Trust Fund Baby Pt. 16

As they simultaneously raised their dainty, manicured hands and placed them on top of their heads, I was assaulted back into reality. Joelle and Nikki definitely met the broad requirements of the descriptive "lady-boys," but they were nothing like the she-males that I had seen in the bars of Manila and Bangkok, on my travels to the Far East.

Asian "lady-boys," in particular the "Katoey" of Thailand, were universally proud of their fully-functioning, often impressively-sized members. Being well-endowed offered them the option of being a top or a bottom in any sexual encounters, which was also referred to as being a "switch."

There would be no such option for the two limp-dicked, emasculated men that stood before me. Clearly identifiable as receivers, or bottoms, their tiny, shriveled cocks were no longer capable of an erection, and their testicles were invisible as they had shrunk to the size of a pea, and retreated back inside their bodies.

"Ah the relentless assault of estrogen," Georgie said with a chuckle, referring presumably to the copious amount of hormones that she had forced into their young bodies over the years.

I swallowed hard as I took in the pitiful sight of my two former partners in crime. The three of us had abused the hell out of Georgie, back when she was a young Freshman going by her schoolgirl nickname of Gina. Now, twenty years later, the only thing that saved me from the complete subjugation that Joe and Nick had been forced to endure, was my financial situation, and the monetary benefit I could provide to Georgie and her numerous causes.

"Tough to believe this one was on the High School Football Team," she added cheerfully, as she pointed her index finger at Nikki. "It was fun breaking him of his overt locker-room masculinity. And what do think of the bitch's new legs?"

As I took in Nikki's perfectly sculpted legs, her lean, toned calves accentuated by the towering high-heels she was still wearing, I had to admit that they were absolutely phenomenal. I was good friends with Nick when he was enrolled at Saddleback College, and I attended several of his practice sessions, in order to get to know the Cheerleaders better.

Nick was the kicker for the team, responsible for extra-point attempts and the punts. Spared from the full-contact aspect of the sport by his role on special teams, Nick was able to focus solely on long-distance kicking, and had developed a very powerful, impressive-looking right leg. How on earth Georgie had transformed that muscular tree-stump into such a gorgeous looking, feminine appendage was beyond me, and the look on my face apparently transmitted my disbelief.

"It took years," Georgie said quietly. "Although the most painful part was the first six months, right Nikki?" she added.

Nikki shuffled around nervously, clearly reluctant to share the story of her transformation.

"Tell him," Georgie ordered. "Own it. Be proud of your accomplishments, girl."

"A lot of hunger pains," Nikki began tentatively, not wanting to relive the event. "And six months in a leg cast," she added, as her face reddened.

"I had to starve the poor bastard for six months," Georgie said cheerfully. "He would beg me for food, but we needed to drop forty pounds quickly. Once the weight was off, his kicking leg was still way too muscular to pass for a woman. He had no symmetry, his right leg being way more developed than his left. So, I put his right leg in a full cast which caused it to atrophy with impressive results. The rest was simply hours on a treadmill and a low-calorie diet."

I had seen enough of this crazy bitch's handiwork and desperately wanted to get the fuck out of there. However, as I knelt by her side, it was apparent that Georgie wasn't done toying with me yet.

"You don't get to walk away scot-free," she said ominously. "I am not going to subject you to the indignities of gender re-assignment. However, you will be taking a permanent reminder of today home with you. Girls, restrain Pete over my desk."

As soon as I processed her words, it invoked a fight or flight response in me. Driven by fear of pain, and deeply ingrained within the human psyche, this reflexive response caused me to stand up quickly, which Georgie interpreted as disobedience. She took one firm stab at the remote resting within the palm of her hand, and the resultant pain in my nuts forced me back to the ground.

"Georgie, please," I begged, as the pain continued to surge through my testicles. "Turn it off."

As I writhed around in agony at her feet, Georgie had a detached look on her face, like a young boy burning an ant for the first time using a magnifying glass. She was aware that I was in a considerable amount of anguish, but seemed incapable of one of the most basic human emotions, empathy. Finally, as I was on the verge of passing out, she lifted her thumb from the remote control, and the pain slowly subsided.

I was unable to move for several moments, my autonomic nervous system temporarily paralyzed by the electrical current.

"Carry him," Georgie instructed the girls, as Joelle and Nikki hoisted me to my feet, and dragged me back to her over-sized desk.

I wasn't in any position to offer resistance and a few seconds later I was bent over the desk, with my hands secured firmly. Georgie seemed to use anticipation to induce mental stress, because she left me in that compromising position for several minutes. When she finally entered the room, she had a spreader-bar, some kind of stencil and a liquid nitrogen canister.

"There, there, sweetie," she said condescendingly. "Don't panic. This won't hurt much."

While Georgie's words offered me zero comfort, her actions elevated my stress level through the roof. As she attached the spreader-bar to my ankles, and kicked my feet as far apart as I could stand, she began to taunt me.

"Fortunately for you," she began in a hushed whisper, "there are more branding options available to me in the United States, than the barbaric methods used in Brazil."

"Branding? Georgie. No. Please. I beg you." I blurted out, barely able to form the words.

"I am going to apply a cold brand to you," Georgie said, ignoring my protestation. "It will still last a lifetime, but there will be less inflammation than with a hot brand. As I expose your skin to the liquid nitrogen, melanocytes, which are the pigment-producing cells in the skin will be instantly destroyed. Even your subsequent hair growth will be white," she added cheerfully. "Although nothing will grow in that spot for several months. Trust me."

"Georgie," I pleaded one last time. "I am begging you for mercy."

Again, seemingly unable to experience the emotion of empathy, Georgie picked up her stencil, and laid it on the desk right under my nose. The words "Georgie's Toy," were legible, carved into the body of the stainless steel stencil.

"I have identified all of my prior tormentors with the same mark," she said proudly. "I actually got the idea from you, Pete. That day in the football team's locker room, when you let everyone jerk off into the saucer of milk and made me eat it. You told everyone that you were going to brand me as Pete's Toy. As I knelt before you with my face in the congealed mess of the entire team's ejaculate, I visualized turning the tables and one day branding you instead. And now here we are," she added cheerfully. "You are the last one to get branded."

As I processed the fact that this was going to happen, I turned my focus to the logistics of the procedure.

"How long will it take to heal?" I asked, trying to suppress my tears.

"The branding will first scab over, which can last from a few weeks to just over a month," she began dispassionately. "At this phase, the appearance of the branding is a bright-red, raised scar, which slowly becomes lighter than the normal skin tone. This phase lasts about twelve months, and the scar tissue may rise slightly more during this time."

"Jesus," I said quietly, slowly coming to terms with my fate. "Is freeze-branding painful?" I muttered, on the verge of throwing up.

"There have been a handful of studies looking at pain caused by the various forms of branding," Georgie intoned, as if she was reading the brochure. "Hot-iron branding is most painful at the time of brand placement, while freeze-branding appears to be most painful fifteen to thirty minutes after the procedure."

I was breathing heavily now, and sweating under the stress.

"How painful?" I asked, dreading the answer.

I remember asking a medical professional a similar question as a thirteen year old boy. I had contracted pneumonia with the additional complications of pleurisy. I was scheduled to undergo a lumber-puncture, which I had been informed was quite painful. However, after I was secured to the gurney, the Doctor used his gentle bedside manner to calm me down, assuring me that it was moderately painful, but not unbearable. His soothing words helped me through my ordeal that day, and I hoped that Georgie would offer me the same words of comfort.

"Absolutely fucking excruciating," Georgie said matter of factly, enjoying my distress. "I have seen grown men cry from being branded. Joelle, remove his cock-ring, in case he pisses himself."

The visual of the platinum blonde lowering herself to her knees and scooting under the desk that I was bent over, would have normally excited me. However, in my current predicament I was scared shitless, and as her soft hands roamed all over my balls as she loosened the latex ring, I felt absolutely no sexual desire, just primal fear.

Joelle emerged from under the desk holding the latex cock-ring between her beautifully manicured thumb and forefinger. She had a smile on her face and appeared to be enjoying my torment.

"May I watch, Georgie?" she asked quietly, in a very submissive tone.

"You and Nikki may both watch," Georgie replied magnanimously. "You were good girls today. You deserve a reward."

As I laid over one edge of the desk, Joelle and Nikki took their positions side by side on the opposite edge. Completely naked, with their nipples erect, presumably from the excitement that my torture was causing them, they arranged themselves in such a way that their genitals hung below the desk, out of my sight line. From my prone position, if I looked up slightly, I was treated to the visual of two phenomenally gorgeous platinum blondes, and now that the evidence of their manhood was concealed, I started to get erect.

"Finally," Nikki said with a giggle. "He is responding to us. All men do eventually, no matter what the circumstances."

"At least he can't piss himself with a hard-on," Joelle added cheerfully.

As the blondes chatted aimlessly amongst themselves, Georgie picked up the stencil and I started to realize that without long hair to hide it, my mark on the back of my neck would be visible. As I tried to come to terms with this additional humiliation, I felt the cold metal of the stainless steel stencil resting on one of my buttocks.

"At least Joelle and Nikki can hide their marks of ownership with their flowing locks," Georgie giggled. "I doubt that you will ever enjoy a rim-job again, now that I have selected the placement of your brand."

Georgie spread my ass-cheeks wide apart, and motioned for the girls to hold them in her desired position. The two naked blondes leaned over me, and in the process of keeping my buttocks separated, they thrust their perfect, surgically-enhanced breasts in my face. I felt Georgie wedge the stencil between my butt-cheeks before adjusting its position slightly.

"Does that look straight to you girls?" she asked Joelle and Nikki.

"Georgie, no. Please. For fuck's sake, not there," I begged, to no avail.

After a brief discussion they agreed that the stencil was positioned in such a way that it was both straight and symmetrical, and Georgie picked up the canister of liquid nitrogen.

"Fuck that is cold," she exclaimed, dropping the canister on the desk before reaching for the gloves that accompanied the branding agent.

A few moments later, as I lay hyperventilating on the desk, Georgie began to coat the stencil with the freezing liquid, as her bimbos held my ass-cheeks wide apart. Even though it felt ungodly cold, there wasn't much pain involved, as the cryotherapy agent, administered at negative three hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit, immediately froze my skin.

Less than two minutes later, after a surprisingly drama-free application, Georgie removed the stencil from between my buttocks and the three women left me alone, bent over the desk.

By the time they had returned, I had composed myself, and was breathing normally. The crack of my ass, which had been the area selected to wear her permanent marking, felt cold but there wasn't much actual pain.

"This is my favorite part," Georgie said ominously, as the three of them sat on a medium sized sofa that faced the desk.

"Me too," Nikki added. "How long before the pain kicks in?"

Initially, Nikki's words made no sense to me, but as the burning sensation between my butt-cheeks began to intensify, I realized that the true discomfort was about to start. I tried not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me in distress, but at some point the pain became unbearable and I let out an anguished cry.

"There it is," Georgie said with a giggle, as the three of them sat upright on the sofa. "Showtime!"

For the next thirty minutes I writhed in agony, bent over at the waist across Georgie's desk, as my audience relished my abject misery. Tears were shed, bonds were struggled against, I even had an out of body experience, as I observed myself begging for pain medication. Georgie and her platinum blondes watched impassively throughout my entire ordeal, and seemed disappointed when my pain finally began to subside.

As soon as Georgie realized that my torment was over, she rose slowly from the sofa, her arousal clearly evident.

"Fetch a mirror, Nikki," Georgie ordered, as she approached me.

"It will be painful to the touch for a few days," Georgie said quietly, as she looked over her handiwork. "Try and keep it clean, and don't rub or scratch it. Do you have a bidet at home?"

While this initially seemed like a very strange question, bearing in mind that the European bathroom facility is a rarity in the United States, I caught on after Joelle untied my hands, and Nikki held the mirror over my asshole.

Glancing over my shoulder, I recoiled as I saw a horrific looking, bright-red welt that appeared to be growing, as it etched deeper into the layers of my skin. Perfectly centered between my buttocks, the raised scar which formed the words "Georgie's Toy" was still emanating a tremendous amount of heat, and I wondered how on earth I was going to wipe my ass.

"Dress the wound," Georgie said dispassionately, as Nikki and Joelle sprang into action.

The efficiency with which they applied the soothing balm to my tender ass, before covering the throbbing scar with a surgical dressing, suggested that they had done this before. A couple of minutes later, as the analgesic gel began to ease the pain, Nikki began to giggle.

"Oops, Joelle," she said in a girlish manner. "I think the numbing gel was supposed to go on before the brand."

Before I had a chance to reflect on how much less painful the procedure could have been, Georgie stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"My extraction agents can pick you up at any time," she told me. "I could have grabbed you late at night from the strip-club, or from your weekly chiropractic appointment in Corona Del Mar," she added, confirming that she had followed me before abducting me. "I chose to bring you in from the safety of your own well-protected home, having given you an hour's notice," she said quietly. "Just to show you that you cannot hide from me. If you do anything to suggest that you have not changed your ways, I will send you to Brazil and transform you into Petra. You will weigh one hundred and ten pounds by the time I am done feminizing you, and you will be sporting 38Ds. Understood?"

"Yes, Georgie," I squeaked, barely able to get the words out.

"Don't fuck up, Pete," she growled at me, as I looked up at her in submission. "If you so much as look at another innocent College co-ed, you will be a transgendered fuck-toy in the favelas of Rio. Now get this bitch out of my sight before I change my mind," she barked.

Georgie set me free that day, with a burning sensation emanating from my buttocks and a warning that I took to heart.

From that day forward, I was a changed man. Almost thirty years of using and abusing young women was behind me, and I ended up asking Olivia to move back in with me. It was more of a friendship than a relationship, as we never had much sex, but it demonstrated to the outside world that I had matured, and was no longer engaged in predatory behavior towards Newport Beach's young women.

Steven Baldwin died of a heart attack a few years later, and I attended the funeral, not to pay my respects, but so that I could see Jody. I knew that she hadn't married Baldwin out of love, and the instant we laid eyes on each other, our connection returned.

After the service, Jody and I took a walk around the grounds of the cemetery. Even though she was dressed demurely, in a black, exquisitely tailored suit, I felt like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. I could feel our chemistry and the familiar, strong urge to possess her. As we chatted and caught up, time seemed to slow down, and by the time I walked her back to her black, stretch limousine, most of the other attendees had left the cemetery.

As inappropriate as the timing and location of our reunion was, after a prolonged embrace at the rear door of her limo, Jody rested her forehead against mine and told me that she loved me. For the first time since I had met this woman over twenty-five years ago, her words seemed genuine, rather than spoken in order to manipulate me.

Jody's driver, recognizing that we were at an emotional cross-roads, gave us some privacy, walking off amongst the graveyard head-stones, to smoke a cigarette. As soon as we were alone our lips grazed, the lightest of touches, yet conveying the deep desire that we harbored for each other. I inhaled her scent, the fresh, minty breath that Jody always seemed to possess, and the intoxicating aroma of her perfume, which caused my cock to stiffen immediately.

Our bodies were still pressed tightly together, as we were both reluctant to cease our lengthy embrace. As my erection grew in my pants, Jody gave me an agreeable smile, her blue eyes twinkling with delight, as she processed the effect she still had on me.

I have no idea where the time went, but as her limo driver milled around in the distance, Jody and I kissed, and whispered sweet nothings to each other. I was erect the entire time, my cock leaking copious amounts of pre-cum into my briefs, which just didn't happen to me anymore as I was in my early fifties.

"Take me home with you, Pete," Jody implored me, as the sun sank into the horizon, and the air chilled.

I wanted nothing more on earth, but Georgie had instilled such fear in me, that I called her first, to make sure that she was cool with it. Georgie and I still spoke occasionally, as I was one of the primary contributors to her female-empowerment charities, and she consented to my reunion with Jody.

Jody and I married shortly after Baldwin's passing, and have been in a relatively conflict-free relationship for the last ten years. Thanksgiving and Christmas can get a little awkward, as Jessie and her husband attend, and I still don't know if she ever told him about her days as my fuck-toy. Jody, for her part, forgave me for my treatment of her then teenage daughter.