by chastity

It had a arrived a few days after I moved into my new apartment. I had fled the media and the glare of my self- righteous neighbors to a little apartment in midtown where no one knew me. I felt protected by obscurity. It had been slipped under the door. High quality stocked paper with a slight touch of perfume. No return address, no postage, not even a proper salutation, only my name written in a delicate calligraphy consistent with a computer font and laser printer. I remember it clearly now. Every word of it.

I scoffed at it. It wasn’t aggravated sexual assault. It was a bad date. I spent all that money on a show and a big expensive dinner and she decides at the last minute she wants to save her virginity? She needed a little coaching, a little encouragement. Girls were like that. They loved it when you were a little rough with them. Perhaps this time I was a little too rough, I’ll admit that. But its not like I raped her.

What ever femi-nazi group that wrote the letter would just have to get over the fact I was tried and found innocent.

I forgot about the letter.

It was twelve days later. I had just won a law suit forcing my old job to hire me back and I was walking to the subway when a van pulled up and four women leapt out. Dressed in splashing leotards showing their massive, melanous breasts and gaudy headdresses with masks they looked like extras from a old 50’s sci-fi serial complete with wands of death. I stood there, gawking when they surrounded me and tapped me with their little wands like good witches of the north.

Their little wands were riot stun batons and I dropped to the ground in a ball of agony. They struck me a few more times to be certain, then picked me up and tossed me into the van. As the van went driving through the streets, they pounced on me, cuffed my wrists and ankles and shoved a rubber ball in my mouth, buckling it into place. As the blindfold was slipped over my eyes, I remembered the letter. It was then, I panicked.

I heard one of them say they weren’t being followed. Who would? The whole escapade looked like a hollywood stunt. They had kidnapped me in broad day light.

Minutes later the van stopped and I was carried quickly from the van to a truck of some sort. I could hear them pause as they changed clothes and we were off again. This all took less than a minute.

Hours passed riding face down in the truck before I was off loaded and put on a gurney. I felt hands pinning me down as the cuffs were removed and my wrists and ankles were strapped in place. More straps went across my neck, chest and legs leaving me totally immobile. I was wheeled about, then left alone as the girls took a minute to catch their breath.

I felt scissors cut away my clothes. My skin felt a chill as I felt something wet wiping at my body, focusing on my genitals. Terror clutched me. I wanted to scream: I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again! Please, don’t do this! But I couldn’t. I prayed it was all a joke. Someone would say April’s fools and let this nightmare end.

They covered me with sheets, all save my head and a small hole for my genitals. I writhed in my bonds, but they were unyielding. I hoped for rescue, but then I could not think of a single person who would come looking for me.

My blindfold was removed. Bright lights blinded me as I looked around. An old warehouse of some sort. I was in a section of cordoned off curtains like an impromptu emergency ward. There were two women, dressed from head to toe in scrub green surgical gowns, their faces covered in surgical masks. I could only see their eyes, beautiful and exotic. Sexually sinister.

I could hear the voice of the doctor coming about the corner followed by her gaggle of interns, all swathed in green. All of their faces, or any recognizable features were hidden. I trembled at the thought: My God, she’s teaching a class.

One of the girls attending me lifted a syringe from a tray and caught my attention. I flinched as her cold, latex covered hand rested on my loins. I tried to avoid the inevitable, but restrained as I was, a fruitless head thrashing was all I could manage. A moment later, there was the pinch of a needle in my groin.

The doctor coached the nurse. “Remember your bedside manner.” She then spoke to her flock. “It is important to comfort your patient. This will be a local anesthesia and he will be conscious, so a word of assurance will go a long way.” The doctor looked at me for the first time. The wonderful eyes of Rita Hayworth and the plotting thoughts of Joan Crawford. Leaning towards me she spoke in a loud voice. “We’re cutting off your little prick, you shit!” The doctor looked back to her flock. “Remember to temper your words to suit your audience.”

She poked a finger at my penis. “I see he’s all numbed up. Lets begin. Lorena Bobbit might have applied the simple hack method, but that’s not what we looking for here. Scaple. First, a small incision to expose the artery and clamp that off.” The doctor looked up. “Were is the mirror?”

“Right here doctor.” A male intern chimed up.

The doctor waved him to the front of the crowd and held up the mirror so I could watch the horror unfold. “Now we can see the main nerve here. Since we don’t want any possibility of re- attachments or jury-rigging, we going to cut this a ways back.”

With her scaple, she flayed my penis open like a gutted fish. I was helpless to stop her, and unable to look away. I did the only thing a man in my position could do. I fainted.

They revived me and I fainted again. At the third, or perhaps forth fainting, I was left alone. When I finally came to, I found myself alone. I thought I could feel my penis. It was only numb, but I looked up and that mirror told me other wise. A brilliant white catheter was running out of my body. I could see my balls and a few blue nylon stitches, but nothing else. Not a nub, not a fold, not a scrap of my manhood was left.

One of the green cloaked figures was standing by. She pulled the gag from my mouth and went to feed me porridge. I screamed hysterically. She mealy waited and I realized that screaming was useless. But I remained defiant and refused to eat. Demanding to see who was in charge, and to see my lawyer. I wanted my day in court. I would sue them all.

The male intern arrived and shoved the gag back into my mouth. I went hungry that night and the next. The third night I was starving, but I was going to hold out on my hunger strike. I was not going to give them a free victory. Then I caught a whiff of my porridge and my stomach took over. I humbly ate.

They bathed me, changed me, fed me all without freeing me. No one would speak to me. My days were spent with two interns pulling the hair from my body with electrolysis. My nights were filled with its stinging, lingering pain.

One night, the feel of the blindfold slipping over my eyes awoke me to darkness. The sheets were pulled black and I felt what must have been the hot lips and skilled, steaming tongue of the nurse slither about my nipple sending wild shocks of passion through my body. My arousal flared quickly to her intimate kisses, but below there was no response. I thought I could feel it, numb and unresponsive. This torture was unbearable as she cooley suckled on my nipple knowing there would only be a building passion with no release. I begged her to stop, but only whimpers could be heard through the gag. I thought their torture was complete. I thought things could get no worse.

The fifth day the hair removers never showed and my morning porridge never arrived. They started bringing in their surgery lights and equipment. I looked wildly around for some answers and there was the doctor followed by her clutch of interns.

“I see our little improvement has been a success, you little shit. Well, we are lucky enough to have a little complication to our simple little operation. My associate here is the one of the leading plastic surgeons of his country and has volunteered his time in the name of justice.” The doctor looked over and spoke to a male doctor in a foreign language and he looked at me and nodded. He gave his orders and my doctor translated to her crew.

My belly was exposed and lines were drawn with a marker. They wheeled in a machine with a long hose attached and the plastic surgeon held it like a baton. He nodded and a mask was fitted over my face and anesthesia was pumped in. Seconds later as was out.

When I awoke, my belly was in a world of pain, and in the mirror, I could see their work. My abdomen was a field of bruises and welts, but I had the tapered look of an hour glass figure. I could not figure their plan.

I had no track of time. Their busy activities became my day. When things were quiet, and they were playing with me, it was night. The day after my lipo-suction they finished their hair removal. My armpits, chest, groin, and face were depleted leaving only the hair on my head and my eye brows. That night, their erotic tortures continued. The nurses put on masks and stripped for me. Then they made lesbian love with passion, taking pauses to lick me and include my in their trysts. I wanted to scream. My hormones were raging. I could smell their sex and it only stimulated me more.

The next day, a leather bag was strung about my balls connected to a long leash. The bag was filled with metal spikes as sharp as tacks. When the leash was tugged, the bag constricted, chewing into my balls. Simple.

I was made to sit up and my arms was pinioned to my sides with leather straps. A stiff collar was fitted around my neck that forced me to look up and prevented my head from turning side to side. Blinders were then put on the side of my head, leaving my field of vision only the ceiling. Lastly, leg irons were slipped about my ankles.

They stood me up. Holding on to me to let me get my balance. After a week of being strapped to a bed, I was rather weak in the knees, but a painful tug on my leash motivated me to stand. Then walk.

I was walked about the warehouse floor. All I could see was the ceiling and small tugs of my leash were all that was required to keep me where they wanted me to go. After exercise, I was returned to the gurney. This was to become a daily routine.

Days passed and the plastic surgeon chiseled my chin, sanded down my adam’s apple, puffed my lips and cheeks and smoothed the wrinkles from my forehead. My eyes were widened, my nosed nipped and my skin was bleached. finally, or so I thought, my vocal cords were clipped and re-attached. When I was able to speak, I was two octaves higher.

Meanwhile the veritable orgies continued with infernal teasings that drove me up the wall. My dreams were filled with rampant sex, but still there was no relief for me. I was so horny, I thought I could bite through steel! I thought I couldn’t take it any more. My body was so sexually attuned that anything was sexual to me. I felt that one more touch, anywhere on my body and I would explode, spewing cum like a volcano. But I never did.

I thought they were done, but one morning, the Doctor came in. “Well, it turns out that Dow is no longer selling silicone breasts. Seems they have a tendency to leak. So they’re literally throwing them away!” She held up the glistening silicone implant in her hands.

When I awoke, my chest was in torment. I could hardly breathe! I looked at the swelling mounds perched on my chest and only moaned, amazed at how truly worse things could get.

I was given a special bra that was hooked to a battery that sent electric shocks through my breasts to encourage the skin to grow and stretch. They were tingly and enjoyable for the first 20 minutes. After 30 minutes they were annoying, 40 uncomfortable, 50 unbearable. They were left on 24 hours a day and I cried my self to sleep.

My resistance to comply was gone with the first tug of the leash as my exercises continued. My new breasts were pulling ruthlessly on my shoulders and neck as I trotted about the room but the doctor shook her head and said they just weren’t big enough and I was put under again. When I awoke, they were so massive, I could not see my feet.

The Doctor apologized for keeping me over the time they said they were. I didn’t realize that four months had passed. I was drugged so that I was docile and obedient. I was dressed in a tight tee top and hot pants and stiletto heels. My hair was cut and styled and my face made up. I was blindfolded, cuffed and put in the van.

I was shoved out on a street corner. I staggered like a drunk not even thinking of getting the license of the van as it drove way. As the drug wore off and my head began to clear, I realized I was free. I looked about and assumed it was early a.m. because the streets were empty. I quickly patted my pockets and found no cash, no I.D., only the key to my apartment.

I started walking, teetering on my heels. I was so desperate to get home and jerk off, that I never noticed a car had wheeled up along side me until the driver tapped his horn. I was hoping for a ride and went over, bending to peer in the window. He held up a ten and said: “Come on.” I looked at him stupidly and he smiled. “Comon babe, ten bucks and you blow me.”

I was repulsed! He thought I was a hooker! I turned away in disgust and started walking again. He said something gross and took off.

My feet were in torment and I stopped to rub them. In the window of a store, I could see my faint reflection. I was a fantasy woman. Massive breasts and a tiny waist with smooth legs perched on heels. I peered at my face. I looked like I had lost a fight, but through my healing scars, bruises and swellings, I had pouting, kissable lips, innocent eyes and perky nose. I was cute as hell.

“Hey babe!”

I turned and it was him again. Sitting in his car, his fat face smiling. “Can I at least give you a ride?”

I stomped off, nearly breaking my neck with my heels. I quickly made the few block to my apartment and entered the lobby. I took the elevator to my apartment and went to open the door. The locks had been changed.

I stood there, staring at the key in my hand. It had been four months without a word from me. Without rent from me. The bastard landlord had done something illegal. I could sue him.

With what? I slumped against the door and sat on the floor. I was broke, homeless, friendless and the cops probably towed my car.

I opened my pants and started to finger my self, right there in the hall.

In horror I remembered. There was nothing there. I peered down. It was gone. I massaged the area and there was no sensation, no feeling. There was going to be no fingering. There was going to be no sex.

I zipped up my pants, pushing back the panty shield they had given me to contain my incontinence. With nowhere to go, I wandered back out into the street.

I watched his car make a u-turn and wheel back about. “We must me fated!” He announced. “Comon Babe, I not getting any younger.”

My hormones were kicking in. The thought of sex, some sex, any sex was inviting. “20 bucks for a hand job.” I announced.

He laughed. “Are you nuts! I could do that myself.”

“50 for a blow.” I dared him.

“Its 5 am and your still walking the streets which means your ain’t 50 nothing. Stop fucking around and come suck my dick. You keep fucking around and I just gonna go home to the wife.”

I approached his car trembling. It wasn’t fear, only four months of hormones raging at the gate. I climbed in, feeling the smells of his car, the smells of him as he undid his pants. It hit me like heavy incense, making my head swim. His little pecker poked out, already hard and I licked it gently, tentatively. I was not gay, and four months ago the thought would have disgusted me beyond imagination, but now, I wanted his cock in my mouth.

I took him in my lips, sliding slowly down. He grabbed my head and held it there, his hips thrusting, fucking my throat. I pressed my tongue against the underside of his cock and clamped my lips against him and let him do all the work. “Work, it bitch.” He coached. “Yeah, get it, you love this.” And I did. I wanted him. I wanted his cum down my throat and too soon it came. I hungrily lapped it up.

“Hey, babe, not bad.” He zipped himself up. “You need a little work and you’ll be real good.”

I sat on the seat looking at him like a puppy looking for a treat. I wanted more of him. I wanted to suck his fat, middle aged nipples. I wanted him to scream in passion. He handed me $15 bucks. “Catch you next time babe. And don’t be such a little snit next time. I got out of the car and thanked him. I didn’t believe what had happened. As I was sucking him, it was like sucking myself. The only problem was when he came, I didn’t.

That was six months ago. Since then I met another transvestite prostitute, Jerry who showed me how to set up clean, regular clients to avoid disease. I suck cock and on occasion take it up the ass. I can make enough money to pay for the rat trap apartment I live in with Jerry and another girl.

But the torment never ends. With each cock I suck, I think I’m the one who’s going to cum, but it never happens. But I am so enraged that I produce more hormones and I seek out more cock to suck. Its a vicious cycle as the hormones build like a snowball rolling down a hill and I can’t stop it. I want them to paw my massive tits and suckle my sensitive nipples until it drives me wild. I want it up the ass so bad that I dildo my self when I don’t get it from the johns. But there is no relief. I take female hormones when I can afford them, but they do nothing for the pent up, raging hormones inside me. Its like I am addicted to cock. I suck off Jerry’s almost twice a day on top of doing my clients, and still I want more.

I hope to save enough to get these accursed breasts removed. Although there is no male that can look at them, look at my sweet lips and say no when I tell them its 30 bucks for blow job, the strain on my neck and shoulders is unbelievable. I pop Advil and Ibuprofin like candy as the pain begins before ten a.m.. My breast reduction will be my second operation though. My first is to have my balls removed and end the hormonal torment. I wish I could just rip them off! I could live with any other pain than the one I am in. Never being satisfied, but constantly stimulated. Morning, noon and night, I eat, sleep, dream sex! It wakes me from a dead sleep. There is no escape from the horrible punishment. A simple spring breeze perks up my nipples and I have to seek out someone, anyone and suck him off, even for free. I suck so much that I have to exercise to keep from gaining weight from all the extra protein.

And then things got impossibly worse. I read in the newspaper that the appellate court overturned a ruling and the evidence against me is now admissible and a new trial is scheduled. If they can find me. But it means that I have to buy fake i.d., get a passport and get to Mexico where a hack doc can do the deed and rid me of the torment. Cut off my balls.

In the meanwhile, I hope to afford lunch. I have to resist the urges, but its so hard. I was standing in line to get lunch yesterday, and a man brushed up against me. He apologized and all but for me it was too late. Moments later we were in the bathroom stall and I was sucking him off for free. I’m doing that more often now as the hormones in me build.

This Ultimate Torment will never end.