tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersThe Club of Fools Ch. 08

The Club of Fools Ch. 08

bysublocked©

The usual Author's Notes as before:

(1) This is fiction;

(2) One should never start a book at chapter 8;

(3) Jason is not being exploited by anyone except himself;

(4) Slavery is illegal. That does not mean it is not real. But this is just a story;

(5) Do NOT EVER leave anyone in bondage as severe as that depicted herein without supervision;

(6) This story has scenes in it that will be upsetting to most, interesting to some, and erotic to an even fewer number of people. I don't expect many readers.

(7) As usual, no masochists were harmed in the writing of this story, although the author has spent some time in a sleep sack and sensory deprivation hood, and it does tend to change you...


*****

Victoria, Suzie, and Jodi sat on the bondage furniture far enough away from Jason that there would be no way he could hear them. They drank wine, enough of it to want more, but not enough to be sorry they had too much. They watched Jason gradually stop swinging and periodically one of them would get up to give him another push. They spoke softly in hushed giggling tones, knowing that Jason was essentially blind, deaf, and dumb within the leather sleep sack which held him like a tight cocoon.

Jodi whispered, "I can't believe we're doing this. I wonder if his fantasies have him high as a kite, or is he terrified? Or maybe it's both. There was a moment there when I wanted to stop it; he looked so freaked." She remembered her electric touch to his cheek before the sensory deprivation hood was pulled over his head.

Victoria patted her knee gently and reassured her, "Jodi, I know these people, people like him. Sure he's scared, but he's loving every second of it. He loves to be controlled, especially when he's dressed in women's clothes. Deep down, he's ashamed of wearing the corset and bra etc., but being in bondage like this removes his choice, so in a way it sets him free to enjoy the feeling of the clothes. He interprets it as being "forced" to wear the clothing, so how could he possibly be responsible for doing it? Weird psychology isn't it?"

Jodi asked, "Not weird actually, once it's explained that way. How do you know all this stuff Vickie?"

"I've made it my business to know it, and much more. You might think I'm cruel, and I am for the most part, but I capitalize on men's sexual inadequacies and shame of their abnormal behavior. Once I have them hooked, they pay me a great deal of money to nurture their fetishes and to be discreet. Eventually though they find that once they come to terms with their fantasies through my constant pressure, they find a type of freedom. And once they find freedom, I set them free as well, if I can find someone to take over my nurturing. So, yes, I use them, but there's a healing here too, and at the end of the day rarely have any of my slaves regretted being my slave."

They sat in silence sipping wine for a few moments. Then Jodi said, "You have six others, right?"

"Yes."

"Ever get tired of this? You know, the domination, the work it takes to dominate?"

"Ha! Never! Each one of my "clients" wants to be my slave, but the illusion is that they don't want it. It's such a fascinating game."

"How many have you had over the years?" Jodi asked, intrigued.

"Hmm, I'd say about twenty."

"Have any of them been unable to break out and get someone else to take care of them?"

Victoria wrinkled her brow in worry. "Just one," she said, "You've seen him. He likes to be an adult baby. Poops in his diapers and everything. Yuck! I can't seem to find anybody to take him on, so I guess he'll be paying me $1,000 a week forever. Not a bad downside I guess. But he's a pain in the ass...high maintenance. I shouldn't have taken him on. But I'd never get rid of him, just leave him high and dry; that'd be cruel. Cross dressers are the best, the easiest to control. Men have a thing about being men, and any suggestion of femininity within them is terrifying to them."

"So, are you always fishing for them?"

"Oh God yes! In fact I have a rubber doll fetishist that I service right now and I'm almost ready to trap him."

Jodi giggled. "What? He likes to play with dolls?"

Victoria said, "Hell no! He IS the doll. He wears a thin latex suit from his ankles to his neck, flesh-tone, with built-in breasts and a device that hides his penis, turning it into a vagina. And he likes to wear freakish female latex masks or hoods which lace up the back of his head, covered by a wig. Very expensive fetish. Oh and he loves bondage and discipline as well. I'll drug him soon and get a full disclosure video. As always, he doesn't understand yet where he's going with his fetish, but he's about to."

"Dangerous game Vickie," Jodi said gravely, "Aren't you afraid it'll all come crashing down on you sometime and you'll go to jail? I mean, one false move and the house of cards would come down, wouldn't it?"

Victoria appeared slightly uncomfortable with the question, but after a pause, she smiled and said, "Unquestionably. I think that's what makes it exciting. I'll let you know a little secret of mine: I actually fantasize about creating slaves out of these guys. Years ago, when I thought I'd make the fantasies a reality, I knew I had to be very careful. After all, I'm quite a sick lady and I should be put away." She winked at Jodi and continued, "I make my stranglehold on my targets absolute though. I do my homework. I find people that WANT to be treated like in their fantasies. I've learned that if they don't want it, it might not work out in my favor, and I might get exposed, even if they themselves get exposed."

"Absolute stranglehold?" Jodi said, puzzled, "How do you know one of them won't overpower you and /or even kill you when you try this on them? I mean, they could you know."

"Jodi, you're not listening! Logically one would think you're right I guess, but it hasn't worked out that way in any of the cases. My website attracts these guys, usually the ones that WANT to be dominated by a strong female. The first thing I have to be sure of is their shame and embarrassment of their fetishes, and I reinforce that to keep them mentally weak and addicted to me for delivering their fantasies. Having someone else know about them besides me (for example, the general public) would be too much to bear. And when I show them the videos I've compiled, I make sure to tell them where the videos are stored. I make that up as I go; sometimes telling them that I've sent copies to all my kinky friends, sometimes saying the videos are on a website that I haven't activated yet. And if anything should happen to me, the videos get "discovered", creating the perfect motive for killing me. And last but not least, I have Dougie. He's bisexual and loves the perks of being my bodyguard."

Suzie stood up suddenly and said, "And I like them too. I'll take care of you to the ends of the earth." Laughing, she said, "New bottle of wine?" She, in contrast to them, was intending to get drunk.

Victoria said thoughtfully, "No, I don't think so. We have some work to do. The baggage over there has to be delivered to its new owner. God, look at him! Isn't that priceless? He can't move a muscle in that bondage. I just love that sleep sack. And that hood...he should be in a state of sensory deprivation delirium by now. He can't move; he can't speak; he can't hear; he can't see; he tastes nothing but his gag; he feels nothing but the overwhelming compression of the corset and the sleep sack. And watch this."

She went to Jason and blocked his breathing tube with her finger for about fifteen seconds. The sleep sack rippled slightly in a convulsion of sorts; there was nothing much else he could do.

"And I control whether he lives or dies even. I know I'm one sick pussycat, but that just makes me hot. And here's the really interesting part: I guarantee you that he's hard as a rock in there. He wants and fears this so badly."

Victoria returned to her seat, leaving Jason hopeful but unfulfilled, and resumed sipping her wine. "I hope you're learning from this Jodi, cuz tomorrow he's yours. And if you don't remind him of his lowly status, you'll lose him. Guilt and shame has to be reinforced and harnessed."

"I think I understand that now," Jodi said thoughtfully, "But I must admit I'm a bit apprehensive; he's high maintenance."

"Sure he is. No doubt about that, but just think of the fantasy value for you. You like to feminize men for some perverted reason. And don't forget one important detail: he's rich; his family's rich."

Jodi smiled, "I know, but how does one reconcile "love" with treating him like this? I may have trouble with that."

"Then you'll lose him. Get this through your head, he wants to be treated this way. He absolutely must be treated this way. You see, once you've tasted the erotica of this lifestyle, you can't go back; there's no reward in going back, just boredom."

Jodi simply said, "Hmm..." And they sat for the next half hour finishing the bottle of wine, saying little, just thinking. It was 9:30 when they went to work.

Jason awoke with a jerk. He was being carried. His head bumped on something, and he felt himself descending rapidly but was caught. He was placed down into some space and his legs were forced to bend slightly in order to fit within it. He heard a thud and felt a sudden pressure change in his ears with the noise. It sounded like a car trunk being closed. He yelled but there was no one to hear its translation through the gag and to the end of the breathing tube. The next indeterminate and seemingly infinite amount of time was spent being jostled and rolled with the movement of the vehicle. Wherever he was being taken, it was a very long way away. But then again, he had lost all means of measuring time; a minute could have been an hour or a day. Fantasies and dreams and reality all merged into one entity; there was no perceptible difference between sleep and wakefulness, and after a while he didn't care, because he couldn't care. With choice removed like this, how could he care? The reality was that he was here, and that was all he had. Perceptions changed. Pragmatism set in like a heavy sea fog.

He awoke again. Had he been asleep? He wasn't sure. Someone was carrying him again. He was put down somewhere and then pushed sideways, probably into something, he thought. He needed to pee, so he did, the warmth of it entering the catheter bag on his leg. He tested his extremities and found that he could feel everything and that he was actually very comfortable, except for the fact that he could not move. He craved that now.

This had to be some sort of dream, a nightmare. He tried to wake up, but the same things kept repeating, like in a dream. It must be, he thought.

Someone stopped his breathing again, and knowing that it would only be temporary, he didn't panic...at first. This time however, it went on and on as he struggled to pull air through the breathing tube, only resulting in a vacuum inside his leather hood as it compressed on his face even further. He screamed from the depths of his lungs to let whoever it was know that he was suffocating, but he knew that very little noise escaped him. His body started to quiver, and just when he thought he would pass out, there was air. He/she had decided to let him live. As he gasped the beautiful air in, the beautiful coolness of it, never getting enough, he clenched the anal plug and remembered. Somehow he had degenerated to this; he was a slave and had no power. He would be used for the amusement of others. But he knew also that it was his reward to serve, his reward to be bound, his reward to be emasculated, feminized, to have all his secret fantasies realized. He understood the paradoxical nature of this; he had been harnessed, and in being harnessed he felt fully compensated by sexual fantasy, in effect set free.

Who was doing this? It had to be Victoria and Jodi; it just had to be. Any other scenario was inconceivable to him. But what if it wasn't them? They had said goodbye. And it had sounded like a sad and sincere goodbye. Where was he? Now he had been left alone again. How long? Thoughts raced around in tight circles within his mind. He heard his own voice, but he hadn't said anything. He knew he had lost touch with reality but there was nothing he could do about it. His thoughts were all he had. He experimented, taking a deep breath. It didn't work; his bondage was too tight and restrictive, but he did feel the increased compression at his chest. He had actually forgotten that he was wearing silicone breast forms pasted to his chest. Then he remembered the corset, its unyielding firmness. He could only feel its restriction, and he wanted to touch it, but even though his arms and hands were squeezed to his side in the arm sleeves, they might as well have been in another room in relation to their usefulness in touching. He chewed on his gag. It seemed to be made of rubber and it filled his mouth like the fat part of a light bulb. He grunted and laughed. Then he peed again. All the comforts of home. He laughed again. He was maintaining some sort of hold on sanity, but it was slippery. He was losing it.

Interesting colors, swirling, merging colors. Was someone pressing on his eye pads? Sort of felt like that. Had to be that. Now he felt pressure on his penis. His breathing tube was plugged. There was no air. Now there was. It was like a whack-a-mole game at a county fair. Sensations popped up and he tried to identify where they were, what they were and what they meant. He moaned and whined incessantly.

There was indeterminate touching at his groin, a feather of a touch here, a tug there, and then he felt cool air only on his penis. Someone was manipulating it. He felt the suction as the external catheter was removed and then felt the coolness of his penis being washed, felt the hotness as it was taken into someone's mouth.

He begged to be allowed to come. Surely they could hear his voice begging. He could hear it. Couldn't they understand? He dreamed his mouth was free of the gag. But no, that wasn't real, was it? Absolute confusion of the senses overwhelmed his mind with imaginings of reality. He tried to voice and bend words around the gag but was reduced to chest-deep grunts. He tried to bring his body up to meet the persistent pleasure, but there was no control, no movement permitted by his cocoon. His grunts diminished to whimpers and squeals as he resigned himself to waiting and hoping.

In giving up, he found peace; his body relaxing as if he was floating in space. He heard a never-ending high pitched squeal or whimper in the middle of his limited awareness, and knew its origin was his own being, but he felt somehow separated from it. Then the feel and the sound of him merged into a pulsating primal shudder which consumed his remaining sentience.

Now! He was past the point of no return as he ejaculated into the mouth, that mouth. Whose mouth, he wondered? His contractions lasted forever and his sphincter squeezed the menace of the anal plug. He heard what he thought was a little girl's squeal. It was him, and suddenly that awareness made him embarrassed. He rested and tried to resume his normal breathing but the breathing tube was never wide enough when he really, really needed air. He sucked in panic.

As he gasped through it, there was periodic restriction, inconsistent pulses of air. It was an odd sensation of not completely closing it off, just a baffle of some sort. Then he tasted it, salty, his own ejaculate. Someone was forcing him to pull it in with his breathing; there was no choice. The tube sputtered and burped with the flow of the fluid until it was all clear and he had swallowed all of it, the delicious air now flowing freely.

Then nothing. He felt the cool air still at his penis and tasted the salty semen in his mouth, and waited. Forever, or a minute. He didn't know.

What followed was an eternity of twisting and gyrating colors and imaginings of things happening, or not. He was a time traveller, where time didn't matter. That was the odd thing about time; when you traveled through it, the measurement of it became less important, although the passing of it did.

Someone was fumbling at the base of his neck. The stiff collar was removed. His head was lifted while the lock was undone at the hasp at the base of his neck. The hood was unlaced and pulled off, the final result being the removal of his mouth gag with a pop. He felt disappointed that the bondage and isolation were over, that he had to adjust to a new reality, again. Leave me alone, he thought. The room was bright, and he was forced to keep his eyes closed even though he desperately wanted to see who was with him, who controlled his existence with such utter completeness. It had to be Victoria; it had to be.

A female voice said, "Her makeup needs some repairs. But she looks quite good actually. She'll do just fine I think."

He didn't recognize the voice. That made him nervous. This new reality wasn't right. He wanted the hood back on.

A second female voice said, "I like the look of her too. She's going to be a great addition."

To his alarm, he didn't recognize that voice either. "Addition. Addition to what?" he said with a croak, "Who are you? Where am I?"

"Hmm, he's conscious. Don't worry yourself over little details Jason. You're part of our stable of slaves. You'll be well taken care of. You're in Vancouver. You're in a cell, and you'll be here for as long as we choose. You don't have to worry anymore; you won't have any changes again for a very, very long time, no new owners, no new homes. My name's Joanie and this is Stephanie. You'll call both of us Mistress. Is that clear?"

He didn't find a lot of that very reassuring. "What?" He opened one eye suspiciously, "Where's Jodi? Victoria?"

"Victoria doesn't own you anymore. We do. I don't know a Jodi. We bought you for $75,000. That's about $440 a pound, so you're valuable meat. Here, let me put this collar on you so nobody can steal you. You're not going to see the light of day for a very long time, if ever, once this is locked on. Lift your chin."

"What? No! Where's Jodi? You're fucking with me, right? Where's Jodi?" His voice, clearer and stronger now, had raised itself an octave.

The collar was more like a heavy steel clamping device and it was hinged so that when it closed around his neck it rang with a loud clank. Instead of locking it on with a padlock, Joanie used a screwdriver type key to close and secure it. She demonstrated that a thick chain was welded to it, and the other end was welded to a thick d-ring on one of the bars of the cell. The length of the chain was about 20 feet but at the moment his slack was taken up by a diversion of the chain locked to a d-ring which was external to the cell.

"You have a shower and a full bathroom here, a bureau over there with all your girlie wear, and your vanity is right here with all your makeup. From what I understand, you've made the transition; you'll identify as a woman. There were no male clothes supplied so I assume you don't possess any or dress that way anymore. Now for a bit of explanation. I'm a medical doctor and Stephanie is a nurse, and we specialize in the marketing and transition of male slaves. Most people have no idea this market exists, because nobody escapes from it I suppose. But I assure you, it exists, and you're in it."

Jason listened, still bound in the sleep sack, and becoming more and more speechless with horror by the second.

Joanie continued, "Now, I assume Victoria told you what we'll be using you for, but I'll just confirm it. We have an international clientele that pays huge money to use people like you. You'll provide your body and service to each of them in any way he or she wants. Condoms will always be used. All your service will occur in this room, this dungeon. You will never leave this dungeon except in special cases where you'll be enclosed in portable cells for display at certain fetish parties. You'll be gagged, and possibly drugged, during those instances. In return, we'll feed you and you'll receive a new outfit to wear almost every week, lots of new corsets and shoes. Once the hormones have taken full effect and your breasts are developed, you'll get breast implants to maximize your femininity. You'll continue to have a penis. After all, what's a trannie without a penis, right?"

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