Nano (4 page)

The problem here, of course, was that my own worldview had been altered to correspond neatly with his.  Not nearly with the clearcut vision he held - because I did want to make something out of this new life besides being a fucktoy - but I felt instinctively that on some core level that's exactly what I was, deep down.  How could I possibly compete with, resist against, someone stronger than me, more powerful, more wealthy?  This body of mine, frail, slender, exquisitely breakable, was the perfect object of a man's domination.  And since I was the inhabitant of this body, that made me subject to his will.

My train of thought, scattered as it was, was further confused by the physical reality of my situation.  I was naked, on all fours on a coffee table, chained to it like a wayward pet.  John had managed to get me up here, exactly where he wanted, when he wanted me, and I hadn't so much as lifted a hand to defend myself.  That in itself said volumes about how different I was now from the man I had been - argumentative, belligerent, stubborn, dominating.

I had simply acceded to his demands.

There were no clocks in the room that I could see, but my guess was that I spent something like three hours chained and alone before John finally decided to check in on his evening's entertainment.  God knows what John did with that time; he certainly didn't tell me.

I had never been a patient man; apparently that hadn't changed one bit with my gender.  Waiting in itself was frustrating.  Waiting on my hands and knees for three hours was hard work, emotionally and physically.  My wrists were cramped; my kneecaps sore.  My breasts, small though they were, hung heavily from my chest, and I was acutely aware that, when John came, I would be unable to protect them from him.  Similarly, in this position my pubic mound was exposed, framed by my spread thighs.  I could lie down on the table, my hands pinned under me, and so afford some measure of protection to both, but I knew all John would have to do was to yank me up to a kneeling position again - and I'd already found out how much stronger he was than me.

No matter how you sliced it, I was in a predicament.  The leather cuffs were lined with fur; they were supple, but strong - two inches wide and a quarter inch thick - and wouldn't stretch.  I tried twisting my hand out of one of them, to no avail.  I didn't even try with my feet.  These damned things would have been impossible to free myself from even if I were still a man.

Four simple bands of leather, with grooves at quarter inch intervals to slip the D ring through.  Four simple bands of leather, probably costing about sixty bucks, stood between me and freedom - a human being made chattel with a simple click shut of a lock hasp.

And left exposed for the world to see.  The south wall of the penthouse consisted of floor to ceiling glass panels overlooking downtown Manhattan.  The table to which I was confined was a scant three feet from the center of that wall.  I could see down, across the street and two floors below, a young couple, framed by yellow light of bay windows, moving about their apartment.  The girl was in her bra and panties, and talking on the phone.  The man was washing dishes.  I say they were young, but in fact they were now probably thirty or so ten more than a decade older than the teenaged girl I'd become.

I would have to reassess my sense of relative age, I realized.  I was truly young now, and people like the couple below were much, much older.  Strange to see them moving about freely while I was chained.

I suddenly felt an intense envy of them.  They had normal lives, jobs, free will to do as they wished, and each other.  Tonight, when normal people might choose to stay at home or go about on the town, I waited on the whim of a forty year old man.

It was about an hour before the girl noticed me.  She called to her boyfriend, pointed up at me.

I hung my head, ashamed and embarassed.  I pretended not to see them, watched them out of the corner of my eye.  I thought for a moment that perhaps they would call the police, do something to help me.

But no.  Instead, they set up a telescope.  They checked in on me from time to time over the next few hours, as if waiting for the show to begin.  I guessed the spectacle of a young girl chained in this penthouse was a common enough occurence for them to assume my waiting here was voluntary - part of a sex game.

Which I supposed it was.  I just hated the prospect of whatever John was going to do to me being seen by them.  I would have happily crawled into a hole and died right there and then.

That option, unfortunately, wasn't available to me.  At least, I told myself, the couple were the only ones I could see who'd noticed me in my high window.  They were watching TV now, returning to the telescope during commercials, fondling each other as they ogled me.

The girl was naked now, and her wrists cuffed together in front with steel handcuffs.  They were playful, running their hands over each other as they sat on the sofa, the blue light of the television flickering out the window.  The girl held a glass of wine in her bound hands, sipping from it as the evening progressed.

My heart jumped into my throat as I heard the whine of the elevator cables.  I began to tremble all over.  I forgot all about the voyeuristic couple, remembering why I was here in the first place, and who put me here.

John.

The door opened.

I didn't look.  I didn't dare.  To be honest, by now I felt so firmly in John's grip, and was so afraid of what he was going to do to me, that I froze when that door opened.  I was afraid to do anything he interpreted as disobedience, and I didn't even know what he would consider to be so. I heard a closet door open, some shuffling around, then the door shut.  Footsteps approaching.

I saw his pants standing between me and the stool on which the key rested.  For some reason the fact that his slacks were neatly pressed made an impression on me.  Men's slacks.  And I was a woman.

His hand was in my hair, and he pulled it back, forcing my face upward to look up at him.  He still wore his business suit - expensive, black and custom tailored, with a navy blue tie.  His chest was broad, his waist trim, and the cut of the suit accentuated this.  I gazed dazedly up at his looming figure, affected by the severe features of his face, and struck by the contrast between his formal attire, a very symbol of authority, and my chained nakedness.  I could never wear such clothing again.  I shuddered, feeling very feminine and weak.   His free hand ranged over my shoulders, cupped one of my breasts, feeling its heft and shape.  A shudder rippled through me as he smiled down at me.  His smile was unkind and unnerving.

It felt right, God help me.

He gazed into my eyes calmly.  His eyes were cold, appraising.  If anything, I felt even more vulnerable, pinned by his icy blue eyes.  I felt - well, like the submissive girl I was, an object to be appraised, measured for worth by a set of criteria that left no room for independence, self-worth - measured solely by what use might be made of me.

"I see you understand.  Good," he said calmly.  

He slowly circled me, running his fingers along the curve of my spine.  Once behind me, he pried my bare buttocks apart, exposing my anus.  He forced a thumb in.  I gasped.  The thumb wriggled around, and I writhed like a marionette in time with his manipulations.  He knelt behind me, removed his thumb and wiped it on my asscheek.  He spread my cuntlips, and then I felt his probing fingers inspecting, coldly appraising the particuliarities of my anatomy.  He parted each labial fold carefully, individually, inspecting the shape and elasticity of each, tugging, pulling, twisting.  I caught my breath as he pulled back the sheath covering my clitoris, gripped the hard nub between thumb and forefinger, and twisted hard.  The intense pain, overwhelming all thought, broke through and became a twisted kind of pleasure.  The little nub grew so slick with my moisture that he lost his grip.  He chuckled.

He stood again.  "What was Sam, anyway, but a cheap counterfeit of a man?" he said, walking slowly, deliberately to face me again.

"Unbuckle my belt with your mouth."  He moved forward, and his crotch was now eye level with my lips.

I obeyed - what else could I do?  I grasped the tongue of the belt between my teeth and tugged.  It was clumsy work.  He was patient.  His hands were on my bare shoulders.  I pulled the tongue back enough to let the steel tong slide free of its hole, then released.  I leaned forward, gripping the buckle gingerly between my lips, fumbled it to one side.  The belt parted.

I undid the top button of his slacks in similar fashion, pulling it free of its buttonhole.  I gripped the zipper between my lips and tugged downward over the thick bulge of his cock.

And then his cock was free, sticking out from his groin like a massive club.  The unnatural length and girth of the thing had been my work - at John's request.  His cock was a foot long and two inches in diameter.  I remembered designing it to be just a little too large for Natalie to suck comfortably.  I hadn't ever expected to see the thing from her viewpoint.  I had been amused by it before; now it was frightening.  I was afraid of what it might do to my insides.

The hot helmet head grazed my cheek.  I involuntarily shrank back.  John pulled me roughly forward, pressing my face against the underside of the shaft, my nose buried in his hairy scrotum.  His balls slapped against my lips.

"Smell it," he said calmly. "Smell it; there is a lesson here."  I obeyed reluctantly.  It smelled of sweat, of a man's sex.  I was breathing heavily now.

"This is something which you have lived with all your life - it was a part of you, integral to your sense of self.  I have taken it from you, and in so doing am forcing you to become something, someone utterly different from the person you might have become, if you had assumed the station and role your born gender demanded.  I'm sure you're not happy with that fact.  But the fact that you were forcibly made female, that your devolution to an inferior gender was not voluntary, does not change your circumstances.  Whatever your potential as a man had been, you are a woman now, and must be made to understand your place.

"You have a lot to relearn.  I'm going to help you in this, Anne-Marie.  And I'm going to start by helping you understand what your new relationship to this cock is.  It's no longer simply an organ; it's a demonstration of what you're missing, what you cannot have, and whom you must serve."  He pressed the tip of his shaft against my parted lips, holding my head immobile in his strong hands.

"That you were born a man was an accident, a mistake, as was my birth gender.  I am strong, yet was born into a weak body.  I had the courage and willpower to attain the gender that accident denied me."

I kept my mouth clamped shut, horrified at the prospect of his huge flesh in my mouth.  His left hand slid over my forehead to my nose; he held my nostrils shut with his fingers and calmly waited.  When I couldnt' hold my breath any longer, and sucked in air, the hot helmet head of his cock slid easily into my mouth.  He held the tip there, where my lips could rest just over the smooth, ovoid ridge of his cock's tip.  His cock head was so large my lips stretched to fit it.

"You might be thinking it would be a simple matter to just bite the end of my cock off.  I welcome you to try.  The nano-conditioning prevents you from doing conscious harm to any man."

I tried.  I found that commanding my body to bite down on his hot member was reinterpreted into the opposite of my intention - instead of clamping my jaw down, my jaw relaxed, opened wider.  I shuddered in fear.

"You were born of the stronger sex, yet you were weak.  Your presence here, in this room, in the body of a woman proves this, since if you had been strong you would have resisted the nano-suggestion I implanted in you.  You didn't; and so you now possess the body fate should have assigned to you in the first place.  That's a good girl, open wide."

He shoved as much as he could into my mouth.  I gagged; the head pressed against my throat.  He held it there, choking me, for a few moments, then began to slowly pump, holding my head rigid in his hands.  My hands curled into helpless fists; my arms jerked uselessly against the fetters.  It was no use.  He could fuck my mouth as quickly or as leisurely as he liked, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.

And, to my chagrin, what John was doing to me made me feel incredibly...sexy.  Which was a novel feeling for me.  Men don't feel sexy, they feel horny.  John's clear pleasure in using me somehow pushed buttons - it made me feel even more feminine, more...desired, desirable.

He took his time satifying himself.  When he was done, he had me lick him clean, then dried his cock with my hair.

He went into the bedroom.  When he returned, he wore a red silk bathrobe.  He unlocked my ankles, then rearranged the lock on my wrist cuffs so that they were still joined together, but not to the ring set in the table.

"Fix me a martini.  The bar is over there."  He sat down at a desk by the window.

I got up off the table, feeling very small.  I walked over to the bar and made a martini for him.  My hands were shaking as I brought the glass over to him and laid it on the table.

"No," he said, with an edge in his voice.  "Kneel first, then offer me the glass in both hands."  I took the drink again, knelt, and held the glass up to him.

"Better."  He took it and laid it on the desk.  "Bring your hands up behind your head, elbows out."  I obeyed.  The position thrust my chest forward.  He tied a black cloth over my eyes.

John played with my nipples, stiffening them idly, as he picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hi, Leonard, it's John.  Good, thank you.  And yourself?  Good, good.  Listen, I wanted to talk to you about that LBE merger."  John then launched into a long monologue about corporate strategy.  I marveled that he could maintain a sober conversation while taking the time to administer minor tortures - twisting my nipples painfully between his thumb and finger, or wrenching my mouth open with his hand.  Evidently I was, for the moment, a toy to be played with while engrossed with more important matters.

That was okay by me.  It gave me a little time to cool down, and I needed cooling down.  It also gave me time to think and regroup.

When I took the time to look past my instinctive awe of this man's power over me, I could begin to get a sense of his character.  I thought back to the nano-mods I'd used to shape his new personality: overriding everything else was a deep-seated urge to feminize and enslave Natalie.  This urge had evidently blossomed, and turned towards other targets - among them, me.

It had a psychopathic taste to it.  He had gone through the ritual of femininizing Natalie, forcing her to submit to his will, and yet found that once she had been conquered, his desire to conquer was left unsated.  Natalie had been so thoroughly changed that she offered no resistance to him, so thoroughly satisfied with her lot in life that, ironically, she could not offer him the pleasure of her mental anguish.

So he was repeating the ritual, with variations.  Perfecting his technique.  I had not been given the benefit of Natalie's secret complicitness, nor her extreme behavioral nano-mods.  I had just enough left of me to want to resist, but not enough to actually do so.  Unlike Natalie, I felt shame at what John had done to me, but like her, I couldn't do anything about it.

This man was dangerous.  He was a rapist of a kind for whom men were more vulnerable than women.  Slowly it dawned on me that new technologies permitted new perversions.  This man preyed on other men.  A decade ago he would have to have satisfied himself with beating the shit out of me, or killing me, to express his dominance.  Now he needed only to transform his victim into the kind of person who would respond to his aggression with proper submission.  Why  kill a man, when you can transform him into a woman, use her, and have your victim agree it's the best thing for her?

None of the things he did to me that night were left open to interpretation.  In all things I was his servant.  He was careful when he fucked me from behind not to even touch my clitoris - my satisfaction was expressly forbidden that night.  And when he chained me spreadeagled to a rolling drawer and slid me under the bed for the night, I heard him climb onto the mattress above me and I cried silently.  No longer of use, I'd been put neatly away, just as he'd neatly hung the quirt and riding crop he'd used on me.