A Night Drive Pt. 02

The rest of the drive to the station was tedious and not at all erotic. Once my arresting officer had parked, and cut the rope connecting my bound wrists and feet and untied my ankles, he escorted me out and up the stairs. They were painful to climb with how limited my movement was, but I managed. Entering the building I found the main hall was mostly a collection of waiting seats and a front desk, where an attractive woman typed up notes and answered emails. Almost immediately, I realised it was much busier than I'd expected, with many men and women forming a queue on the seats as well. Some looked to me and scolded, and I blushed with shame.

My arresting officer made for the front desk and told me to hobble on over and take a seat. Even more looked to me then, some sneering at my body, licking their lips and appreciating the mix of rope and satin. I closed my eyes in an attempt to pretend they weren't there.

After a long and embarrassing wait, I was shepherded off the seat, and sent down a grey corridor, my arresting officer stopping at the first left-side door.

Immediately I saw inside was grey, a typical office cubicle enlarged to the size of a room. Papers and binders were organised in stacks, or overflowing from files cabinets that seemed to engulf the room. Sitting at the front desk was a stout woman, who fitted out her uniform well outside of the bits of flab that stuck out from her chest, with hair that was tied into a bun professionally. She had a look of determination to her, likely gained from years of experience, and the way she stared at me made me gulp.

'I'm Monica. I'll be managing your paperwork today. Please, take a seat.' she said at last, not bothering to stand up. 'Harding, you can untie her now.' My arresting officer nodded and worked at the ropes, uncurling the knots that held me with a quick vigor. Free of their horrible grip, I rubbed my wrists instinctually, then sat in the cushioned chair. It looked expensive, and was quite comfortable.

'Before we start anything, I'll need your birth name.' She said, shuffling a pile of papers nearby into a select few files in front of her, then flipped open a binder.

'James.' I said, weakly.

'And what would be the new name you've decided on?'

'Melody.'

'Interesting choice.' She said, and wrote it down near the top of the page. 'Now Melody, as you're being charged with non-transitional crossdressing, they're several paths you can take.' Another set of files were opened in front of me, through where it had come from i didn't know. 'First, you can go to court. You'd be provided legal aid, with an expected sentence of one to two years in a female prison.'

I gulped and shook my head at that, and she continued. 'Second, you can train as a maid. There's a baron who signed a contract with us a few suburbs from here, who fancies serving girls with their penises still intact.'

My heart soared. The idea of being subservient while wearing some long and frilly maid's uniform had my member rise in my skirt. 'That sounds gr-'

Monica interrupted, glancing at the file more scrupulously. 'Unfortunately, the queue for the place is nearing the thousands,' she paused and read on. 'and none of the maids currently employed want to leave.'

'Oh.'

Faster than I thought possible, the woman had reshuffled her binders again, and now a new pile appeared in front of me. 'The third and final option offers you a full time job that is much more comfortable than prison, but requires a full reconstruction and modification to your born gender.'

'And what do I do for that?' I asked.

'Why Melody, that would mean working for us.'

----

'Working for you? What would I have to do?'

'Many things.' The woman said, already smiling. 'But most of all you would be helping us test an experimental product not yet available to the public.' To emphasise the point, Monica brought an average moving-day box from the closet behind her and placed it on the table. There was no tape or string keeping it closed, and plain curiosity had me tearing it open in seconds.

The thing I found inside looked like a pile of flesh-coloured plastic. I pulled it out and found it reminded me of a bodysuit. 'Though it's only a prototype, this second skin is an attempt to transition and assimilate crossdressers into productive members of the female sex.' Monica said with the tone of a salesman. 'It mimics the texture of female skin, and moulds to the shape of the wearer. It will inject estrogen into you continuously, which along with a regular dose of hormones should speed up the transition period to about a week. It cannot, however, give you mass where you don't have it, and so if you look deep enough into the box, you'll find we also included a pair of silicon breasts and butt extensions, along with a waist-training corset.'

I could feel my heart bounce across the walls. Being presented by something like this was perfect. 'Can I put it on now?' I asked all too quickly.

'Of course, but you'll need to take everything else off first.'

I gulped at that, but cooperated anyway. It was suitably unnerving, taking everything off in front of them, especially the skirt and lingerie where all my body hair was visible, but the thought of real transition, of no longer looking like an ugly male and trying on that rubber skin, was enough motivation. After putting on the generous breast overlay, butt extensions, and the sickeningly tight corset, I was ready.

My arms went in first, struggling to squeeze into the tight rubber than felt two centimetres too small to fit through. Next were my legs, which also struggled to make it into place, through the rubber gave in time. Inside, a sheath was prepared for my cock, which I slipped into with ease, and I noticed the rubber vagina printed on the outside matched its place. Zipping up the whole thing was the hardest part, my limbs feeling inflexible enough in the rubber and the new additions to my body, but I managed.

'How do I look?' I looked to Monica, praying for some approval.

'Decent.' She admitted. 'But you're still showing skin.' She winked. 'Get your clothes back on.'

I did as instructed, feeling cumbersome in my new transitioning skin, and turned to my arresting officer. 'So, what happens now?' I noticed a new flutter in my voice. Maybe the estrogen was already working.

Monica answered for him. 'You'll be restrained and taken to a holding cell. It's quite late, and we can sort out the details of your employment later.'

I opened my mouth to object, but my arresting officer shook his head and I stopped myself. He looked remorseful, holding the rope in front of him, and it was with visibly pity that he pinned my latex gloves behind me and tied them together. It felt even worse than before, the second skin overwhelming me with another layer, as he looped the chord over and under my chest, connecting it all to the knot at my wrists, and cinching the rope tight at every opportunity. On instinct I fought it, letting the ropes crease my wrists even more, until everything hurt and I could barely move. By the end I felt like a doll, my second skin and satin blouse bound horribly tight, and it was only with his help that I managed to make it out of that office without falling over.

I was directed out of the office and down several flights of stairs, where I came to a greyer part of the building.

'This'll be your home for tonight.' The officer said, pointing to a cell. I was thrust in without elegance, my skirt and legs scrapping against the concrete, forcing me to my knees, and I found myself face to face with a much taller man.

'That's your cellmate.' The officer said. 'You haven't transitioned yet sweetheart, so you'll still be placed with the men.' He laughed.

I pressed down the rising quivering in my stomach and looked to my cellmate. The man was little older than me, a walking rectangle of muscle, with dark eyes and hair brought in a tussle behind him.

'Well well well. Look what I found.' He said menacingly.

'H-hello.' I squeaked.

The man almost immediately grabbed at my neck and pulled me closer. 'Listen bitch, you're the closest I'd had to a girl in weeks, so you're going to be the one that satisfies me.'

'N-no, please.'

But it was too late. My skirt scraped and rubbed against the asphalt as the man pulled me closer still, and made for the zipper at his trousers. I tried to scream, to yell for some sort of help, but his burly hand was already over my mouth.

'Quiet bitch, or I'll snap your neck.' He growled, his member already flopping out of his pants. 'And if you don't suck properly, or bite me, you're dead too.'

I tried squirming away for a moment, tensing the rope at my wrists and breasts feebly. Wearing the skirt didn't help either-it had kept me kneeling, its hobbling rim circling taut around my ankles, making it impossible to scamper away. I tried to find some grip with my heels, to no avail-pressed behind me, they felt like helpless, sexy little flippers.

Fearing the worst, I opened up, and began to caress his cock. I tried for kisses first, starting soft, licking around the tip, when the man pulled at the back of my neck and forced me to guzzle down its length. Instinctually I choked and tried to pull back, but he was firm, sliding me up and down the shaft. Soon it was pulsing, and I knew he was going to spill.

For the most part it was humiliating. He was abusing me, treating me like a tool, so rough with his thrusts I could hardly think. I felt worthless, and bitter, but my cock was turning hard and I could feel it leaking juices.

He kept me there for a while, teasing me with my eventual release, building up to a climax only I was going to enjoy, when abruptly his testicles twitched, and he squirted everything down my throat.

I collapsed to the ground then, an exhausted and unfulfilled mess of satin and skirt. For the sake of space, my rapist lifted me onto one of the prison mattresses, tightened my already too stringent bonds, and went back to sleep.