. You will speak as much as possible and will tell me everything you have experienced--as your alter ego--so as to train that terrible voice of yours into something more acceptable. You will also be taught to walk and deport yourself properly in high heels--something you have not been too successful at so far. Is all this clear?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said, trying to control my wavering voice. I was still struggling to believe I was doing this, and my friendship with Trish didn't make it any easier.
"Your butt plug will be removed each evening, and you will reinsert it each morning, prior to commencing work. You will perform your ablutions based around this cycle. If you misbehave you may find yourself wearing it for somewhat longer periods. At all times the electrodes will remain connected to your nipples and your plug when it is in place. I suppose you've noticed that the plug can be disconnected from the battery, as can the nipple electrodes." (I hadn't, and the plug still hung below my crotch.) If there is any time they should be connected and are not, you may expect the severest of punishments. Your battery will be changed each morning. Are you with me so far?"
"Very good. You will wear the clothes assigned to you by whoever is in charge of you each day. If you are well behaved you may get to make your own selection, but don't expect to be wearing trousers for another month. Your duties will include cleaning, cooking and laundry, work in the garden and also some 'special tasks'." Trish said this with a peculiar smile that hinted at something vaguely unpleasant. "All right--it's time for your shower--you stink. Has anyone told you that?"
"Well you do. And you look as though you've slept in those clothes for the last couple of days. Don't you understand this place has a reputation to uphold and appearances to maintain?"
"Then hold out your hands." I obeyed and had moments later found myself restrained by the cold steel of handcuffs on my wrists. "Now stand up." I did so, and the butt plug dangled between my legs at the end of its connecting wires. "Oh, I see we haven't discovered the connections between the plug and the power pack." Trish sighed and knelt between my legs. Moments later she stood up again with the plug in her hands. "I do hope you display a little more resourcefulness, Stephanie. I really hate dumb slave girls. They take up so much time and energy..."
And we headed off to the sauna room.
In the sauna room my handcuffs were temporarily removed and I was made to take off all my clothes. It was the first time I had really been able to examine my rubber corset and breasts. They were all done in a very tasteful flesh colour which on first glance almost looked real. The breasts were slightly pendulous--firm but with a wobble around the permanently hard rosebud nipples-and I inwardly thanked whoever had chosen them from the catalogue, or wherever they had come from. The edges were well and truly glued down, providing an almost seamless transition to my own flesh. Protruding from the underside were the two wires obviously linked to the Tens patches that had been fitted over my nipples before the prostheses were glued in place. I tentatively picked at the join between rubber and skin, only to have my hand slapped down by Trish, although not before I had reached the inevitable conclusion that I was stuck with these tits for the foreseeable future, it seemed. Trish glared at me.
"Don't even think about it," she warned. "Now face the wall and put your hands behind your head."
I did as I was told and both felt and heard the snick of wire cutters as something was released behind me. Trish waved a small section of steel crimp in front of me.
"That's what keeps your waistline in," she told me. "The corset can't be removed until the crimped stainless steel wire is cut. A nice idea. One of yours, I believe." I said nothing, but felt the pressure start to ease as Trish unthreaded the wire from what I presumed were eyelets down the back, until at last I was able to breathe normally again as the garment dropped at my feet. Mr Willy hung down sadly, impaled inside a piece of clear plastic tubing, also secured with superglue, I guessed, from the immovable feel of it. It was clearly going to be a long and frustrating month.
Trish took away my clothes, leaving me handcuffed to a bolt in the wall for an hour or so while the heating was turned up. I sweated freely as the accumulated dirt and grime of the last few days worked its way out of my pores. My skin felt strangely sensitive, which I attributed to the new absence of hair, the same sensation of absolute nakedness a guy feels after shaving off a moustache and experiencing the weird unfamiliarity of a bald upper lip. Only this time it was all over...
She returned at one point and gave me a light whipping with a flogger. It certainly got my skin tingling and my protestations only drew more punishment until I got my intonation sufficiently high to obviously sound half-believably female. I began to have more doubts as to whether I could do this.
Then it was a hose down with cold water, which was only marginally less unpleasant than the flogging, and again I yelped and protested. Finally Trish took me back to the outer room where I towelled myself down. On coat hangers on a hook were some fresh clothes.
"Time to get your shape back," Trish ordered, holding up the flesh-coloured corset. Reluctantly I held it in place while Trish attached the electrical wires, secured the back of it under my shoulder blades, then threaded a new stainless wire through the eyelets. In the short time I had luxuriated in the sauna, I had forgotten how tight the thing had been, and I could not help myself protesting as she put her knee in the small of my back and tightened each crossover in turn.
"Unless you want to wear a ball in your mouth for the next twenty-four hours, I would suggest you learn to accept certain things and behave like a proper slave girl," Trish said grimly, pulling harder. "The only reason you haven't been punished for the display you've put on so far is that it's still your training period. After lunch you're on your own, and will have to take the consequences of your actions."
Before long, Mr Willy was back in harness and the butt plug was securely up my ass and connected to a new battery. I should not have been surprised at the sudden pain in my nipples and bum.
"Ow-ow-shit!" I exclaimed. "What was that for--Mistress?" I added hastily.
"Just testing everything is in working order," Trish said dismissively. "And a little reminder of what punishment awaits you if you misbehave. Now, get dressed."
I picked up the clothes. There was a pale gray long-sleeved blouse which--I had to admit--fitted snugly to my curves. It was double-breasted with two rows of small silver buttons and a scooped neckline. The navy skirt was also a close fit, with the hem halfway down my thigh. Trish obviously noticed my surprised at how well the clothes fitted.
"They're made to measure," she said off-handedly. "You're a passable size 12 with your waist in that corset. You should be flattered."
I put on a pair of black stockings, again with stay-up tops. Remaining on the floor was a pair of shoes that I looked at with some trepidation. They were black with a closed in toe and heel and an ankle strap, but the heel that was perhaps eight centimetres high. It was not a stiletto, but looked dangerous enough for me as the wearer. Monica did not like stilettos being worn unnecessarily upstairs, because of the damage they could do to the polished timber floor. I picked up one shoe and examined it. The area of the heel was about the size of a fifty cent piece and with a rubber sole--large enough to give some support, but not so chunky as to be ugly. Gingerly I slid my stockinged feet into them and buckled up the strap. They seemed to fit quite well.
"Size nine, wide fitting," Trish explained. "Not too hard to find. Now stand up and walk." It made me think of Lazarus being raised form the dead. I suppose in a way it was a new incarnation, with the Stephanie model metamorphosing from the Steven of old.
I got to my feet and tottered a few steps, wondering how on earth women managed this--and why. Trish helped me initially then, as I got the feel of the shoes, she concentrated on my posture and balance. This was achieved with the help of a long cane with a short thong on the end which flicked my butt--or whichever part happened to be transgressing at the time.
"Walk tall, for heaven's sake!" she exhorted. "Just try to look elegant. Don't swing your arms so much. Think of a model on the catwalk. Try to glide--don't move your head and straighten your shoulders..."
Did women have a gene that did this for them, I wondered? Surely this wasn't something you learned--it had to be part of their DNA, a sort of genetic bonus in lieu of not being able to program a VCR.
Flick! Ow, that stung.