Man’s Best Friend: part 1

Man’s Best Friend: part 1

My fantasy begins in the foggy near-future, maybe four decades from now. In this future world, crime was much worse than it is now. Gangs abounded, millions were homeless and roved the country, looting, stealing, killing, and raping. There were many new police and military forces tasked with controlling this new anarchy and the older forces, such as the local police and the National Guard, had been considerably beefed up. These forces now had near-absolute powers over civilians and, even more than they can today under the Homeland Security Office, they could haul anyone in for questioning and detainment for any reason. Papers like search warrants and other arrest-justification reports were a thing of the past. Naturally, with the increase in police powers, there was an increase in corruption and maljustice. But most people accepted these things as the price they had to pay for minimal crime protection and did their best to ignore the injustices committed toward their neighbors and work associates. Finally, in my imagined world that is to come biotech has really taken off as a science and the most incredible and bizarre physical changes made to humans and animals are now taken as a matter of course.

I refused to have anything to do with biotech, of course. Among my friends I was something of a freak, as I was the only one who hadn’t had my face resculpted into one of the popular beauty molds or had any improvements made to my body, despite the cheapness and availability of these treatments on the urban black market. The truth was, I was proud of my natural beauty. I woke up each morning loving what I saw in the mirror, even if it wasn’t perfectly regular and smooth and all even-colored. I thought I looked much better than the plastic faces and bodies around me. I liked looking different and relished the doubletake of surprise that some people had when they noticed I was completely “natural.” So I was vain, so shoot me! It was simply a different sort of vanity than my friends sported. I wouldn’t sell my face as a “mold” for others, either, no matter how much I was offered. I wanted to be the only one wearing this particular face.

So, on the evening that my life changed (for better or for worse it remains to be seen), I was waiting impatiently in the dirty lobby of a back-alley transformationalist in Soho as my best girlfriend got the newest fad applied to her body: elven ears. I hated going to these places, but Sonne was a loyal friend and she didn’t like to go alone. I’d already fended off four surreptitious offers for my face mold from the slimy freaks that frequent these kinds of places, two with a flash of the small buth lethal gun I always carry with me. I just wanted her to be DONE so we could leave this awful neighborhood and go clubbing. We were both dressed to kill: Sonne, in a body-hugging catsuit that outlined all her unnatural curves and turned opaque in some fairly interesting places, and me in a simple backless dress that showed off the lovely (and natural, of course) coloration and muscle tone in my back. It was one of those dresses that seem to fold at the bottom of the long, loose open back. If someone were to stand very close to me and look directly down the back of the dress, he’d catch a clear glimpse my best asset: my overly-large brown protruding rear end. Because it wasn’t in perfect proportion to the rest of my body, other women, addicted to their buns-of-steel plastic backends, never guessed the appeal my round bottom held for a certain type of man in this age of tiny, hard asscheeks. They actually pitied me for my size, as the backdoor men next to them drooled over it’s inviting and helpless plumpness.

Sonne finally emerged, looking not unlike Mr. Spock’s intended mate, and I issued the appropriate compliments to get her over her initial nervousness at the change. Nervousness is what I noticed most in the people who indulged heavily in body transformations. No matter how appealing their new look was to themselves and to others, there was a residue of uncomfortableness left after one of these operations. I was convinced this had to do with the fact that they were departing even further from what their body knew was the real, natural person. How can anyone ever be totally secure when everything about their looks is a total fake? As Sonne paid her fee, I silently patted myself on my beautiful back for not having such a problem .

As we stepped outside, we both looked quickly to the right and the left, prepared in an instant to jump back in the clinic if there was “action” in this particular alleyway, but there wasn’t—just some creepy-looking homeless guy in a goblin ski cap and puffy jacket (it was a warm late spring evening, for pete’s sake!) pressing the face of some artificially skinny blond slut into his groin. He was mumbling nonsense at her, as the homeless are wont to do, and she was screaming muffled responses back, but he never let go of his rigid grip on her head, the source of his intense pleasure and her misery. To our amusement, Mr. Gnome cap Geek had managed to completely strip his victim before making her suckle his putrid gonads and her gigantic nymph-like titties with their artificially hard and upturned nips (standard $500 procedure at the transformation salon we’d just emerged from) and her bony little butt cheeks looked ridiculous perched atop her tiny pile of clothing. I thought of the gun on my person and briefly considered using it to relieve the skinny, bosumy nymph of her tormentor, but then thought better of it. Furtive, gnomish men like him have a right to fun, just as much as their betters do, and she should have known better than to have been in this alley in the first place, unwary and unarmed.

I took Sonne’s arm and we turned from the homeless man with his chicken and sauntered merrily out of the alley: two lovely armed-to-the-teeth babes off to have a night of fun and, we hoped, casual sex with any man we could find worthy of our beauty. But as we turned the corner, we heard those words that all civvies dread, “Stop! Police! Put Your Hands Above Your Heads!” We slowly raised our arms to the standard second retort “NOW, bitches!” and waited for the inevitable infuriating frisk. Neither of us had caught sight of our captor (oh please let it just be one!) who must have been lurking in the alley shadows behind the blowjobbing couple. “Hands against the wall, feet spread wide!” bellowed the pig behind us and with annoyance apparent in our long sighs, we obeyed. We both expected at this point to endure the lengthy “feelie” search for weapons that cops routinely performed on pretty women, especially at night. We both knew there was nothing we can do about it except subject ourselves to this humiliating procedure. After a lengthy mauling over, he would probably give us back our weapons and let us go, unless we were terribly unlucky and had run into a pig who needed a couple of chicks for some nefarious purpose of his own.

This NYPD cop surprised us, however: while he did walk right up to my girlfriend and press his already-hard dick (a large one by the look of the bulge in the uniform) into the crack of her catsuit, all he did was softly breathe into an elven ear the command to turn her head around. She did so and he shone a small penlight at her face, going over every feature. “No, you can go,” he said abruptly and disappointedly to Sonne. Apparently he wasn’t even going to search her for weapons. Now it was my turn. Although he could clearly see my face turned to him, he insisted upon going ‘round back and rubbing up against me. Seeing the low-cut back of the dress and the view it offered when he looked straight down it, he whistled in apparent amazement (I refused to change the expression on my face or acknowledge his attempt at humiliation in any way) and pulled the fold down so that half my bottom was exposed to the spring air. He latched the fold under my butt cheeks and suddenly I felt his warm hard cock with no intervening cloth rubbing deep into my asscheeks. It was every bit as big as I thought it would be and the thought of his putting that monster in my posterior sent a shudder of fear through me. He chuckled at that and just yanked me painfully by the long black braid at the top of my head so as to turn my head to face his.

The sneer of bullying triumph on that red-lipped dark-haired bully was impossible to miss. His rubbing against me increased as he gazed at my outraged expression. Oh how I longed to reach down slowly to where I stored my gun and give that sneering power-freak a taste of his own medicine! But I didn’t dare, he was clearly attentive, not drugged, watching me far too closely. When his free hand shown a narrow bright light in my face, I blinked and looked down, breaking our staring contest. When I looked back up to face him, he was wearing, in addition to that smarmy sneer, a look of satisfied success. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me, Miss,” he said in a clipped, emotionless tone that unexpectedly contradicted his surprisingly communicative face. “It’s a pity we have to go downtown, as I’m really enjoying the superb cock massage your fat ass cheeks are giving me, but in this case, as much as I’d like to explore your, er, personality, deeper, I can’t offer you the usual deal. I gotta bring in a line-up possibility or my own ass is grass. The victim is too big to mess around with and you too closely fit the description to let go. So let’s get your weaps off you and the cuffs on so I can bring you in.”

“I’m sorry, Sonne!” I said in a loud voice without turning around, “you’re going to have to go on without me.” I dared not insult the cop creep within his hearing; the expression of cruelty on his face was impossible to misinterpret. I could tell that he’d love a chance to rough me over, and might do so even if I stayed on my best behavior. Sonne told me goodbye and said she’d be at our “usual” place (a bar uptown where rich people hung out) if I got free in time. In the meantime, the cop had, reluctantly it seemed, pulled his cock out of my asscheeks and snapped the dress back in place. His hands were roving over my body (it was the usual “feelie” weapons search that women were subjected to, although he did it a bit quicker than normal—probably had a priority to get me down to the station), pulling out my weapons and throwing them to the ground. I’ll give him credit: he found all four, even though the fourth, a vaginal dentatta inserted very high up in the canal, is quite hard to find. When he yanked that thing out of me, he was so rough that I feared the worst. “Do know how much you can hurt a guy with this?” he asked in cold tones, his anger barely contained. I thought briefly about lying, playing the dumb innocent, but decided against it: if he saw through that act it would just make him madder. “Yes,” I said simply, as it clanged to the ground. “That’s what I thought,” he said, just before turning me around to face him and hitting me with a tremendous backhand.

I fell backwards against the wall, half-stunned. “If I didn’t have to bring you in, I’d beat you so bad and fuck you so hard right now that you wouldn’t be able to think about sex again for months!” he whispered fiercely, his face mere inches from my own. I stared at him in terror. “I’d bruise every inch of your body, and laugh as I did so, then rape your cunt and ass so hard that they’d be ripped and bleeding when I got through with them. And just before I left you, a miserable bloody pulp lying on the street, I’d ram my stun-stik up your sorry cunt and turn the juice on maximum! It’ll only approximate the damage that a dentatta does to a guy’s cock, but unfortunately your lethal little device will not turn inside-out!” Oh god, just my luck to have run into a real violent fucker, and clearly one who knew guys who’d had their dick size artificially reduced by the steel jaws of a rape-protection device. “Sir, I’m sorry!” I said, so frightened that I kind of lost my wits. “I won’t wear one again!”

“Don’t you LIE to me, you whore!” he yelled at me, driving his huge fist into my stomach. As I doubled over and started to puke, he pulled my arms roughly behind me and snapped metal cuffs in place (another sign he was a freak—most cops used the plastic ties these days, only the really sick fuckers still carried the metal). Gasping and heaving, held up only by his grip on my arms, I was propelled half a block and into the backseat of a squad car. After locking me inside the car, he went back for my weapons and, I hoped, my purse, which I had dropped when he punched me. I began to cry then. As tough as I was, I had had the great good fortune to never before have been treated this sadistically by a representative of the law. Most of the cops liked my looks so much that they just took what they wanted from my body (usually a quick blowjob) and let me go my merry way. Even the ones that wanted a backdoor fuck, usually with me sticking my bottom out seductively in weapons-search position, had never found out about my dentatta, and went away none the wiser.

But this guy had known right where to look, roughly pulling my cunt lips apart and thrusting his unusually long fingers up as far as they would go, feeling for that tell-tale ridge on the surface of the skin, near my cervix. I could have released the dentatta then, of course, with a slight internal push, but from the cool and fearless way he felt around for that thing and began yanking it out of me, I knew that the loss of a couple of fingertips would not stop him from exacting a very harsh revenge on me. I had had the misfortune to encounter a violent, mean crazy cop; the only thing that made my situation bearable was the fact that he had to take me to this stupid lineup in one piece. Everything about him, despite the unexpected violence, was very calm and calculating. I’m sure that he knew that by the time he reached the station I would be recovered enough to be able to stand and hold my number as the crime victim looked me over. To my surprise, the back door opened be hind me, breaking my speculation, and I felt myself yanked onto my back by the top of my braid. “You’re bleeding from a cut lip,” said the cop’s flat voice. “Your lower lip is pretty when its swollen and red from blood—very inviting.” I heard a ziiippp and then the order came: “suck me off, now.” He wouldn’t let me turn, I had to lean back on my elbows as he thrust his dick deep into my throat. He slid down easily in that position, all the way, and every few seconds I smelt his groin and felt his pubic hair tickling my nose as he pushed into my mouth to the hilt. All the way in—almost all the way out: fast and hard he thrust.

As I had recently thrown up, I began to gag as I re-tasted my vomit sliding down the back of my tongue, but managed not to panic and to keep my throat relaxed and my lips tightly puckered around his shaft to provide friction. As he ravished my throat, I thought to myself in self-pity, there used to be a time when innocent women did not have to expect to sexually service the police forces in such a routine way. But these days, all woman learned to live with the humiliation of being the sexual toys of the men in uniforms or they died, either from resisting their inevitable rapes or from losing police protection at times—which occurred to us all—when they really needed it. Without realizing I was doing so, I moaned in frustration and humiliation at my condition at the hands of these beasts. He came after less than a minute—right after I moaned, in fact–with a large groan of pleasure, and how I managed to choke down the huge mass of semen without throwing up again, I don’t know. I sucked on his penis hard, but not too hard, as he came, in the hopes this would cause him to regard me with a little more favor.

Without a word, the back door was slammed and he’d gotten in the front and pulled out into traffic before I’d licked all the spunk from my lips. After a long of struggle and grunting in which my dress rode up obscenely on my naked hips I managed to turn off of my elbows—a position that had become painful–and onto my side facing the rear of the car, my cuffed wrists no longer crushed by my body’s weight. I could not sit up because my long braid was caught, intentionally I believed, in the door of the police car, so I lay there, my dress riding up to my waist, wondering if he was looking at me through the rearview mirror. Probably not, I thought. After all, he’d just come. If I could have left my body and floated through the glass separator to the front of the car, I would have been very surprised to see his rear-view mirror trained on my fat behind and his hand massaging an already-hard cock under his pants.

Traffic was bad, naturally, and I fell asleep in the back of the car. The next thing I knew, the bad cop was shaking me by the shoulder, laughing and telling me how completely indecent and sluttish I looked. He dragged me out of the open back door and set me on my feet, and to my surprise, he arranged my loose dress around me so that it hung right and didn’t expose me. A hard whack on the ass sent me stumbling in my heels through the puddle-spattered parking lot and into the already-open back door of the preceint station. The door was held open by a large chubby pig with nasty narrow little eyes who made lewd jokes with my captor about where I’d been and what I’d been doing when I was picked up. I blushed deeply when he alluded to the fat cop about the only true event of the evening: “I tell you, Malcom, this babe’s got a throat like French silk.” Luckily, I didn’t have to endure too much humiliation as they were both in a hurry to get me into the mysterious line-up.

I was the last to arrive and as I was shoved into the viewing room, my cuffs were removed and I got a number 10 sticker slapped to the front of my bare thigh, below the short dress. I had a couple of seconds to look at the other women before I was ordered to face front and stand straight. All of them had long dark hair, like me, and most of them had it pulled back or up in some way. All of them were obviously augmented, most with rather extreme transformations. One looked like a party girl, like me, and had an angry expression on her face. The others, standing there bored, were clearly hookers. In front of us was a mirror, clearly two-way glass, separating us from the viewing room. While we could not see who was in that room looking us over we could clearly hear several voices, that of the “victim” and that of several policemen, including the asshole who’d arrested me. Although I was quite experienced with policemen and with satisfying their needs, I had never been arrested before for anything, and what happened next shocked the hell out of me.

First the whiney voice of the victim said to get rid of girl #2 and #7, as the slut who stole his wallet had a voluptuous figure, not a rail-thin one. #2, the other party girl, looked extremely relieved at being allowed to go. #7 didn’t seem to care, and just slowly sauntered out. That left eight of us. “Look,” said whiney voice, “I can’t really tell which one it was with their clothes on, she was nude the entire time I was with her. And while it was too dark to remember her face (who remembers the face of a whore, afterwards, anyway heehee), I doubt if I could forget her tits which were directly in my face a good deal of the time. Why don’t you at least have them take off their tops and their bras—that might jog my memory!” We were ordered in a curt voice over a speakerphone (as if we couldn’t hear them through the glass!) to strip from the waist up. The flat, cold tones told me I was listening to MY cop, and while the thought of stripping before a stranger with a whiney voice didn’t bother me in the least, it irked for some reason to have to bare my breasts to the cop’s view. Slowly I pulled down the top half of my dress, letting it fall over my hips. “Oh man,” said Whiney Voice petulantly, but perhaps a bit less annoyed that before, “they all have huge teats! Tell them to squish them together with their hands, the lady er, in question, was doing that a lot for me.”

We were ordered to comply with Whiney’s request and, god forgive me I couldn’t help but blush. We heard the men within the room start to chuckle and comment on the size of our nipples and their shapes, but then Whiney Voice said once again, “Have them jog in place: the bouncing might tell me something!” As I began to run in place, I now saw how this was going to go. Whiney Voice probably knew exactly which of us, if any, was the perpetrator. But he and the cops had decided to get the most enjoyment they could out of a line of eight curvaceous semi-nude women. “Yeah,” said Whiney, sounding a little breathless, that’s helping I believe. After awhile he added, “They can stop jogging now and number 5 can leave. It’s definitely not her. But I can’t tell any more from their, uh, tops. Perhaps you could have them remove the rest of their clothing? I’m sure I’d remember something about the, um, shape of her nether regions.” So here it came. Flaming red down to my neck, I let the whole dress drop to the floor as the rest of the women likewise stepped out of their clothing. :”Uh, yeah!” said Whiney, clearly panting louder. “That definitely helps. She spread for me, uh, can you have them spread their lips?” After spreading our pussy lips, we had to turn to face the wall and arch our backs. Then we had to wiggle our buttocks back and forth vigorously, then pull our asscheeks wide apart. We all heard Whiney Voice cum with loud groans, as well as several of the cops with him, and then he said matter-of-factly: “It’s number 3—definitely her.”

“OK, said the flat voice over the loudspeaker, “Three, stay where you are. The rest of you bitches can get dressed and leave. Oh, all except for you, Number 10. Gather up your clothes and go stand in the middle of the hall, but do not put them back on yet.” Now what the fuck did that bastard want with me? Wasn’t the nudie jiggle show I’d just put on for him and his buddies ENOUGH? I held my dress in front of my body defensively and went to stand in the hall, but that didn’t stop the policemen going by in this busy corridor from making sure they walked behind me. I heard the chuckles and silently endured a number of hard pinches before the cop from hell came to get me. “I have good reason to believe that you’re holding contraband and will have to conduct a strip search,” he said, grinning, or rather sneering, ear to ear. Since you’re already stripped, all that’s left is the search and I’m qualified to give that.” (I just bet, I thought, thinking of the expert way he’d homed in on my dentatta).

“Unfortunately Miss,” he said, the fatuous smirk on his face unmistakable, all the exam rooms are busy at this time, so we’ll just get this over with real quick right here. I stared at him in shock as he pulled my dress away from my limp arms and told me to stand straight with arms stretched out to either side. He felt very carefully and slowly in my mouth and took my hair out of its braid and shook it out. He then felt under my armpits, looking for fleshy pockets where a transformationalist could easily have stashed some contraband under the skin, then moved his hands to my breasts. All the while he examined my breasts, sliding his fingers lightly over them, squeezing them, rubbing the nipples between thumb and forefinger, slapping them gently, he looked me directly in the eyes, and I could see what his expression was saying. “Look at what I, a low-paid city employee can do to your beautiful lush body whenever I want to. It’s all mine to play with and not yours anymore.” He continued to stare arrogantly at me as he fondled my belly, hips, bottom, and thighs in the same slow, extremely insulting manner.

As he did this, and as I stared defiantly back at him, refusing to flinch, even when his hands cruelly squeezed my soft skin. I saw out of the corners of my eyes that we were gathering quite a large audience, all male. Then the worst part came: I had to change my position, facing the wall, hands low down, buttocks jutted out and back arched as much as I could. I heard the comments that were being made about my large bottom and to my cop to “do her right” and imagined the leers on their faces. First he examined my vagina, as slowly and as carefully as if he did not know a dentatta had been removed. He spread my lips, displaying me wide for his friends and slowly inserted finger after finger until four were inside me. He then wiggled them around unbearably, his nails scratching my cunt walls and pushing against tender places. I held myself emotionless as long as I could but after a particularly painful dig of nail I gave a little squeal and shifted my weight from one leg to the other. As the audience laughed at that he slapped me hard on one cheek and yelled sternly at me to hold still. Shortly after that he pulled his digits out. This examination of my orifice had taken place without any lubrication on his part, and to my deep shame I felt his fingers wet and gloopy and they slid out of me.

“The lady doth protest too much,” he said softly as he wiped some of my goo off on the back of one thigh. Instantly one long finger was shoved deep up my ass and wiggled around in it, scratching me and pummeling my bowel the way he’d done to my vagina. “God, I wish someone had a camera to take a picture of this,” he said softly. “I’d blow it up to wall size and hang it in the living room for all to see. In a louder tone he commented to his audience about the tight shape my splinter seemed to be in, “almost virginal I’d guess,” (he was right—I didn’t let anybody near my anus with anything). I blushed even deeper when someone asked if I was “dirty” up there. He said he didn’t think so, but that all sluts like me were bound to be dirty and need a good cleaning out. After an extremely long time he pulled his finger out of my ass and wiped it on one butt cheek. I sighed in relief to have that huge annoying mass out of there. Then nothing happened. I remained in position, he said nothing to me, and the audience just stood there, ogling in silence. I felt a wave of fear go over me: I was naked, ass arched out, dark-colored privates exposed and leaking juices, and smelling like a horny girl surrounded by violent corrupt men. I was in quite the compromising position and knew the situation could quickly turn ugly.

“May I get up and get dressed now, Sir?” I asked in the most polite and non-controversial tone I could muster. “You can get up, 10, but you can’t get dressed. You’re staying with us tonight, bitch, and in this clink the cunts don’t wear clothes.” I stood up slowly and turned around, as I knew that most of these men wouldn’t leave until they’d had gotten a good eyeful of my tits and bare front pubes. “Please sir,” I said, my eyes staring straight ahead at a point on the wall that did not contain a pig’s face, “could you tell me what my charge is?” Despite my caution I hadn’t been careful enough. “Whack!” a second huge slap to my face landed, sending me sprawling into the crowd. With much chuckling, tittie squeezing and finger fucking, I was caught and helped to my feet. I stared round me helplessly, my former annoyance at my party night being ruined long gone. Now, I thought, as a shiver of terror ran through me, I’d be lucky if I got through this evening without being torn to pieces under a vicious gang rape. The men drooling over me had a dangerous, hungry glitter in their eyes.

My arms were suddenly jerked behind me again and I heard the click of the metal cuffs as the bad cop tightened them cruelly round my wrists again. “Guys, I’m taking her out back to the prison garden. There’s someone I want her to meet,” he explained and began pushing me tits first through the crowd. There were a few groans of disappointment and some last minute tit and ass tweaks and then we were through them and turning down a relatively quiet corridor. I was surprised that no one asked him who I was to meet out there. I was also surprised to hear this place had a garden. Probably just a tiny patch of pale grass in the middle of the exercise yard, I thought. We came to a pair of locked metal doors and my captor pushed me through them after unlocking them. I stumbled in the dark down some wooden steps and fell flat on my face in some (thank goodness) relatively soft bushes. As soon as I fell I heard some loud screeching noises coming from another part of the yard. “Good lord,” I thought, “that sounds like a chimpanzee!” The metal door clanged shut behind me and I couldn’t tell if my captor had gone back inside or was out there on the wood porch watching me.

I struggled around in the bushes trying to get into at least a kneeling position, when a tremendous furry weight dropped on top of me knocking me back down. It was the chimp and he was making those extremely loud excited screeching noises in my goddamn ear! And what was he doing on top of me, wiggling around that way? Oh god no, he isn’t… He was. The chimp, which felt like the largest creature of his size that I had ever encountered, was excitedly thrusting around a not inconsiderable penis in my ass crack. In a few short moments it found home and I found to my deep embarrassment and pain that I was being anally raped by a large monkey. Its penis felt like it was the size of a small, barely pubescent boy’s, but that was plenty large for a hole that had never been stretched larger than a finger’s width before. “I don’t believe this,” I groaned, and the monkey started hitting me on my head with the flats of its palms as it eagerly humped away inside my body. “Believe it,” said a flat voice, and I knew the added humiliation of being watched as an animal ass-raped me. A flashlight came on and from the shadows I knew it was aimed right at it’s cock that was pistoning in and out of my bountiful bottom.

“Believe it or not,” said the cop, this chimp used to be my partner, my best buddy on the force.” But he was a little bit too perverted, and when he heard about the new transformations that could make an individual just like another animal, he couldn’t resist turning himself into, for a huge sum of money, a happy, excited, horny chimpanzee. They did a good job on him, don’t you think?” I said, “Indeed!” sarcastically. The flat voice continued, “So you see, even though he’s a chimp I still look after my buddy. I got him this job of patrolling the prison garden at night, and he does a damn good job. With his heightened senses he’s caught several attempted escapees. And whenever I can, I try to do him a good turn by bringing him a bodacious babe to fuck. His taste in cunts is very similar to my own: he likes them with round, thick asses.” The cop feel silent and watched the chimp, who took a full 20 minutes humping me incessantly before it came.” I was sobbing in pain long before then, but nothing I did could get his heavy weight off my back. The cop moved in close, shining his flashlight on the ape’s smallish cock as it unloaded into my bottom with a frenzied screech. Then the chimp whacked me once more on the back of the head, leapt off me, and jumped up a tree.

The cop chuckled, “He likes you!” and helped me to my feet. Dribbling copious amounts of monkey sperm down the backs of my legs I was led back through the most populated part of the police department, where police and civilians alike stared at my wild leaf-strewn hair and the dirty yellow goo dripping out of my naked bottom crack. When pushed through another pair of double doors I heard ribald catcalls and whoops. “The women’s prison is reached only by going through the men’s prison,” the cop said with a smirk. Going through the men’s portion of the prison was like walking a gauntlet. He stopped me every few steps and made me turn around and bend over, displaying my obscene assets to selected prisoners. One offered him $4k on the spot if he’d let me just stick my bare ass up close to the bars, and damn if that cop didn’t agree, only warning the guy to leave my asshole alone. Being fucked by this dirty old male prisoner through the bars of his cell, I decided, was even more degrading than being ass fucked by a chimp.

I began to cry again, after the old man came, not because it hurt or anything, but just from the shame of being completely objectified, treated as a mindless body, there only for men’s pleasure. Finally, in the women’s ward, I was locked by my bad cop in an empty cell. At this point I was too beaten to ask to call my lawyer or ask what my bail was. I knew that if this cop wanted to keep me here he’d set it impossibly high. And if Sonne tried to find me, well, the front desk clerk had no records of my admittance. It would be as if I had been swallowed up by the earth. In today’s corrupt police organizations, people got lost in this way on a frequent basis. I sighed in despair as I looked around my bleak and unprivate surroundings. I saw the video camera clearly in one high corner of the cell; anyone would be able to watch my most personal acts—and probably would. I turned around to face the bad cop who was still standing there watching me from the other side of the bars and asked simply, “Why?” He smiled a dangerously smug smile. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” he replied and then walked away, ignoring the other women prisoners as they called to him, begging he bring his hot body over for a fuck.

I thought about the needy sexual condition they must be in to beg a pig like him for a fuck, and wondered if I too would soon be the same way, doing everything in my ability to seduce my male guards into giving me some dick. It was a hideously demeaning future to look forward to. I, who had always been able to snap my fingers in a bar and have five or ten gorgeous guys gather around respectfully begging for the privilege of going home with me that night, might be pleading with this ugly, sick man to just let me taste his asshole in a few short months. I learned from their calls that evening that my jailer was named “Officer Earl.” I stored the information away, but doubted I’d ever be in a position again to use it.

The bad cop had other plans for me than a perpetually horny life in a prison. I was awakened early the next morning by him and two orderlies who hustled me as quickly as possible through the men’s prison and out across the parking lot to a white van. I was still buck naked and the traffic driving by the lot slowed down and began to honk at me. I was secured in the van with a waist chain with wrist cuffs (all metal) that led to a secure o-ring in the side of the van. There were no benches, but the floor was carpeted, and as I leaned back against the wall of the van the cop told me to spread my legs. He and the two orderlies–who also sat across from me–discussed my body’s sexual features as if I wasn’t there. He told them all about what a tight pussy and anus I had, and how firm my titties felt under his hands. He explained to them how I could take a lot of pain—he twisted one of my nipples very hard to demonstrate—without complaining, and how fun it was the other night to break me down and finally get me to squeal. They discussed the size of my bottom and how delicious it would feel to sink their pricks between its cheeks.

With the way they excited themselves verbally I was rather surprised not to be raped then and there, but when one of the orderlies suggested it, the cop said with his characteristic “I know more than you do” snicker, that there would be plenty of time for that “afterwards.” They nodded knowingly and giggled, leering at me even worse, if that could be. The van finally reached its destination. Instead of being allowed to step out of it, all chains were removed and I was strapped down to a hospital gurney which the orderlies had obtained from just inside the building and brought to the rear of the van. The building, from what I could see, was a simple two-story nondescript structure. There was no way to tell what kind of business was conducted inside it, no signs outside to give a clue. This terrified me more than anything else had during the last crazy 24 hours. I was wheeled into a large coolish white room, through some double doors with a single word on them: PREP. The orderlies began at once to clean me up, giving me a thorough and quite humiliating sponge bath as the cop stood by watching.

I implored him with my eyes to tell me what was going on, but he didn’t say a word. Finally, a very busy man in a white coat, glasses, and reddish beard came in to “look at the specimen” as he termed it. He ran his hands all over my body, rolling me over to feel my backside just as carefully as my front, and yes, his fingers lingered in all the usual places, making me blush. But apparently he was also performing an examination because he spoke to the Officer Earl afterwards, telling him I was perfect for the treatment the officer had in mind and he was certain that I would come out of it just fine. It finally dawned on me that I was in the hands of a black-market transformationalist, and the cop was going to have me changed in some radical way. Oh god, let it not be so I could think of no worse fate for myself, the woman so proud of her natural beauty that she had no artificial “enhancements” grafted on to her. “Sir!” I beseeched the doctor, “Please, I’ve never had a transformation in my life and never want to have one. Please don’t change me in any way I LIKE the way I am!”

“Don’t worry dear,” he said kindly. “Despite the radicalness of this procedure, much of your natural beauty and all of your natural sexual assets will be retained!” “But what are you going to DO to me?” I begged him. “No,” said the cop at once. “She isn’t to know until afterwards. That’s part of what I’m paying you this ridiculous sum for.” “Certainly,” said the doctor nervously, glancing at my terrified face then looking away. Well, Sir. I am all ready to go after I scrub up. We can now put her out—unless you want her…” “No, that’s OK,” said the cop quickly. No need to do the procedure with her conscious.” Thank god for small favors! “Too many go insane from the pain and shock when forced to suffer it live.” Oh Jesus wept, I thought. This was going to be a very invasive operation, then. But I had no conception then of how invasive it would actually be.

A long time later I woke up, my hands and legs in searing pain. One of the orderlies hovering around me noticed my condition and put me under again right away. Much later, I awoke again, to dull and almost manageable pain all over my body. My arms and legs were up in casts, pulled toward the ceiling. This time I was allowed to stay awake for awhile, my eyes peering out of a bundle of bandages. Then I was put to sleep. The next time I woke up my arms and legs were down but I couldn’t move them or see them. Something seemed strange about my eyesight, though, I could see much better and much more in the corners of my eyes than I used to be able to. I also noticed that smells were more distinct – or there seemed to be more of them, or something.. But my head was held firmly in a brace and I was unable to look past the ceiling and see what was going on.

Slowly the bandages were being removed from my body. I began to remember periods of being awake in between the drugged sleeps. There were periods of alertness where I itched all over my body, but my limbs were as firmly fastened as my head and I could not move them, although they were exercised regularly by the staff. A television screen on the ceiling allowed me to follow current events and entertain myself during my long period of convalescence. It also helped distract me from my growing fears about what had been done to me. For some odd reason, I could not feel my feet or my toes, but I assumed they were just numb from the procedures. I couldn’t imagine the doctor botching it so bad that I had lost use of them. Finally, the day came, long after all the bandages were removed when I was told I would have a visitor. Just before they were let in, the clamps and straps holding my body firmly in place were removed. I was free to stretch my limbs on my own by myself for the first time in days.


©2004 Unda. Crucia. Eximius.

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