Taken - Pt. 02

Even so, it took a further few minutes before the client could get any part of the shaft below the helmet inside of me, or to start thrusting in and out. Once again, I had to fight hard, with his encouragement, to relax my muscles and admit him. And even then, it was tough to take.

There was a certain amount of pain, but it was more the feeling of being filled to bursting that unnerved me. I tried my best to tolerate it, but I could not prevent little whimpers escaping my throat each time he pushed a little further inside me, nor tears leaking from my eyes as the pressure built.

My obvious distress elicited words of both concern and encouragement from the man penetrating me. Yet at the same time, as considerate as he was trying to be, I could tell just how turned on he was by being the first to fuck me in this way. He was getting his money's worth, that seemed certain.

Gradually, I found the pressure easing somewhat, and for the first time the older man was able to sink a full six inches or so inside me. He held it in there for a few seconds, then shifted his weight forward until he was propped on his arms with his head above mine, my splayed, fishnet-clad legs now resting on his broad shoulders. His grin was fierce and possessive as he began to thrust in and out, each stroke widening my passage.

As the physical discomfort receded, and I stopped worrying that something inside was about to tear, the experience took on a different character. Two very different feelings began to steal over me.

One was a kind of existential dread. I was being fucked by a man, and not just physically penetrated, but in some deeper way possessed.

When I had been giving Marissa blowjobs, even passively as she fucked my face, I had somehow felt in a measure of control, that I could at any time close my mouth or move my head aside. But now, with a much bigger and heavier man pinning me down, thrusting himself into my defenceless ass, there could be no doubt whatsoever. I was his plaything, his fucktoy. He owned me. I was his to take and use in every way he chose.

But there was also, perversely, a growing sense of stimulation. No doubt I'd been conditioned in some way by the vibrating plug I'd been forced to use. But I could not deny that the thick phallus pressing inside of me was creating pleasure as well as discomfort.

And that feeling only increased when the older man lowered his head and started licking and sucking my nipples, which quickly came erect under his attention. While I had done the same with Marissa, she had not reciprocated. So it was only now that I was discovering that this part of my body too was capable of sending pleasure signals to my groin. Whether anything had been done to me to produce that effect, or the reaction was entirely natural, I simply couldn't say.

There was no simple way to reconcile my feelings about what was happening. And there didn't need to be either, I decided. My only objective right now was to get this over as quickly as I could, and preferably not to have to watch myself being fucked.

A sudden flash of inspiration showed me how I could do that, even though it sent a flush of embarrassment coursing through my body at what I would need to say.

"Daddy?" I said tremulously. The client lifted his head from my nipple and slowed his assault somewhat. "What is it honey?"

I hesitated, then went on breathlessly: "Do you think you could fuck me from behind? Because I... I want to be your bitch, Daddy. Please take me like a bitch!"

For a moment I thought I'd overdone it. Yet his reaction was immediate and enthusiastic, and I could see I'd lit a fire under him, if it wasn't already burning.

In no time at all he had climbed off me, and positioned me at the bottom of the bed on all fours with my rear angled up. Standing behind me, he slipped back inside my rear and began to impale me as hard and as fast as he could manage, his belly now slapping hard against my skinny buttocks.

The plan had worked, as he was clearly now going to finish sooner -- and I wouldn't have to watch him do so. But what I hadn't banked on was that he wasn't going to be alone.

Something about the change of angle meant that he was now hitting the magic spot inside me with every stroke. As what undeniably felt like a building orgasm started to near, I realised that I had slipped a hand between my legs and was frantically rubbing my unresponsive penis.

As my climax neared, something made me squeal "I'm coming Daddy," almost as if I needed his approval, though whether he heard or not I wasn't sure.

My orgasm felt stronger than on the previous occasion with Marissa, though it was still nothing like as intense as when I had last masturbated, back before my captivity and transformation. This time I could feel the cum oozing from my ruined cock, though once again there was precious little of it.

I had little time to dwell on it, however, because the client was nearing his own and far more substantial release. And with a sickly sense of shame, I realised that I wanted him to come, and not just to end this perverted sex into which I had been forced. I actually wanted to know what it felt like for a man to come inside me.

The experience was certainly dramatic. The guttural noises the older man made were impressively loud. And there was something bizarrely satisfying in the way he clutched my hips and pressed as deeply inside me as his fleshy spear would reach, held it, then thrust again and again until finally shuddering to a halt.

With each push, I knew, sperm was spurting from his cock, filling my ass with his seed. And yet I couldn't actually feel that creamy injection... and somehow, I knew, I had wanted to.

The client took several heaving breaths, before grunting heavily and collapsing on top of me. I waited for him to say something, but there was simply a long wheeze, then a silence broken only the sound of my lungs sucking in air. I could feel my heartbeat hammering in my chest, and his swollen member still pulsing gently inside me, but beyond that, there was no motion.

I was about to ask him if he was okay when his weight shifted and he started to roll off me, but then stopped. He was still held in place by the organ lodged in my rear. I wondered why he didn't simply pull it out, then froze as I heard someone else behind me mutter a curse. It was a voice I half recognised, but couldn't place.

I tried to twist around to see who it was, but I was pinned in place. Then, to my astonishment, I felt hands on my backside, trying to pry the cock loose from my tight passage. It took quite a bit of effort, together with some internal pushing on my part, but eventually it came free. And then the man's weight came off me and there was a muffled thump as he toppled off the bed and hit the carpeted floor.

Finally able to rise, I peered down at the crumpled figure. "Oh my god," I exclaimed, still panting, "did he have a heart attack?"

I knelt down to see if he was still breathing, but then recoiled in horror as I realised there was a knife buried in the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand slipped over my mouth.

"Not a heart attack, no," said the newcomer drily. "But no need to yell about it, okay babe? If we're going to get out of here, we need to be quiet, yeah? I'm going to take my hand away, if you promise not to scream the house down."

And now I could place the voice, though it made no sense at all to be hearing it. Nevertheless, I nodded and the hand was removed. Scrambling back to my feet, I stared in amazement at the very last person I expected to see: my girlfriend, Emma.

She was clad in black, tight-fitting clothes which accentuated her slim, athletic figure. The red tresses which usually tumbled to her shoulders were tied back into a tight ponytail. There were bruises on her face and her hands were scuffed and bloodied. Her smile looked different to the one I had come to know and adore, more serious somehow. And there was a tightness and determination around her eyes I'd never seen before.

She held up her hand to forestall the torrent of questions that she could see springing to my lips. "Later, okay Jamie? Let's do the escaping thing first, shall we? Oh wait though." Her smile slipped from her face as quickly as it had arrived. "Something I need to know first. Did he...?" She gestured at the crumpled figure on the floor.

Before I could say anything, however, she answered her own question. Staring between my legs, she shook her head. "Oh, right, he did, didn't he?"

I followed her gaze and saw the steady stream of cum dripping from my behind, some of it running down my thighs to stain my stockings. I gave a mute nod, understanding her query. The strange thing was that she didn't look disgusted at what had happened, more just annoyed.

"Never mind," she said. "Just put some clothes on and we'll make a move." It said something about my recent conditioning that I didn't even look at the dead client's attire, just found my panties and minidress and put them back on.

"Nice outfit," commented Emma, with a deadpan expression. If she was at all put out by my feminine appearance, she didn't show it -- any more than she'd been disconcerted by finding me underneath a corpse.

As we reached the door, the thought that had been trying to get my attention for the last two minutes finally succeeded. I looked back at the figure on the floor, then at my improbable rescuer. "Did you...?" My voice cracked and I couldn't finish the question. She nodded. "It was him or you, babe," she said quietly. "Now come on, we need to move."

As we left the bedroom, I saw two men on the floor, guards by their outfits, neither of them moving. And as we worked through what proved to be a warren of corridors, we came across several more in the same state. Whether they were dead or just unconscious, I couldn't tell, and I had no inclination to stop and check.

"I've scrambled their security system," said Emma, "but we don't have long before they realise that we're here. Now where is that...? Oh right, here, come on!"

She hustled me through an unmarked door, then up a flight of steps that seemed to be some sort of fire escape. Behind us, we could hear alarms going off and voices being raised.

The door at the top was solid and didn't budge when my girlfriend tried to open it. Her response was to hammer on it three times in quick succession. From outside, we heard the pattern repeated.

"Stand back Jamie," instructed Emma and drew me to one side. With a crash, the door opened inwards and a black-clad figure beckoned us to go through.

We emerged into a quiet, dimly lit street. Whether it was evening or the middle of the night, I had no way of knowing. But spurred on by the commotion behind us, my only focus was to scramble into the back of the van that was clearly waiting for us.

A few seconds later, while I was still trying to buckle myself into the bucket seat to which Emma had directed me, the vehicle was speeding away.

As the seat belt clicked into place, I braced as we took a tight turn, then looked across at my girlfriend. She was busy talking into a phone, too quietly for me to hear over the sound of the engine, but smiled as she caught my eye. When she finished the call, her smile faded as she asked: "You okay?"

I pondered the answer. I was dressed as a woman, in fishnet stockings and heels, with permanent makeup on my face and cum still dripping out of my ass. Cum that had been put there by a man who was now dead, apparently murdered by my girlfriend. A woman I clearly didn't know at all. But at least I was now free -- so that was something at least.

"Okay -- sort of, I guess. But look, what...?" I waved my hands vaguely in the air, unsure what to ask first. I settled on the most immediate questions. "Where are we? And who are you?"

"Nineteenth arrondissement," replied Emma. "So yes, you're still in Paris, but nowhere near where we were meant to be going. I'm sorry it took so long to find you, but you were at a facility we hadn't known about before."

She pursed her lips. "As for me, well, let's just say I have a very particular set of skills. My job was to be with you when you were taken, learn what I could, then come and rescue you as quickly as possible."

"So you knew I was going to be abducted?" I asked, incredulous.

"Knew, no. But we thought it was pretty likely. The organisation that grabbed you? They specialise in trafficking pretty young men who look good as girls, even without surgical enhancement. You wouldn't have known it, but you happen to have facial features and a body shape that don't do much for you as a man, but make you perfect for feminisation. There are some rich men, and even a few women, who are willing to pay a fortune to have that kind of toy to play with."

I shook my head in wonder as she continued.

"So we found out this firm has a way to tap into the security system at certain airports. They use facial recognition software to identify potential targets, then intercept whatever car has been sent to pick them up and substitute their own. That's what happened to us."

"So you deliberately used me as bait?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," replied Emma, though her expression didn't suggest any contrition. "But it was too good a chance to find out where they were operating from in Paris. And if it's of any consolation, my colleagues have been able to rescue quite a few other boys from that place -- some of them much younger than you."

Despite my mounting anger at hearing how I had been used, that at least was good news -- especially if it meant Marissa was now safe. I thought about asking for confirmation that she'd been rescued, but decided that I wasn't ready to start talking about how I'd come to know her, much less what she might mean to me.

Closing my eyes wearily and leaning back against the side of the van, I asked. "So where are we headed now? To the police, I assume. That's who you work for, right? Or are you with a government agency of some kind?"

The mirth that this induced was very far from the reaction I had been expecting. "The police?" chuckled Emma. "Sorry, cupcake, but we aren't going to the police. You're way too valuable to the people who are paying me to just give you away. Same with the others."

A scowl passed across her face. "Of course, you'd have been worth a lot more if I'd got there before that fat fucker popped your cherry. Still, you and the rest of the merchandise should fetch more than enough to cover the costs of this operation."

I was staring at her in horror. "So you're not...?"

"Not the police. Not government. Oh, and not your girlfriend either." She smirked. "Though if you'd been looking like you do now when we first met, you probably would have been. I'm into girls who rock fishnets and heels."

She laughed again. "But listen, if you don't like how you currently look, don't worry, your new owners are much more willing to make changes. If you're very good, they might even ask you what size tits you'd prefer. Probably also change that name, while they're fattening up that thin ass. What was it again, Lori?"

"Lexi," I said faintly, as the van decelerated and came to a halt. The door opened to reveal we were in some kind of warehouse.

"Oh yeah, sorry, Lexi. Cute name, you gotta admit. You can probably keep that then."

She got up and jumped out of the van, then paused as a thought struck her. "Unless they're selling you to someone in the Middle East, that is. They have all kinds of rules about what the girls in their harems can be called. Though you're pretty enough they'll probably make you some kind of princess!"

She grinned and held out her hand to me. "Well, come on then Lexi. Time to find out what excitements your new life has in store for you..."

THE END (for now...)