The Farm Ch. 01

CHAPTER 1:

WELCOME TO THE FARM

My name is Robert Spilman. I used to be a successful businessman. Owned my own company, employed three hundred staff in eight offices around the world. I was a jet-setter, loving the rich life -- and making a little more money every year. Men wanted to be me, and girls wanted to be with me: they came and went, each one more pleasurable or attractive than the last -- a never-ending run of gorgeous women who between them catered to my every desire.

I had returned from a three week break on my pleasure yacht, Lightly Salted, when they nabbed me. A nondescript white van, which pulled up on the promenade beyond the harbour as I exited. I caught a glimpse of burly men dressed in black, didn't even get a chance to read their number plate or shout out before a bag was slung over my head and I felt myself being pushed into the cool, empty interior of the van's rear space. A sharp jab in my arm, and my last thought as I fell unconscious was that I'd be standing up that blonde again -- only this time, I had a reasonable excuse.

A pity she would never hear it.

I had planned on retiring in my mid fifties; if my company share prices continued to rise I could have been a man of leisure in my mid forties.

But that all stopped. All of the desirable women, the luxury yachts, the extended holidays, trips around the world, all the business deals and enterprising entrepreneurialism -- that all ended the day I was kidnapped.

My life ended, the day I was taken to the Farm.

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What's next are flashes of consciousness in a long, landless sea of haze; bursts of coherence in what might have been weeks of sedated therapies and surgeries -- all the big things and the little things that go into completing a transition.

I remember seeing surgeons inspecting my face, felt their probing fingers -- gentle, questing, surgically aware digits -- pushing against my lips, my eyes, folding my ears, tracing lines against my body with thick felt-tip pens.

Needles prick the skin at the back of my head, transparent tubing slithers into my arms and writhes with every uncoordinated movement. There is blood and fluid and warmth coursing through my veins.

There are waves and waves of warmth passing over my torso and legs. In short tranches my face feels like it is superheated and then instantly cooled. Throughout this process, the hair on my head grows and grows.

My neck and throat become sore, my chest feels like it is bursting -- and then nothing. Nothing but a shallow subsistence, a sort of buoyant, bobbing peacefulness.

I wake up, and I see white ceiling tiles.

I feel heavy, like I've been lifted out of the water after having been in it for so long. There is the remnant feeling of a pressure on my chest.

I lift my hand to rub it, and get the weirdest sense of dislocation when I catch a bump that was never there before. When I look down, I see one of the biggest pairs of tits I've ever seen -- only, they're on me.

My heart races as I panic, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Somebody has dressed me. Somebody has dressed me in a tight grey crop top that isn't quite big enough to cover all of my breasts, so that they're only covered to the nipple and jut out a little at the bottom.

My stomach is flat and toned, the waist tighter than I remember -- but my defined abs are gone. In my naval, a silver stud sparkles with a small diamond. Where I'd expect to see pants or jeans, I see denim hotpants with frayed cuffs. The straps of a hot pink g-string peek out of the hotpants' waistband, and now I realise I can feel the g-string has slid over my butt crack. Feels strange.

But, oh fuck—

Now I start to panic. Because, if somebody has given me tits, maybe they have taken away my dick too...?

I sit up and reach forwards, seeing long, bleached-blonde hair tumble into my view, and feeling two large hoop earrings wobble in my ears.

I can see my smooth, hairless legs -- and I unbutton the hotpants, zip down the short fly, and reach inside—

I see my thin hands, hot pink nail polish and longer nails than I'm used to -- but I also see my dick, nestled inside the g-string's thin material.

I breathe such a long sigh of relief.

My dick looks smaller than I remember, and when I touch it, it's so much more sensitive than it ever used to be.

Within seconds I'm hard, and I can't help but rub it. I have to lay back, the pleasure is so intense. I lift up my free hand, tempted to stroke one of my breasts -- but should I? Where am I? Who has done this to me? These questions are lost as a wave of warmth rushes through me, fanning out from my groin and filling up the extremes of my body. My nipples tingle; my toes and fingertips feel prickly.

I grab a handful of breast under the crop top, then start tweaking a nipple. My hair is bunching up on either side of me as I writhe on the bed, rubbing my smooth legs against each other, feeling my taut belly and great firm tits as I squeeze my cock.

Precum is dribbling out of me uncontrollably, running down my hand. I swap hands, and bring the wet one up to my lips, where I lick it off -- sucking on my fingers—

And with my fingers in my mouth my body arches and I cry out, as a thick spurt of cum gushes from my cock and shoots onto my belly and up onto my big tits. But even that is not full release, and I continue to tug my dick, teasing out another ejaculation that splatters onto my breasts.

With both hands I cup my breasts and rub them against each other, feeling them slide easily against each other as my cum trickles down between them.

It's a few moments before my breathing slows and my heart stops racing. Looking about the room I spot a box of tissues and stand up to get a couple. As I'm wiping the cum off my body I catch sight of myself in a full-length mirror -- and get that strange sense of dislocation again.

Because the person looking back at me is the hottest girl I've ever seen.

Nice long legs, tanned, a cute little ass covered beautifully by those denim hotpants, flat belly, thin arms -- fucking great tits, big and firm, long blonde hair with some darker roots coming through... but my face. My face...

I was totally different. Somebody had really gone to town on me. I could recognise my eyes, but that was about all. My brow was softer, my nose thinner, cheekbones higher, lips fuller, jaw-line and chin more feminine.

Fuck it, I even started getting hard, looking at myself in the mirror as I wiped my own cum off my belly and from between my breasts. What size were these anyhow? D cup?

There was a small bin that I put the tissues into, but I needed to change my top and as there was no place to put it I dropped it onto the floor.

The room was simple: bed, sink, what looked like a toilet/shower combo unit, and a five-drawer dresser.

The top drawer was full of sex toys -- dildos, strap-ons, whips, lubricant, condoms, beads, a vast range of stuff I recognised and some things I didn't.

The other drawers had clothes in them.

I found a white crop top and put it on. It was also tight, and my tits jutted below it.

I stood, looking at myself in the mirror, hardly daring to believe it and just beginning to wonder again where the hell I was and who had done this to me, when the door to my room slid aside and a woman entered.

First impressions are important, and this woman understood that.

She was not a nurse.

She was dressed in black latex clothing (corset, thong, fishnet stockings, thigh-high boots), and carried a coiled whip in one hand. Her hair was dark and long, tied back; her makeup is smoky around the eyes, her lips a glistening dark cherry that part to show perfect, white teeth.

'Good morning, Georgie,' she smiles, the door closing behind her with an electric swish.

'My name is Robert,' I say -- and shock myself at how high my voice sounds; at how feminine it is.

She nods and raises her eyebrows. 'No,' she says slowly. 'Your name is Georgie Suxcock.'

'Like fuck it is!'

'Anger will get you nowhere,' she says calmly. 'Now sit down.'

I do as she suggests, sitting on the edge of the bed. My breasts are heavy, so I have to put my hands on the bed behind me to feel comfortable, which makes them jut out further. I try not to think about them, though they're looming in the peripheral of my vision.

She introduces herself as one of the managers of the Fun Farm: a place where idle businessmen and multi-millionaires come to relax and realise their sexual fantasies.

'Of course,' she goes on, 'the Farm needs new blood every now and then. This is how we attract new clientele or revitalise our existing customer base.' She looked at me sharply. 'You are our most recent acquisition. You like your new body, I see,' she grinned. I blushed, feeling shocked and ashamed. She shrugged. 'All of the dorm rooms are monitored' -- pointing to a CCTV stub on the ceiling -- 'and that will look good in your portfolio.' She winked at me.

'You have been subjected to the most advanced feminisation surgeries the market can provide. Your face is still yours, but with significant modifications: higher cheekbones, a more feminine chin and jaw line -- a shapelier nose, softer brow... oh, the facial work is very impressive.

'You'll notice your tighter waist (flexible carbon strands buried beneath the skin -- an emerging technology, but fully tested at the Farm, I assure you), a fuller, firmer derrier, and of course, those breasts.

'Only your limbs remain unchanged. Well, apart from laser hair removal. But I think you will agree that the changes we have made are for the better, no?'

'What do you want from me? Why have you done this to me?'

She shrugged again. 'I think I can tell you... One of your competitors hired us to take care of you. And so, we have.'

One of my competitors did this to me? But why? Who?

She leaned closer to me, her eyes large and authoritative. 'Do not misunderstand me, Georgie: you are our property now. There is no escape from the Farm.' She leaned back, still giving me the stern eye. 'You will service our clients, suck on their warm cocks until they spunk inside of you. You will take their throbbing dicks deep in your ass.'

'I'll never do it! Never!'

She grinned, thinly.

'Oh, you'll do it. They all do it, in the end. We conduct surveillance on all our potential acquisitions. We didn't just snatch you from the street,' she chuckled. 'We watched you, learned you -- came to understand your psyche.

'You were a skirt-chasing ladies man, always with one girl or another hanging off your shoulder, always looking for a beautiful woman to please you.

'Well, for every ten men there are like that are three who don't just seek out sluts and loose women: they want to be those sluts. They want to be attractive to other men, want to be fucked by them and feel the jiggle of their breasts as they bounce on rock hard cocks.' She smiled. 'Welcome to the Fun Farm. You have a couple of hours before lunch. At noon, your room door will unlock and you will follow the corridor to the refectory. There, you will dine with the other acquisitions. I hope you have a pleasant time here Georgie, but... well, that is up to you.'

She gave me a last assessing look, seemed to reach a conclusion and nodded before turning sharply on her heels and exiting the room. The door opened for her and closed after her with a faint click!, sealing me in.

Still on the bed, I raised my hands up to my face; my eyes were prickling, but I resisted the strong urge to cry. I had been in bad situations before -- nothing like this though, that must be said -- but I was certain there would be some way to get out of here, some way to escape.

I rummaged through the drawers, but found nothing other than slutty clothes -- skimpy tops, hotpants and boyshorts, stockings, skinny jeans and tight leather pants.

I went up to the mirror and stared into it, trying to see myself behind the surgery -- trying to find the old masculine me, who had been muscular and popular with the ladies. Was what that woman said true? Could it be true?

I didn't know. I felt drained, and leaned against the cool mirror glass. It clicked, and I felt a surge of panic and relief and hope all mixed together as I thought I might have found a secret passageway leading out of this prison -- but when I swung the door open I found simply more clothes, and a dozen or so pairs of shoes and boots.

I flicked through them, wondering if there was anything here at all that would actually cover my belly, when I found the schoolgirl outfit.

I've always had a thing for schoolgirl outfits, but very few of the women I've been with have been open to the idea of dressing up (the ones I felt ok mentioning it to, anyway).

It was so tempting to see how it would look on this hot body, and yet... They would be watching me. Maybe they would think wearing the clothes meant that I had given in, that I had fallen for their trap.

Fuck it, I thought. This is my body.

I took off the hotpants and crop top, lay them on the bed. The outfit had a very short pleated black skirt, which I pulled on. Black knee-high stockings, and black knee-high boots with about four inch heels. The blouse was short, cropped but still covering my breasts; I could only do up the bottom two buttons, and my big breasts loomed at the opening. There was a stripy school tie, which I wore very loosely. There were bunches for my hair, which I did up into pigtails.

When I started closing the wardrobe door I already felt hot and sexy -- when I saw my reflection in the mirror I nearly jizzed in my g-string.

I was about to start jacking off when suddenly a hidden intercom chimed and a voice said,

'Georgie Suxcock, you have a visitor. Please prepare.'

I saw myself blush, wondering who the fuck it could be. I panicked, not sure what I was supposed to do. Would it be somebody I knew? How could it be? Would it be my competitor? Oh shit—!

I threw my hotpants and crop top inside the wardrobe, closed the door and sat on the bed -- waiting, watching myself breathing heavily in the mirror.

I jumped when the door chimed -- a different tone to the intercom, I noticed -- and the door swished aside.

There was a big guy there, all muscle and masculinity. He wore camo pants and a white tee that was tight enough to show his carven pecs and sculpted abs. A dark crew cut completed the military look.

When he saw me he smiled broadly. He was chewing gum.

'Fuck,' he drawled. 'I gotta get me a piece of that.'

He stepped into the room, and the door closed shut behind him.