Feminization Island Pt. 01

First half of a two-part story about kidnapping and forced feminization. This chapter is mostly about describing the context and building up the necessary tension. The hardcore part will come in the second chapter. Be patient.

The black waters of the Saint Lawrence Gulf glowed darkly under the grey clouded sky. It was only mid-September, but the weather was horrible, and the icy wind kept hitting the boat. François wasn't prepared for it and his light windbreaker couldn't do anything to keep him warm. He rubbed his hands and looked back over his shoulders. The Canadian mainland was now little more than a thin brown line close to the horizon, but their destination was still nowhere to be seen. Feeling like he was about to freeze to death, he realized he could have been sitting in his studio apartment back in Paris, instead of suffering at the opposite side of the ocean. Still, nobody would refuse such an offer. It had happened only a few days earlier. One morning he'd checked his email and found a message from Hassan Kassé. Attached to it there was an official invitation to his private mansion in Québec and a first-class plane ticket to Montréal.

Strange indeed, but to understand the context, you had to know who Monsieur Kassé was. Born in a Parisian banlieue to West African parents, he grew up in a difficult neighborhood and with very little money. He started working when he was barely a teenager, but thanks to his strong will and sharp intelligence he managed to finance his college studies and build up a career in real estate investment. By the age of thirty, he'd already turned his home neighborhood into a fancy upper-class residential area. And as he reached success, his fortune kept growing. Some will tell his contacts with organized crime were pivotal in his activities, but truth is nobody was ever able to prove anything. As much as justice knows, Kassé was clean. When he turned forty, finance newspapers evaluated his net worth at over half a billion euros.

Then, almost as suddenly as he'd reached the spotlight, he disappeared. He didn't just stop making public appearances. He vanished. As you can imagine, every single blogger and journalist in France went crazy about it. For several months it looked like the whole country couldn't stop talking about him, even though after a while his lawyers assured that Mr. Kassé was fine and just wanted to leave the public scene. Still, almost a year passed before a clever French-Canadian blogger managed to solve the mystery. Thanks to some local contacts in Québec, she managed to find out how a North American subsidiary of one of Kassé's companies had bought an entire island off the coast around the Saint Lawrence. It was a very peculiar place to acquire a private island, not exactly the Caribbean paradise you would think of. Anyway, a simple satellite image search confirmed that someone was indeed building a mansion in the heart of the island.

As soon as the mystery had been unveiled, newspapers, blogs, TV networks and independent writers started pressuring Kassé's partners and coworkers to grant them an interview. Of course, they all failed. Apparently, Hassan Kassé didn't want to be found. Some even tried to reach the island, but they failed again. Not only the weather conditions were so difficult that such an endeavor was almost unthinkable, but the few who managed to reach the place were stopped, apprehended, and sent back on a police boat. Very soon these efforts stopped, and after three years even the most determined reporters had accepted the fact that interviewing Kassé wasn't an option. At least until Tuesday, when François had received that strange email. For a while he thought it was a joke, but a phone call with one of Kassé's lawyer confirmed it. So, he hadn't lost any time, he'd packed his stuff, and he'd left for the first real adventure in his professional life.

Finally, after a few hours of navigation, his destination appeared to sight. He turned to his only companion, the tall dark-skinned sailor who'd been waiting for him at the small port town where they'd met. He'd just told him his name, introducing himself as Amadou, but he hadn't said anything since then. François didn't meet his eyes and he understood there was no way to get him to talk. It wasn't surprising. He already knew how much Mr. Kassé liked privacy. So, he didn't even try to start a conversation with the laconic man, and he concentrated on the island.

By now their destination was well visible in front of them. On a satellite image it looked like a very small place, but it didn't seem so small now that they were reaching it from the sea. It was a round-shaped flat rocky island, almost completely covered by a thin pine forest. There wasn't any sign of human building or activity, so he supposed everything was hidden in the inner part of the island. After a while, as they were getting close to the place, he saw a single wooden dock stretching out from a grey cobble beach. He supposed that was going to be their landing spot.

He wasn't wrong. Eventually, after one of the longest and coldest trips in his life, they reached the dock and Amadou stopped the boat to let him go ashore. To his astonishment, however, he didn't follow him, but instead he only passed him his luggage and got the boat ready to go back as soon as possible. He also ignored François' puzzled expression.

"Wait on the beach," he said plainly. "Someone will come for you."

And then, just like that, he turned the boat and left for the mainland. François took his luggage and walked slowly through the dock until he reached the beach. He noticed there was a small gravel path which led into the pine forest, so he supposed that was the way to reach the mansion. However, before he could resolve to do anything, a person appeared from the opposite direction, emerging from the trees. It was the last kind of human being you'd expect to meet in the middle of a Canadian wood. It was a good-looking woman in her early thirties, all dressed-up in a fancy office outfit. She had long black hair, a pretty face, and a thin, slender body. Very strangely, considered the place, she was wearing a navy-blue skirt suit, a matching coat that she kept open, sheer nylons, and a pair of shiny stiletto high heels.

"Welcome to the island, Monsieur Dupont, I'm Isabelle, Mr. Kassé's personal assistant. I'm very pleased to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too," answered François politely, still surprised by her look.

"I hope your trip wasn't too uncomfortable," she said, leading him through the forest. "We have a helicopter landing place, but we only use it for emergencies. Please, follow me, the mansion isn't far away."

He obeyed, happy to have a nice rear view of that pretty lady. It was amazing how gracefully she managed to walk on high heel even on that irregular path. Her pencil skirt was so tight she had to talk small, quick steps, but she didn't look tired. Instead, when she turned back to look at him, there was a warm smile on her perfectly made-up face.

"Mr. Kassé insisted to keep the forest intact. We only cleared the place we needed to build the mansion and the garden."

"It looks wonderful," he said, admiring the tall trees. "You're from Paris too, right?" he asked her, noticing the accent.

"Yes, I'm from Neuilly," she said, without adding anything else.

"And how long have you been working for Mr. Kassé?" he insisted, hoping to find more about the place before he met the owner.

"It's been eight years. I was hired as soon as I graduated from college."

"You must like your job very much," said François, trying to keep it casual. "I don't know a lot of young graduated who'd be willing to leave the city to move to a place like this."

For the first time since he'd met her, Isabelle lost her smile. She gave him a very strange look, but then she regained her control and smiled again. Still, François was sure there was something she wasn't ready to share.

"Yes, I love my job," she said instead.

Before he could press her more, they reached the garden. Actually, it was more a lawn than a garden, since the cold weather didn't allow for much to grow. The mansion, instead, was huge and very different from how he'd been expecting it. He thought it'd be a modern comfortable villa, but instead it looked more like a traditional Canadian castle from the colonial era. It was a two-story palace with dark-grey stone walls and wooden doors and windows. It looked solid, thick, and old-fashioned. Next to it, on the right side, there was a second smaller house. He supposed it was some kind of a service building.

He followed Isabelle to the main entrance, which was opened from the inside as soon as they reached the steps. Apparently, they'd been watching them. François really thought to be ready for everything by now, but instead his jaw dropped as he saw the person who was greeting them. It was a gorgeous young girl in a frilly French maid dress.

"This is Annette, one of our two housekeepers," said Isabelle simply.

"Very nice to meet you, Monsieur," said Annette with a graceful curtsy. "Welcome to Mr. Kassé's mansion."

François barely managed to answer, his mind confused by her breathtaking look. She was younger than Isabelle, maybe in her mid-twenties, and had long curly blonde hair. She was as pretty as the secretary, but more sensual and shapelier. Her full breast and round hips were enhanced by her tight-fitting uniform, and her legs looked fantastic in a pair of sheer pantyhose. She was wearing patent stiletto heels too. It couldn't be easy to do the housework on them.

"Please, come in," said the maid with another curtsy.

They entered a large, elegant hallway, decorated with paintings, tapestries, and refined pieces of furniture. It looked more like a Scottish castle than the residence of a Parisian millionaire. Annette took his luggage and invited him to follow her to his room.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dupont, but I have to go now," said Isabelle politely. "I'll be meeting you for dinner in a few hours. Unfortunately, Mr. Kassé is busy now, but he will be there too, of course, and he can't wait to meet you."

François greeted the secretary and followed to maid towards the right wing of the mansion. They entered a wonderful fireplace room, furnished as a refined living room. It was full of expensive piece of arts, burgundy red sofas, and furniture made of elegant walnut wood.

"It must have been complicated to bring all this wonderful stuff to the island," he said to the maid, who was walking gracefully in front of him.

"Yes, indeed," she confirmed, "but if Mr. Kassé wants something, he gets it."

She looked like there wasn't need for further explanations, so he didn't say anything else and followed her to the upper floor. In order to do that, they took a monumental wooden stair that led to the sleeping area. They arrived in a long hallway. Two series of wooden doors opened on both sides. However, François realized it wasn't long enough, so he had to be only half of the building. They made sure whoever slept in this wing didn't have direct access to the other half, which probably was where the owner's own bedroom was.

"Please, this is your room," said Annette opening the first door on the right.

François entered the bedroom and smiled. It was simple, but it looked fantastic. A nice window opened on the garden, letting the light come in from outside. There was a large bed, a few wooden pieces of furniture, and even a private bathroom with all necessary comforts.

"I'll let you rest, Mr. Dupont," said Annette. "If you need anything, you'll only need to press the button next to your nightstand. Dinner is at eight sharp. We'll be waiting for you downstairs."

He thanked her and started unpacking his clothes, but then he remembered he hadn't asked for an internet connection. He opened the door, but of course the maid had already disappeared. He decided it wasn't so urgent. He'd ask for it later. So, he finished folding his clothes, he took a long warm shower, and he took a nap to forget his unpleasant journey to the island.

When he woke up it was almost half past seven, and he cursed himself for forgetting to set an alarm. He rushed to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. Luckily, he'd already decided what to wear, so he quickly put on a pair of dark blue jeans, a white turtleneck, and an elegant navy-blue blazer. He checked his look in front of the tall mirror next to the door. He was satisfied by the result, even though he'd never really liked his body and face. He felt too small and too thin. No matter how much he trained, there was no way he could build some muscles. The only thing he liked were his light brown hair, which he kept short and tidy, and his deep blue eyes, a trait he'd received from his Alsatian mother.

He was relieved to see it was still five to eight. He took a deep breath and left the room, realizing he didn't have a key. Apparently, privacy wasn't included in the package. It was silly thought, anyway, of course the maid had a master key, and apart from that they were in the middle of the Canadian sea, far away from any sign of civilization. Both reassured and upset by this idea, he went down the stairs and reached the beautiful living room he'd already visited. Someone had lit the fireplace, which made the atmosphere even nicer than before. He took his time admiring the fire dancing in front of him, until a voice made him startle.

"Good evening," said a female voice.

He turned back, looking for her. It was a young woman in her early twenties, and she was sitting on one the burgundy sofas. She'd been embroidering, and her work was still resting on her lap. She seemed to be of mixed European-African ancestry and was very pretty, which by now made him think being beautiful had to be a requirement to be on the island. She had long raven hair, beautiful face traits, and a very slender body. She was wearing a light violet dress that came down to just above her knees and a pair of matching kitten heels.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, Mr. Dupont" she added, looking at him with a sad expression. "My name's Catherine, I'm Mr. Kassé's niece."

"Nice to meet you," he said, crossing the room to come near her.

"Dinner will be ready in a minute," she said, gently placing her embroidery work on the sofa next to her. "My uncle is very demanding about punctuality."

François shivered at the thought he'd just risked arriving late. He looked at the girl, amazed by the grace she had. She stood up with a single fluid move. It looked like she was dancing instead of moving like a normal human being. The pleated skirt of her dress fluttered around her thighs, making her appear indeed like a ballerina. She noticed his astonishment, and for the first time she gave him a sincere smile.

"This dress really suits you," said François smiling back at her.

For some reason, the compliment didn't have the effect he hoped for. Instead, her face turned very serious, she came closer and whispered something in his ear.

"Save me," she said.

He looked at her with disbelief, and he wanted to ask a thousand questions, but before he could do that, Isabelle came into the room. She didn't wear her fancy skirt suit anymore, but the new outfit looked even hotter. She was all dressed up in a sequin silver minidress that hugged her thin body like a glove. If possible, she was wearing a pair of matching stiletto high heels that looked even taller than her previous ones.

"Good evening, Mr. Dupont," she said with her usual warm smile. "I'm happy to see you've already met Catherine. I hope you managed to regain your strength after your journey."

"Yes, I'm a little jet-lagged, but I'm fine, thank you," he said briefly, still confused by Catherine's strange words.

"Please, follow me," continued Isabelle. "Dinner is ready."

They left the living room, went through the long hallway, and crossed the entrance hall, entering the mansion's left wing. Annette, still smiling and dressed in the same maid uniform, greeted them with a curtsey just outside of the dining room.

"Good evening, monsieur et mesdames," she said politely.

They walked into the room, which was as large and splendid as the rest of the house. In the middle there was a long wooden table all set for dinner. There were four places, but the owner was still nowhere to be seen.

"Please, take place," said Annette brightly. "Mr. Kassé will join you in a minute."

She showed him his place at the head of the table. He realized Kassé would sit in front of him, at the other end. Isabelle took place at his right side and Catherine at his left. He noticed how both of them looked quite upset. It was difficult to define how and why, but he knew there was something off. The false smiles on their faces couldn't fool him.

"François Dupont!" said a deep male voice suddenly, making him startle.

He jumped on his feet and turned around to face the man. Hassan Kassé, well dressed in an expensive black suit, smiled and shook his hand.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Kassé," said François politely.

Still in his early forties, Kassé looked healthy and energic. He was incredibly tall, and he probably trained regularly, because his body was toned and muscular. His dark piercing eyes seemed to have the ability of reading his mind.

"Welcome to my residence," said the man with an obscure smile. "You're the first journalist ever admitted to the island. Let's toast to this."

François followed his lead and took his glass. It was a delicious French champagne, much too expensive for his usual dinners. Isabelle and Catherine took a sip too, even though they somehow didn't look at ease. They avoided Mr. Kassé's eyes, and instead kept looking at François like if they were expecting something to happen.

"I'm sure you'd like to know why I chose you," said Kassé after taking a second sip. "Truth is, I have an important project in mind, and I hope you'll be able to help me achieve it."

François didn't interrupt, eager to find out more.

"You see, I'm sure half of France already knows how much I love to preserve my privacy. And yet, I think it's time to really tell my story. I need someone, a trusted person, to act as an official intermediary between me and the world. I'm not talking about a silly article. I'm looking for someone who'll keep working for me. A spokesperson if you prefer."

François widened his eyes. He'd come there thinking he'd just have to write a piece for his newspaper, so the offer was really unexpected. He waited for the man to continue, and in the meantime he kept sipping his delicious champagne.

"You'll have to leave your current job, of course, but I can offer you much better conditions. All I ask in return is integrity, reliability, and professionality."

"It's... it's a ver generous offer, Mr. Kassé," managed to answer François after a few seconds of hesitation. "I didn't expect anything like this."

"I know, but I want you to take it very seriously," said Kassé gravely. "I don't play games."

"But... but why me?" he dared to ask. "I'm only at the beginning of my career."

"That's exactly why I chose you," confirmed Kassé with another strange smile. "I don't want a lazy old journalist. I need a young person with an open mind and fresh ideas."

François didn't know what to say, so he just finished his champagne, hoping to stumble into the right words.

"You know, I was surprised to see how perfect you are for this position," said Kassé instead. "You're twenty-four, you don't have siblings, and your few relatives live far away from Paris. You're only 168 cm tall, you weigh barely 65 kg, your hair and eyes are beautiful, and you've got such delicate features. Exactly like I wanted you."

François felt his blood freezing in his veins. The sudden change in Kassé's tone had been impossible to miss. He looked at Isabelle and Catherine, but both were staring at the table, perfectly still like pretty little statues.