Altered Genesis Ch. 09

Dean sat on his new bed and stared out the window to the identical block of flats next door. The room was smaller than the one of his childhood but at least it was his.

It felt good to finally have some privacy again. He wasn't sure how much longer he could have endured sleeping on Melody's couch. She was a nice girl, always kind and considerate, nothing like his mother and her friends. But her constant hovering was driving him mad. After she had confessed her feelings for him, the situation had become intolerably awkward. He was grateful to have his own room now; albeit in the home of a mysterious old lady that he only just met.

The doorbell rang and he could hear several ladies being welcomed in. Joyful chatter echoed through the hall just outside his closed door.

"Hi Mark. You're looking hot as usual. Take our things to the lounge honey. You must introduce us to the new boy," an elderly feminine voice said.

This snapped Dean right back to reality and he felt a flood of anxiety. Today was the first day of shooting and he still had no idea how he was expected to dress; let alone what he would be doing. He kicked himself for not reading the contract more carefully; not that it would have helped very much. Normally he would be pedantic about this type of thing but he wasn't himself lately.

He checked his reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. He wore some lite foundation, elastic leggings and a tight shirt.

Someone knocked on the door a moment later.

"Come on Dean. The ladies want to meet you. You should have been out here waiting for them," Mark called out.

Dean jumped to his feet and opened the door to find Mark wearing hotpants and a skin tight T-shirt. He was muscular, tanned and lean. His face decorated with a layer of makeup, subtle eyeliner that made his dark eyes pop and soft lipstick that drew attention to his lips. A black leather collar clung tightly around his neck. A gold ring hung down from the front and a gold plate was pinned just above. The letters 'SS' engraved in large font and 'Lockwood' in smaller letters underneath. Dean wondered if he was as beautiful as Mark and he felt his stomach tumble.

How times had changed. Centuries ago it was femme who would spend hours enhancing their appearance. Now the sight of a boy in makeup was becoming increasingly normal, especially in porn. Everything about Mark's appearance advertised him as an object to be exploited by femme.

Mark gave him a terse glance up and down. His face said it all. Dean felt completely ill-prepared. He wore long elastic shorts that were a size or two too large and a tight fitting t-shirt; the standard thing he would wear around the home.

"Is he in there Mark?" a mature feminine voice called out from the lounge room impatiently. Dean could tell from the voice that she was at least 50 and quite heavy set. His heart sank. He had hoped to at least be working with some young attractive femme.

"Yes lady Gynohold," Mark had an anxious look on his face which he managed to keep out of his voice.

"Bring him in now sweetie," lady Lockwood said confidently.

"Of course, domina. He will be out soon."

Anger flashed in his eyes now.

"What the fuck are you wearing?! Have some respect man!" he scolded Dean just above a whisper.

Dean felt a cold jab in his stomach.

"How did I manage to mess up already!?" he thought.

"Take off those pants for Goddess sake. The domina never gave you approval to wear those on set!"

"Domina?" Dean thought. "What the hell does that mean?"

"She never said anything about this," Dean mumbled sheepishly.

"It's called being professional you dick-wit," Mark snapped. "You need to dress the part, she didn't hate the ones you wore in the audition so they are ok for now. Put them on."

This sent Dean's anxiety through the roof.

"Okay then," he stood still for a moment.

"Now!" Mark stared Dean in the eyes with his arms folded, puffing his chest. In that moment it felt like he could crush Dean.

"Well, give me a moment," Dean replied with his hand on the door.

Mark glanced at the door and rolled his eyes.

"Really?! If you are squeamish about getting changed in front of other dudes then you are in the wrong business homophobe. There are plenty of boys ready to replace you."

Mark stepped back with resentment in his eyes.

Dean shut the door. As he hopped out of his pants he wondered how he had managed to get off to such a disastrous start. He had hoped to build some comradery with the other male performer, but it seemed like his only colleague was already an enemy.

He grimaced as he squeezed into the tiny Chloe Goldfemme hotpants then reached down to adjust his package only to force the inseam farther up between his butt cheeks. Glancing in the mirror, he sighed. The position of his cock could be inferred from the asymmetry of his bulge. His once proud endowment brought him nothing but shame now, he once again found himself wishing it was smaller.

"And take those shoes off. The ladies prefer the boys barefoot," Mark's slightly muffled whisper came through the door. Even that simple instruction seemed scathingly condescending.

The shorts were originally purchased to impress an attractive and wealthy young femme. But now they were showing him off to a room full of poor, ugly old hags. Even being barefoot felt degrading. The scriptures of Dibellanism consistently state that male's are never to wear any footwear in the home because they are essentially part of the matriarch's estate. This symbolism was a constant reminder to the men who fall under the dominion of the sisterhood. Many coven sisters can be aroused just by the sight of a boy's feet, because it symbolises his submission. To this day, Dean still felt vulnerable and a little humiliated to be barefoot in front of femme. He thought that the feeling would subside; after all, he was a slut now. He was wrong.

"How did I get here so fast!?" he thought. "If only I had kept it in my pants!"

Part of him was still fighting; still wanting to run. But it was too little too late. Now when he looked in the mirror he saw a whore. A slut who's only hope in life was to surrender his dignity to the femme with the biggest bank account.

"This is only temporary," he told himself.

Opening the door, Mark shot him an impatient look and gestured for him to lead the way.

Dean felt like a lamb to the slaughter as he walked down the narrow passage. One last glance at his near-nudity reminded him of the inevitability of the situation. His body was already being presented as an instrument of feminine pleasure.

Who would have him? He assumed that it would be lady Lockwood but the echoing of several voices down the hall made him wonder.

The couch came into view as he rounded the corner, revealing the familiar hulking frame of Rita Gynohold, then Aaliyah Lockwood and Tammy Freefemme next to her.

"So I think that we might get some additional investment from-" Aaliyah interrupted herself as Dean came into view.

As he continued to round the corner he noticed two more geriatric femme. Smiles spread all around as hungry eyeballs invaded spaces that were once private to only him. His heart raced all the more. The apparent absence of any femme under 50 made his heart sink and stomach tumble.

"Speak of the devil," Rita said.

"Here he is ladies," Aaliyah announced. "The new star of Supreme Sisters productions!"

The room erupted in applause with occasional wolf whistle. Looking around in panic, Dean saw Mark gesturing with his finger to tell him to spin around. He still looked somewhat aggravated. Aaliyah did the same a moment later and Dean was happy to indulge her. Dean couldn't help but crack a smile in response to the adulation.

"I see why he likes to make an entrance," an elderly lady with curly white hair looked straight over her thick glasses and at Dean's genital bulge as she spoke. She shot a knowing grin to the lady next to her. The gaze of these strangers felt like jolts of lightning through his chest.

"So tell us about yourself Deany," Rita said.

"Oh.... Um... I go to UCLA. About to start my last semester. I'm a runner. And um... I guess I'm not that interesting."

"Oh rubbish," Rita said.

"Yea you look plenty interesting to me," a lady standing behind the couch called out, prompting a wave of laughter that broke the tension.

"Oh my Goddess, we are behind schedule already," Aaliyah spoke up. "Why don't you go with Dr Gynohill into your room sweetie. She is our props director so she'll be responsible for getting you ready."

The old lady with the thick glasses immediately began to walk towards him.

"No shortcuts thanks Gwen."

"Oh Aaliyah. You know that I would never," Dr Gynohill turned back to the other ladies as she took Dean's hand.

"Go wait in your room my gorgeous boy," she looked down into his eyes while patting his bottom. "I'll bring you a drink and I expect you to be nude by the time I arrive."

--

The door suddenly unlatched and the enormous frame of Dr Gynohill plodded inside while Dean was carefully stepping out of his elastic hotpants.

"We're always on a tight schedule so it's important that you are prompt," the doctor's voice was stern. "You should be ready by now."

"Sorry m'lady," he said while receiving the glass of water. He felt tiny next to her tall and wide frame.

"At least you have manners. That's a start. Now drink it all up. You need hydration."

Dr Gynohill shut the door behind them and Dean began to down the water gratefully. He was more thirsty than he realised.

With the door shut, her laboured breathing was all that Dean could hear.

"Spectacular," she said.

Dean put the empty glass on the set of draws.

"Excuse me?"

"You. A little unkempt, but spectacular."

Dean realised that she had been scanning him up and down.

"Um, thank you ma'am."

"I prefer for you to always address me as Dr Gynohill. I'm a fully qualified phalicologist, so I expect a certain level of respect from my patients."

"Oh okay. Sorry doctor Gynohill," Dean squeezed his fist as he admonished himself for yet another mistake.

"Now. Go and lock your things away in that cupboard during the shoot."

She pointed to a wooden cupboard with an open padlock that stood in the opposite corner of the room.

Dean nodded and began putting his bag inside, leaving the clothes that he was wearing on the bed.

"We will give you an outfit sweetie. We don't want you loosing your things so put them away too."

"Which outfit? Where is it?"

The doctor was pulling a white sheet off a mysterious object. She froze indignantly and tilted her head forward to look over the rims of her thick glasses.

"You will find out. Such questions are terribly unprofessional," her eyes scanned his naked form as she spoke. "I hope that Aaliyah didn't just pick you for your looks. Cause right now it seems like she did."

Dean swallowed hard and placed his clothes in his luggage before locking them away. The click of the heavy padlock closing around the steel bracket sent a wave of panic through him as he realised that he didn't have a clue where the key was.

"Where is the-" he cut himself off when he turned around to find a peculiar looking chair being uncovered and rolled to the centre of the room facing the door.

It had steel stirrups on adjustable bars designed to support and bind male legs in a high and wide position. The back rest sat atop a set of draws. Above the top draw was a mounted adjustable mirror and on either side of the mirror sat two LED lights on the end of adjustable rods.

The steel backrest lay on a 45 degree angle. But curiously, there was no cushion to sit on. Instead, the stirrups supported the patient and held him in place with leather buckles. A blue mars symbol was carved into the centre of the back rest so that nobody would mistakenly think that such an undignified contraption was meant for a femme.

The light reflected off every surface like a new car under showroom lights. The stainless steel contraption looked like a giant medical device which was designed to be beautiful and clinical with no consideration for male comfort.

"Ha-ha," Dr Gynohill laughed. "You look like you've never seen an exam chair. Haven't you visited a phalicologist before?"

"Um... no ma'am. I mean... doctor Gynohill," Dean stammered.

"Perhaps you're more familiar with prostrate prostate devices? Ever donated sperm?" Dean shook his head.

"A pretty boy like you could make a nice payday if you signed up for Mesenet's donor program. You're quite good stock, so I'm sure that they would pay you a premium for relatively frequent milkings."

"Never been to a phalicologist! That's just atrocious," she shook her head in dismay. "Every boy should have regular check ups to ensure that he's properly maintained."

Dean froze. He hadn't anticipated anything like this.

"I shouldn't have to invite you up honey," she gestured to the device of male abasement with stern irritation.

Mark's words rang in his ears, "There are plenty of other boys who can take your place."

Dean took a deep breath. He imagined himself holding his graduation certificate, then getting his first respectable job. He just needed the money for college, nothing else mattered.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean began to hop up on the exam chair. The stainless steel backrest stung like ice as he began to rest his bare back onto it. He lifted his legs one at a time to put his feet into the cold stirrups. The doctor immediately began strapping him in.

"There's a good boy," she whispered with a smile while forcefully tightening the strap around his calf. "Arms above your head."

It all seemed so unnecessary. He saw the way that she looked at him. Her gaze was filled with the same hunger as the sisters of Dibella. Her beady eyes examined his genitals eagerly from behind her thick glasses without any shame. He recognized her look; it was the same one that lady Gynodime gave him before groping him in his mother's lounge room.

The thought of the old doctor having her way with him made him sick; she wasn't the least bit physically attractive. She had white hair, loose wrinkly skin full of blemishes and a tall obese frame. He guessed that she must have been in her seventies.

He unfolded his arms and raised them out of obligation. The doctor was already there to put his wrists through the leather straps at the top of the back rest. She tightened all of the straps to the point of discomfort. He resisted his bonds and realised that he couldn't move an inch. Anxiety turned to panic, he was at her mercy.

"Yes, please test the restraints. It's important that we ensure that you are safely bound. It helps me do my job."

"What.. is.. eeaahh," Dean's reply was cut short by a sudden surge of passion in his loins. His cock went from soft to fully erect in a matter of seconds.

"My my. It looks like you have a gift for me." she chuckled, adjusting the mirror and switching on the LED lamps which were already trained on his male assets.

"I have this effect on boys. It's just their natural response to a powerful lady. You can't fight mother nature sweetie. Although, you do seem to be particularly eager to announce your feelings for me."

Dean was mortified. His mouth hung open as he stared down at his humiliating offering of complete submission. He couldn't believe what was happening.

The doctor pressed a button on the remote causing the stirrups to rotate higher and wider.

"Just need to get your legs out of the way dear."

She squirted lotion on her palm then began rubbing her hands together. It was a brand that he hadn't seen before.

"He-he. What a sight. I've been a phalicologist for 50 years but I never get sick of seeing a hot boy get hard for me in the chair. When I worked at Mesenet, the boys would call me 'the magic madam'."

Dean was repulsed but his cock surged to full attention and continued to inflate almost painfully. He shut his eyes in shame as he felt her slippery warm hand firmly grab his cock. Slipping and squeezing lightning into his veins.

"Is this what I am now?" he thought. "A slut? A dumb boy who's ready to become the buck of any femme willing to pay? A whore who enjoys being the play thing of dirty old femme?"

"Oooh!" an involuntary groan escaped his lips before he could stifle it. It felt amazing. He looked down to see red fingernails surrounding his masculinity like burgundy blades. Her chubby fingers worked at him with a grip that seemed impossibly strong.

"That's okay my sweet little first-timer. I'm sure that this sensation is quite a shock for you. It feels much more intense than masturbation doesn't it?"

Dean stared at the ceiling with his mouth agape.

"Yes. Your face says it all," she cooed.

"The penis is designed to respond to feminine authority. I understand that you have never been with a mature femme before. There are forces at play here that are beyond your comprehension. Just let me work. Let your mind empty and your cock inflate under my control."

Dean shut his eyes. He failed to stifle a wanton groan on every 3rd or 4th stroke.

"I need to apply this cream to give your head a nice purple hue. That's the color the ladies prefer. Makes you look extra hard and juicy."

The doctor began rubbing more cream into the head of his cock with an open palm.

"Ahhh!" Dean gasped with wide eyes as he shuddered.

"That's it," she breathed. "A good boy is always vocal about his arousal."

She ignored his groans of anguish and continued to torture his bulbous oversensitive head with her leathery palm.

"I remember my old boss. She used to say that she could hear my boys from all the way in reception. That was back when I was an extraction technician for Mesanet. I was there from the early days; one of the pioneers. It was different back then, not like the cut-throat industry that it is now. The pay was much better, but these days everyone and her mother wants to milk horny young studs for a living. The extra competition makes for long hours and bad pay, but it has its benefits."

She shifted her gaze from Dean's cock to his eyes and he avoided eye contact by looking at the ceiling.

"But I'm not as young as I used to be. The work load became a bit too much. Competing with femme half your age can take its toll, even with a PhD in phalicology to your name. I still help train the new generation of phalicologists though. Sure, these days there are lots of creative machines that can get the job done with efficiency and style. But the ladies at Mesenet understand that when it comes to getting the best results in the milking stall, there is no substitute for an experienced hand."

"Oh oh! Oh my..." Dean felt lightning flow through his legs as they fought helplessly against his restraints.

"My you have a beautifully cut cock. Nothing like a nice tight snipping on a big joystick."

Dean was delirious under the relentless stimulation. He could feel an orgasm coming embarrassingly close.

WHACK

The doctor's hand impacted the underside of his sensitive head.

"AHH!" He yelped at the searing pain that only pushed him closer.

"That is no way to take a compliment honey. If you want to make it in this industry you need to learn some manners and professionalism." She scolded him with a wagging finger. Her long nail only inches from his face.

"Oh, sorry ma'am", he whimpered. " I mean Dr Gynohill."

His response triggered a playful smirk across her face.

"And?" she paused her treatment and squeezed his cock so hard that he felt like it would burst. Decades of practice and the advantage of feminine strength gave her a grip that easily induced pain. She overwhelmed his phallic offering with a single monstrous fist. It was much more pressure than he could have ever generated himself during his shameful masturbation sessions.