Cole/Collette

Cole's screams. Sure, he had been rough with the kid himself, especially after

he had been discharged from hospital and found that his son didn't want to play

their old games any more. But this was not just a little rough stuff

preparatory to a good fucking. This was irreversible cock and ball torture

preparatory to his son's total emasculation. All the difference in the world.

Had he not needed the professional help of these two experienced body modifiers

to turn Cole into a girl he would never have allowed them to torture the boy

before operating on him. But that was the price he had been forced to pay for

their cooperation. No CBT - no castration, penectomy or vaginoplasty: that was

the deal. So he had to listen to the sounds of the 12-year-old's screams as the

two men put his genitals through unendurable torment.

The men would be at least another couple of hours before they were ready to

begin the operation. They were filming everything so Dan would be able to see

exactly what they were doing to Cole if he ever wanted to. But right now he

didn't. Right now all he wanted to do was count the minutes and hours until he

had a little daughter to love and cherish once again - until Cole had been

turned, doubtless protesting to the last, irreversibly into Collette.

Dan turned the television up as loud as he could to drown the kid's screams down

the corridor, lit himself a joint to calm his nerves, sat back in his chair and

cast his mind back 12 years to the fateful day when the real Collette had been

taken from him...

.....

"Who's my favourite little girl in all the world?"

"I am! I am!" squeaked the naked five-year-old moppet as Dan towelled her down

after her bath.

"And who are you?"

"I'm your PRINCESS!"

Dan's cock lurched at the knowledge of how this little catechism was going to

proceed.

"And what do I like most about my little princess?"

"My CUNT and my BUTT!"

There she stood, pink and glowing from her bath, her curly fair hair slightly

damp at the edges, smiling lovingly up at her daddy while using the language of

the gutter in which he had so professionally schooled her.

"And how is daddy going to show his princess just how much he loves her little

butt?"

"He's going to FUCK me in it!"

Dan realised he only had 10 minutes to make good this prediction before it was

time to drive to the hospital to pick up Martha and the baby. But 10 minutes

was quite enough...

.....

That was about all he could remember of the day. He was not sure that he could

remember fucking Collette in the rear, though as he had been doing so regularly

since she was three the memories of one act of debauchery tended to fade into

another. He certainly could not remember the drive to the hospital, or how he

carried the baby while Martha and Collette walked on ahead, or how Collette had

run into the street without looking, or how Martha had run after her in a vain

attempt to prevent the truck from hitting her, resulting in the instant death of

both of them. All of this had been comprehensively blocked. His only memory of

the rest of the day came much later, when a consoling neighbour asked him what

he was going to call the little boy.

"Collette," he replied without thinking.

"But, um, he's a boy."

"Yes, yes, of course, slip of the tongue. I shall call him Cole..."

.....

Dan's reverie jumped forward six years to the night when - not for the first

time - he had come home from work, tended absent-mindedly to the needs of his

son and then proceeded to get incapacitatingly drunk. It was two in the morning

when he woke up, his head throbbing, and decided to sober himself up in the way

he knew best, by visiting The Shrine.

Dan had not altered anything in Collette's room since her death. He kept it

locked, and Cole knew that it was a thrashing offence to disturb daddy when he

was inside. Dan would enter, burst into tears, fling himself on the bed, clutch

Collette's teddy-bear and cry his heart out. Then he would remove a pair of

panties from the drawer, unleash his cock and slowly masturbate into them,

whispering the while, "Yes my princess, daddy loves you so much he's going to

fill your baby womb with his seed - oh yes my sweetheart here daddy comes - feel

me, feel me - I'm shooting my sperm right up you.....ahhh!"

But this time his keys were nowhere to be seen. Dan vaguely remembered putting

them on the hall table when he returned home, but they were not there. Perhaps

he had already opened up Collette's room and forgotten about it. Only one way

to find out.

As he staggered up the stairs, his befuddled brain took in the fact that the

door to Collette's room was open and the light inside was on.

What Dan saw when he looked inside The Shrine sobered him up instantly.

There, lying asleep on his beloved daughter's bed, was his son. Dan's first

emotion was one of incandescent rage at the act of sacrilege that Cole had

committed. He was in the very act of removing his belt to thrash the hide of

the boy when he took in the full enormity of the sacrilege.

Cole was wearing his sister's clothes.

The little boy was lying on the bed, one leg crooked, the other straight, his

thumb in his mouth, sleeping peacefully in a green and blue tartan dress with

white lace fringes, white ankle socks with roses on them and black patent

leather shoes. In the position in which he lay, Dan could even see that

underneath the dress the boy had on a pair of his late sister's pink panties.

Dan's rage magically transmuted into lust of an intensity he had never before

experienced, not even when he sodomised his daughter for the first time. He

howled like a werewolf as he started tearing off his clothes. Little Cole woke

up at once. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked in amazement and fear

at his father. But he badly misread the nature of the threat the man posed to

him.

"Oh no, daddy, please don't beat me, I'm sorry, daddy, I won't do it again, I

just wanted to see what it was like, I'm sorry, please....."

But Dan had no intention of beating the child. Knocking him about a bit while

he raped him, yes; but a beating - however richly deserved - would have to wait

until later. Because Dan had just experienced a Damascus-road conversion. Cole

was now at almost exactly the age that Collette had been when she had died. His

hair, while shorter, was also curly and fair. His eyes were also a cat-like

green. Even his little bubble-butt could have been a dead ringer for his

sister's. Collette had just been reborn before Dan's very eyes. The knowledge

drove him wild with lust.

It was as well for the six-year-old that Dan naturally produced copious

quantities of pre-cum, because it certainly never occurred to the rapist in his

crazed frenzy to use any artificial lubricant to ease his entry. He merely

pulled the pink panties down to Cole's ankles, held those ankles high above the

boy's head and thrust his cock hard at the kid's tiny puckered anus. It took a

dozen hard thrusts before even the tip of the crown gained any ground, by which

time the child was screaming the house down. But it would have taken much more

than the shrill screams and tight sphincter of a six-year-old boy to stop Dan in

his tracks. Another dozen thrusts, and the whole crown was in. A further

dozen, and half the length had disappeared, at which point the child fainted.

Dan barely registered the fact, but ploughed on relentlessly until his entire

cock was buried to the hilt inside the little boy-girl's tiny ass. And then he

started to fuck.....

.....

The fact that Cole was being tortured in the next room did not stop Dan thinking

lovingly of the two years that had followed that first sexual encounter. More

by luck than judgement, Cole had survived the initial rape without suffering

internal injuries, and although he never really liked being fucked, he did like

dressing up as a girl. Half-consciously, half-unconsciously he realised that

being a girl was the way to unlock his father's long-suppressed affection. From

then on, when in the house together, Cole wore nothing but his sister's clothes

and answered to the name of Collette.

"Who's my favourite little girl in all the world?" Dan would ask him.

"I am! I am!" Cole/Collette would reply.

"And who are you?"

"I'm your PRINCESS!"

"And what do I like most about my little princess?"

"My CUNT and my BUTT!"

To maintain that part of the fantasy, Dan would tape Cole's little cock between

his legs with pink sticking plaster and draw a gash above it with marker-pen.

God, how he wished the child had a real cunt he could fuck. He had always

promised himself that he would deflower the real Collette on her seventh

birthday, but when Cole reached that age Dan had to settle for a symbolic

substitute act - ramming a pipe-cleaner in and out of the boy's urethra.

Unfortunately, the more the fantasy of Cole as his little child-bride took hold

of him, the more tenuous his grip on reality became until, when Cole was nearly

eight, Dan suffered a total breakdown and was committed to a mental hospital.

Responsibility for Cole's upbringing passed to an aunt and gradually the child

outgrew his need to cross-dress and emerged instead, despite his earlier

traumas, as a remarkably balanced, happy-go-lucky pre-teener.

Cole was nearly ten years old when his father recovered his sanity to the extent

where it was possible for the boy to visit him. From then on, Dan made slow but

steady progress to the point where, a year later, his doctors decided he could

be released.

What the doctors were not to know was that Dan had recovered his reason by sheer

force of will, knowing that only if he were allowed to leave the hospital could

he be reunited with his little princess....

.....

Dan was released on a Monday. His sister stayed with them until the Friday, but

by then he was managing so well that she felt it better to leave him and Cole to

get to know each other again after their enforced separation of over three

years. She had gone by the time Cole returned from soccer practice.

The moment Cole saw his father, standing in the hall, he knew that something was

badly wrong. For a start Dan was wearing nothing but his underwear, while in

each hand he held a carrier bag with the logo of a children's clothes shop on

it. Cole's blood ran cold as he realised what was in prospect.

"It's OK, Collette, daddy's here to look after you in the way he knows best.

Come upstairs with me, princess, and look at the lovely clothes daddy's bought

for you today."

Cole's mouth turned dry. Although it was a warm evening and he was fresh from

energetic exercise, he found himself shivering in his soccer gear. Everyone had

been so confident that his father was better. It had never occurred to the boy

that Dan would have wanted to carry on where he had left off. But the boy knew

one thing. There would be no going back to their previous perverted

relationship. For reasons he half-understood, both his dad and he had needed

him to be a little girl then, but not now. That was all behind him.

Perhaps his father would understand if he explained.

"Um, dad, I don't think it's such a good idea."

Dan looked at his son with amazement. He had naturally assumed that the boy

would welcome being recast as Collette.

"What the hell do you mean, not a good idea?" Dan's tone was more one of

surprise than of anger, but it still made Cole sick to his stomach. Any thought

that his father would have blushed, laughed, backed off and said no more about

it disappeared.

"Um, it's just that, er, I don't want to play at being a little girl any more.

I think I've grown out of that."

This time there was no mistaking Dan's emotion. It was very much more anger

than surprise.

"PLAY at being a girl, you little cock-tease? If I say you are a little girl

then you ARE a little girl. Now, upstairs at the double and get changed!"

The 10-year-old knew that he had three choices. He could stand his ground and

try to reason with his dad. He could give in and go upstairs. Or he could turn

hurriedly on his heels and run away. He knew that the right course of action

was the third. But he also knew that there was no possibility of his doing

that. Even assuming he got to the door and out of the house without Dan

stopping him, running away could only result in his father being recommitted to

hospital - or worse. And Cole could not contemplate that possibility.

That reduced the choice to two. Or really one. Because somehow Cole knew that

attempting to stand his ground and argue with his father would eventually end up

with him climbing those stairs anyway. But he felt he had to go through the

motions. That proved a mistake.

"No dad, please, listen. Things have changed since...since you've been away. I

used to like being a girl and, um, what you did to me. But that was because I

sort of envied Collette for being the one you really loved and wanted you to

love me like you loved her. But I've had time to think things through since

then and, you know, I just want to be me, and I just want you to love me like a

normal dad loves his son. Please?"

Dan was listening in stupefaction to this plea. He had honoured this unwanted

brat by bestowing on him all the honour due to his Princess, had treated him

like his Princess in every way, and this was how the ungrateful tyke repaid him.

Dan saw red.

The next thing Cole knew he was lying on his back in the hallway, seeing stars

and convinced that his jaw was broken. Dan had knocked him about before when he

was little, often taking a frisson of sadistic pleasure from slapping his face

hard while fucking him and occasionally giving him ferocious spankings on his

bare backside - much more painful than a belting, Cole had discovered. But the

sheer animal speed and force of the blow to his chin took the boy's breath away

- literally and metaphorically.

Further proof of his father's brute strength was to follow. Dan grabbed Cole by

his ankle, picked up the two carrier bags in his other hand and dragged the boy

upstairs, ignoring his cries as his head bounced from tread to tread. He

dragged him into Collete's room and unloaded the contents of the bags onto the

bed. He then hauled Cole to his feet by his hair.

"Listen, you snivelling brat, NOTHING has changed. You are STILL my little girl

and I WILL have you whenever and however I feel like it. Do I make myself

clear?"

Cole snivelled. This time the blow smashed into his abdomen, although as Dan

was still holding him by his hair with his other hand the boy remained upright,

though now howling with agony.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

Cole managed to nod, yes.

"Very well, take off your clothes. You will not be needing them again in a

hurry."

Cole knew that further protests were pointless and started to undress. And as

he did so, something entirely unexpected started to happen. He found himself

slipping back in time, to the days when he was a much smaller boy deriving such

an intense pleasure from wearing his dead sister's clothes. Suddenly the

thought of being in girl's clothing again was not only tolerable, it was

positively exciting. As the state of his cock testified.

Nor was Cole's excitement lessened by the sight of his father, furious yet

clearly sexually aroused himself, with an erect cock so huge that the crown and

and several inches of stem had actually forced their way above the waistline of

his boxers.

"You fucking faggot pervert," Dan yelled, "put this on and hide that loathsome

appendage." He handed his son the tiniest of posing pouches, clearly designed

for a much smaller boy, into which the lad had great difficult in stuffing his

stiff cock and burgeoning balls.

"Now get dressed properly."

The clothes Dan had bought for his son were similar in style to those the boy

had first put on five years previously except this time the dress was red and

white check, the white socks went nearly up to Cole's knees and the panties had

pictures of rabbits on them.

As the boy transformed himself, so Dan's mood changed. It was as if his rage

simply melted away, to be replaced by real affection. He did, however, remain

hugely erect.

"Just a few finishing touches now," he said, when the boy-girl finally stood

shyly in front of him. From the bed he produced eyeliner and lipstick which he

applied with surprising skill.

"Ah yes," he said, admiring his handiwork when he had finished, and squeezing

his cock. "Oh my beautiful princess, it's been far too long. I'm going to fuck

you from dawn to dusk all weekend. You'll like that, won't you?"

Despite its confinement, Cole's little prick managed to stiffen that little bit

more as he nodded his agreement and stood, mesmerised, as his father stripped

off his underwear.....

.....

For the next year, father and son settled into a Jekyll and Hyde routine. From

Monday to Friday Dan was the ideal house-husband while Cole gave every

impression of being a normal 11-year-old, bright and engaging at school, good at

soccer, friendly with everyone. Then, on Friday evening, Dan morphed into an

obsessive pederast and Cole into the girlish object of his lust.

Every Friday Cole came home from soccer practice to find a new outfit waiting

for him on Collette's bed. Sometimes the style would be pure innocent little

girl, while on others it would be pornographically provocative. Dan's mood and

approach would change to match the apparel. One weekend the name of the game

would be infantilism, with Cole dressed in clothes more suitable to the six-

year-old that the real Collette had been and Dan showering him with baby-talk as

he fucked the child. The next weekend Cole would find himself in nothing but

fishnet tights and high heels, his face made up to the nines, and tied with his

hands high above his head while Dan fucked him ferociously from behind and

called him cunt, whore, slut and cock-tease.

The 11-year-old surprised himself with the ease with which he slipped into these

roles. Just the sight of the weekend's choice of clothing had him talking like

a pre-schooler or a seasoned whore, as the case might be. Not could he hide

from himself - or his father - the sexual pleasure he derived from these weekend

orgies. But as the weeks since his father's return turned into months, the

boy's emotions started to change in a gradual but emphatic way.

The excitement was still there, but by Sunday evening as the prospect of a

normal schoolboy's existence started to loom large Cole would become

increasingly prone to feelings of guilt and confusion. Similarly, by Thursday

or Friday morning his feelings were ones of trepidation rather than the

thrilling anticipation he had known as a seven-year-old.

Partly this was because he had hit puberty and was beginning to discover girls.

He was spending more and more time in class breaks and after school with a girl

called Rosie, who made him feel good about himself (in a quite different way

from his dad) by calling him 'cute' and 'sweet'. By then time Cole was 12 they

had started holding hands. Sexually experienced though he was, it never

occurred to Cole to go any further with the girl; but he knew that his fondness

for Rosie represented the right way forward for him, not his illicit, seamy

weekends with his father.

It was at the end of the week when Rosie had given him the first furtive peck of

a kiss on his cheek that Cole finally summoned up the courage to face his father

down. His heart was pounding as he returned from soccer practice, opened the

door and - instead of going upstairs to Collette's room to see what costume he

would be wearing that weekend - went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of

milk, sat down, and waited for his father to come down.

Dan, who had heard his son open the door, waited for five minutes before coming

downstairs to discover where the boy was. He found him sitting, pale and

shivering slightly, in the kitchen.

"Come on, Princess, upstairs with you. Daddy's a bit impatient tonight."

Cole breathed deeply and started his prepared speech.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I've decided that we have to stop all this. I'm growing up

now. I've got a girl-friend - well sort of. But anyway I know I like girls,

not being a girl any more. It was fun for both of us, but now it's over. I

know you'll understand."

Actually, Cole knew no such thing. He was scared stiff that, as on his dad's

return from hospital, Dan would simply refuse to take no for an answer. To

Cole's surprise and relief, however, Dan seemed philosophical, almost as if he

had been expecting this moment. This time he did not strike the lad, drag him

upstairs and rape him. Instead he mumbled, "Yeah, well," and walked out of the

room.

The weekend passed in frosty silence, but at no point did Dan attempt to abuse

or assault the boy. He did, however, hit the bottle; and when Cole saw his

father slumped in his chair, staring vacantly into the middle distance, the boy

did fear that he might be on the brink of another breakdown. But by Monday

morning, when Cole left for school, his father seemed OK. The week passed

normally and when the weekend came round again, Dan made no attempt to get Cole

into girl's clothing.

As the weeks passed, Dan's behaviour seemed to become more and more normal. He

was never particularly warm or affectionate, but he ensured the boy was properly

fed and watered, and did his homework. He even took him out once or twice for

weekend outings.

In short, he concealed totally from Cole the plans he was working on

continuously while the boy was at school. The boy was not to know that, one day

when he was listening to Rosie prattling away about their classmates, his father

was sitting, naked and prodigiously erect, at his computer typing out a

contract.

After discovering Glenn and Barry through a body modification website, it had

taken a lot of discreet fencing before Dan was confident that they would do what

he wanted. At first he had resisted their stipulation that they be allowed two

months to subject Cole to vicious abuse before emasculating him, but he soon

conceded. It was, he eventually convinced himself, no more than the little

prick-tease deserved.

So the deal was struck. Glenn and Barry were to find the house and kit it out.

They were to provide the oestrogen: Dan hoped his son would have decent-sized

tits by the time he was subjected to the knife. At the end of two months they

were to emasculate him and provide him with a rudimentary vagina - Dan was

particularly insistent on this point. In exchange they would receive $10,000

and permission to do anything they liked to the kid. Provided it was not life-

threatening of course.....

.....

It was a Wednesday in late Spring when Cole's life as a normal schoolboy came to

such an abrupt end. He returned home to find a large white truck outside the

house. Wondering what it was doing there he walked into the house. He never

even saw the man who hit him on the back of the head with a sand-filled

stocking.

When he regained consciousness he realised that he was trussed up in the back of

a moving vehicle. His next realisation was that there was something large and

round in his mouth which prevented him from crying out. The final realisation

was that the clothes he wore were not those he had been wearing when he was hit.

Just enough light seeped through from the driver's cab for him to see that he

was wearing a padded black bra, black lace panties, sheer nylon stockings

attached to a red suspender belt, high-heeled shoes and a mock-fur coat. The

rest of the truck was filled with packing cases and racks from which hung a

bewildering assortment of female apparel.

Cole was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. In his panic he

attempted to break loose from his bonds, but he was far too securely tied in

place for that. His screams of fear emerged as the faintest of muffled moans.

Cole lost track of time. He even lost consciousness again once or twice before

the truck eventually came to a halt. When the tailgate was lowered he could

tell that it was the middle of the night.

Two men clambered into the back of the truck. One was about 45 or 50, thickset,

with a Mohican hairstyle and a face replete with metal rings and studs. He was

stripped to the waist and Cole could take in further metal rings in both

nipples. Such clothing as he did wear - pants, boots, gloves and collar - were

all fashioned from heavily studded leather.

The other was much older - about 60 - and much smaller with greasy, shoulder-

length white hair, pinched rat-like features and a pronounced limp. He was

dressed entirely in denim.

And there, standing by the truck and supervising matters, was Dan.

The sight was too much for Cole. He fouled himself and fainted.....

.....

He regained consciousness in a room suffused with eerie red light. He was on

his feet and someone was holding his hands firmly behind his back. He took in

that he was still wearing his ridiculous coat, bra, stockings and shoes, but his

panties had been removed. Somebody was handcuffing his hands behind his back.

As for his panties....

His panties, complete with their full content of shit and piss, were being

forced into his mouth by the man with the Mohican haircut. Cole panicked and

attempted to present this foul invasion by clamping his mouth shut and shaking

his head frantically from side to side.

"Stop that, punk," growled the Mohican. "Open your mouth now, or I'll squeeze

your balls to jelly."

The terrified boy delayed his response just one second too long. The Mohican

growled, "You asked for it, punk!", grabbed hold of Cole's bvalls and squeezed

hard. Cole screamed. That was all the Mohican needed. He stuffed the

besmirched panties fully into the child's mouth.

Cole's stomach heaved, but even as his vomit rose in his throat the boy realised

it had nowhere to go but back where it had come from and he swallowed

desperately to prevent himself from choking.

Next the Mohican produced a metal bar about four foot long with leather ankle

restraints fixed towards either end. Still in their high-heeled shoes, Cole's

slim ankles were fixed in place in the two restraints. The Mohican then started

to turn a large butterfuly screw in the middle of the spreader bar, extending it

and forcing the boy's ankles further and further apart. The pain in Cole's

groin intensified, and he was convinced his legs were going to snap like a

wishbone before the man finally stopped.

Next it was Ratface's turn to test the limits of Cole's endurance. He turned a

handle on the wall which lowered a chain with a butcher's hook at the end of it.

The hook was inserted in one of the links of the handcuffs and Ratface turned

the handle in the contrary direction, raising the chain and forcing Cole's arms

painfully upwards and outwards from the small of his back. Again, the man

stopped only at the very point where Cole was sure his shoulders were about to

be dislocated.

At that point, with the 12-year-old painfully restrained but prevented from

screaming by his noisome gag, Dan entered the room and walked up to his son,

carrying a syringe.

"Oh my poor little girl," he said, stroking Cole's cheek, "this is all so

unnecessary. All you had to do was accept your destiny. But no, you thought

you knew better than your own father. Well, now you are just beginning to get

an idea of the price you have to pay for your wilfulness." Almost absent-

mindedly, Dan proceeded to give Cole his first shot of oestrogen.

"Let me introduce you to your captors. This," (pointing at the Mohican) "is

Glenn, and this," (pointing at Ratface) "is Barry. Over the next two months you

are going to get to know them extremely well. They have agreed to do an

important job for me - you'll learn in good time what that job is - but the

price they have charged me is a high one. It is, however, a price I have

willingly agreed to pay.

"Over the next two months these two gentlemen will be allowed to do anything to

your wretched little body that they feel like. They will fuck you, and not just

with their cocks. They will make you eat their shit and drink their piss, as

well as your own of course. They will whip you far, far harder than I ever did.

They will chain you up in positions far, far more painful than the one you are

in now. But all that is chicken-feed compared to what they will be doing to

your pathetic little cock and balls. Barry, give this disobedient child of mine

an idea of some of the joys you have in store for him."

Ratface grinned, exposing a mouth full of rotting teeth and started ferreting

around in a cardboard box. Out came a handful of thin leather straps no more

than a couple of inches long, one of which had a metal ring attached to it, a

box of long, thin needles, an 18-inch length of bungee rope with hooks at either

end and two canvas sacks, one of them empty and one apparently full. Cole

looked at these objects with a mixture of terror and incomprehension. The

terror was to prove well justified as the incomprehension gave way to total

comprehension.

First Ratface buckled the little leather straps tightly, one above the other, at

the top of Cole's scrotum. His balls were not only quite large for a 12-year-

old but surprisingly low-hung - surprisingly considering how little sexual

development his body otherwise displayed. This allowed four of the little

straps to be fixed in place, causing Cole's balls to be pulled further from his

cock than he would have thought possible, while at the same time causing them to

swell perceptibly.

In their swollen state, and restrained by the little straps, they presented a

perfect target for the needles.

"Gonna turn your nuts into a pin-cushion, boy," the elderly deviant rasped.

"Then any pins I got over, I'm gonna stick through your cock, your tits, lips,

nose, ears, between your fingers - wherever I feel like. You ready for me boy?

Coz this is going to hurt like the very devil."

It took well over two hours for Ratface to work his way through the entire

supply of pins. He was as good as his word. By the time he was finished you

could hardly see Cole's balls for metal. Half-a-dozen much larger pins had been

skewered though his cock at various angles, with a similar number drilled

through his tits. But the largest pins were reserved for his face. Without

removing the soiled panties from Cole's mouth, Ratface contrived to drill one

hat-pin through the boy's upper lip, tongue and lower lip, and another from left

to right all the way through his nose. Yet if anything it was the little pins

drilled firmly between Cole's fingers that evoked the clearest evidence of

displeasure from the writhing child.

Only when all the pins were in place did the Mohican take over, hooking one end

of the bungee rope to the ring on the lowest of the straps buckled tightly

around Cole's scrotum. The empty bag was then attached to the lower hook. The

Mohican waited until he had Cole's undivided attention before addressing the

snivelling boy.

"I got me two bags here, boy. The empty one's attached to your balls. The full

one has 20 pounds of shot in it. I'm gonna be moving the shot slowly but surely

from the full bag to the empty one. How d'ya think you're gonna like that, eh?

Not very much? Well, just to make it more fun for you, every so often I'm gonna

give this here bungee rope a good tug. That'll cause the bag to go up, down,

up, down. It'll make it seem like it's pulling your balls clean off your body.

Heck, maybe it WILL pull your balls clean off your body. Can't tell, can we

Barry, coz we've never used so much shot before, have we?"

"No sirree!" Ratface replied, "this is like a first for us as well as for you,

kid. But your daddy don't mind if we do pull your balls off. After all,

they're coming off one way or anoth...aw shit, I wasn't meant to say that yet

was I? Ah well, kid's gotta find out sooner or later, ain't he?"

Dan was initially annoyed. He had made it clear that he wanted to savour the

moment when he told his son that his balls were coming off. But he forgave

Ratface his indiscretion when he observed the look of abject terror that swept

over Cole's face on hearing the news and the futile attempts he made to break

free of his bonds. The Mohican waited till the boy had stopped writhing before

dropping the first handful of shot into the empty bag. He did so with enough

force to make the bag dance a couple of inches up and down at the end of the

bungee rope.

After the third handful, Cole's testicles had been stretched enough to allow

Ratface to fix another couple of little straps in place. After the fourth

handful, the Mohican tugged the bag down as far as he could - almost all the way

to the ground - and then let go. The elasticity of the bungee rope allowed the

bag of shot to rise and fall all the way to the boy's groin and then back to the

floor, over and over again. Cole's contorted features left his witnesses in no

doubt as to the anguish this treatment was causing him, even though his gag and

the pin through his lips and tongue made normal complaint impossible.

The Mohican neither knew nor cared what internal damage he was doing to the boy

as he gradually transferred the remaining shot from one bag to another. By now

the boy's balls had been stretched enough to permit three more little straps to

be buckled in place. By the end of the proceedings they looked a bit like the

elongated necks of those African tribeswomen who had more and more rings put in

place around them as they grew up. The Mohican set the full bag in violent

motion and then all three men repaired to the next room for some beers, leaving

the boy screaming silently in his agony.....

.....

Over the days that followed, Cole lost total track of time. He was never allowed

to leave the room. The red lights were never turned off, nor were any brighter

lights ever turned on. Whenever total fatigue overcame him, he would be rudely

awakened for some new torment. He was untied from time to time, sure, but only

so that he could be tied up again in a new position for some different form of

abuse. No part of his body was left unattended. He was whipped on the back, on

the front, on the legs, on the soles of his feet. Cigarettes were stubbed out

all over him. He was made to consume his captors' piss and shit. And of course

his own.

And he was fucked. In the mouth, in the ass, and not only by his captors'

cocks. After days (or was it weeks?) of regular rapes, the men decided that his

ass was well enough opened up to take their fists. The 12-year-old had just

been fucked for the fourth time in an hour. Every membrane in his ass-hole felt

on fire. He could only pray that Glenn and Barry would decide that an evening's

drinking was preferable to a further extension of his ordeal. But he was not in

luck that day.

After a few beers in the next room, they returned, evil glints in their eyes.

Barry was carrying a baseball bat. Glenn had what looked like a chain mail

gauntlet on his hand.

"Wh....what are you going to do to me?" Cole asked fearfully, though he could

make a shrewd guess. He had taken their naked fists up his ass the day before

and had a good idea by now of the sort of pastimes that turned the men on.

Glenn smashed him across the face with the gauntlet. Blood poured from Cole's

cheek, and he could tell that he had lost at least one tooth, probably more.

"Shut the fuck up, punk. You're here to give us pleasure, not to ask dam' fool

questions. OK Barry, let's tie him in position."

Cole was retied in place on his back, his legs stretched upwards and outwards in

the shape of a V, his hands tied behind his neck. His asshole was now perfectly

positioned for what his two sadistic assailants had in mind next.

"OK punk," said Glenn. "You've taken our cocks, you've taken our fists, now

it's time to move to the major league. See this here baseball bat? Can you

believe that I'm going to slam all of it right up inside you? Can you?"

The 12-year-old was now weeping with trepidation and thrashing around as far as

his bondage would allow, which in truth was not very far.

"Yeah, Glenn," said Barry, openly masturbating, "stick it to him. Let him know

what his asshole's really for!"

Glenn needed no further encouragement. He positioned the head of the baseball

bat at the exposed aperture and started to push.

Cole screamed in agony. Nothing - not even the two men's fists - had prepared

him for the pain of this latest intrusion. But the men knew their craft. His

ass was already sufficiently dilated to accommodate the girth of the bat without

ripping apart, although Cole might have been forgiven for thinking otherwise.

And his colon was sufficiently elastic to accept most of its length, leaving

just enough outside for Glenn to maintain a firm grip on as he shoved it

mercilessly in and out.

Agonising it might be, but at least the surface of the bat was smooth. The same

could not be said for Barry's gauntlet. So when Glenn withdrew the bat, Cole's

screams were redoubled when the mailed fist took its place. Moreover, Barry

left Glenn standing when it came to the ferocity with which he punched the

child's guts. Not only was the gauntlet inherently more painful than the naked

fist to which Cole had been exposed the day before, but the boy's softening up

with the baseball bat allowed Barry to thrust far deeper than he had previously

- all the way up to his elbow.

Cole had long since passed the state of fearing that he would die to one of

hoping he would die, or at least lose consciousness. But it was not to be.

Throughout the vicious ordeal he was fully aware of what was happening to him

and, during the final ten minutes or so, of the chilling sight of his own father

who had entered the room to observe at close range the full extent of Cole's

ordeal....

....

"OK, we're ready to start."

Glenn's intrusion put an end to Dan's reverie, and he hastily made his way into

the adjoining room to witness the final act of his son's long drawn out torment

- the act that would put an end to Cole and bring Collette back to life.

Dan gasped at the sight which greeted him when he entered the room. Glenn and

Barry had been enjoying themselves all right. Cole's slim form was chained to

an old bedstead which was propped at 45 degrees against the wall. His wrists

were chained to the top corner but his ankles were fixed about half way down the

frame, forcing his knees outwards and upwards in a frog-like position.

From the waist up he already looked all little girl. His wavy fair hair had

been long enough for a girl at the start of his ncarceration and was

considerably longer know, and a little styling plus the addition of some

hairgrips and bows added a further touch of authenticity. His face had been

professionally made up - these two tough deviants had a great deal more skill

in that department than he did, Dan realised. False eyelashes added to the

little-girlish allure.

Cole's breasts had come on a treat under the influence of the daily doses of

oestrogen to which the lad had been subjected and were now comfortably the size

of half-grapefruits. Dan even convinced himself that the hormone treatment had

had some effect on the shapeliness of his son's hips and calves. Certainly they

would not look out of place on a girl.

In lurid contrast to the girlish innocence of the rest of his body, Cole's

genitals were a distressing sight - or rather, would have distressed anyone who

thought of them as a legitimate and permanent feature of the boy's body. But

Dan of course did not hold this view. The vile torture to which they had been

subjected did not turn a hair on his head, though he found it mildly distasteful

that the two men were deriving quite so much sadistic glee from what they had

been allowed to do. Both were stark naked and still prodigiously erect despite

the evidence of at least one previous ejaculation apiece - probably several.

Nor could they resist telling Dan what he had missed.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," Glenn moaned as Dan walked through the door, "I can

die a happy man now. That was so fucking hot it was out of sight. Fucking kid

stayed conscious throughout, too - never fainted whatever we did to him. That

relaxant drug we used must have been really good shit. Relaxed him just enough

to stay conscious, but not so much that he failed to feel the pain. You must

have heard his screams. They were pure fucking ecstasy!"

"Wanna hear what we did to him?" Barry asked. Dan shrugged. Barry chose to

interpret this as a yes.

"First we wired him up and zapped him a bit - one wire tied tightly round his

balls, the other deep as we could up his piss-hole. He loved it - he must have,

coz it made him go as stiff as a nail. Course, he pretended he didn't like it.

We only stopped when we couldn't stand the smell of burning flesh any more"

"Yeah," Glenn added, "then we decided to see what happens if you let little

drops of hydrochloric acid drip onto the crown of a kid's cock. Answer - each

drop creates a nice deep pit. Of course you can't see them very clearly now

because of what we done since."

"Next we very carefully cut the skin off his cock," Barry continued. "Dunno how

much that hurt coz he was still screaming so much after we'd dissolved half his

crown with acid. So we had a few beers and waited for him to stop screaming so

loudly before we moved on to stage four."

"Stage four," Glenn said gleefully, "was to insert this here thin bandsaw blade

all the way into his pisshole and start sawing his prick in two from the inside.

Now, that he really did not like. We kept the whole operation nice and slow,

too and applied a soldering iron every few minutes to stop him from bleeding too

much."

"That allowed us to tear his cock open like a piece of rotting fruit," Barry

added. "He just would not stop writhing around and howling the place down at

that point. So we gave him a good long recovery break until we had his

undivided attention for what we were going to do to his balls."

"Ah yes, his balls!" Glenn said gleefully. "Well, first of all we used a

mixture of the acid and the knife to get rid of his scrotum and expose his naked

testicles to view. Next....remember the fun we had with that bag of shot when

we first played about with him? Well this time we used wire to attach a bag

firmly to each of his balls and just slowly but surely kept adding shot to them.

With his scrotum gone you could see exactly how much strain the weights were

putting him under until - well you can see what happened eventually."

"Yeah, a bit more tidying up to do, but as you can see, Dan, essentially your

son's testicles are hanging on by a thread and his cock, such as it is, is

pretty well severed too. But we thought you'd like to be the one to wield the

knife that finishes off this part of the job."

The symbolism of the act made Dan light-headed with lust as he took the knife

that Barry was proffering and applied its steel tip almost lovingly to his son's

mangled cock.

"Oh my previous baby," Dan cooed, "I love you so much. You and I are going to

have such wonderful times together, just like a loving daddy and his little

daughter should. I've waited to have you back with me so long, Collette my

angel. Just lie back, while daddy gets rid of this mess of mangled flesh that

has no business being on your sweet young body. It'll hurt a bit. No, it'll

hurt a lot. But it'll be worth it, you'll see."

To everybody's gratification, the little boy still proved capable of screaming

the house down as the final excisions were made....

....

Barry and Glenn had long since subjected Cole's ravaged body to its final,

irrevocable, change, taken their money and departed. Dan could not get over how

good a job they had done. The artificial vagina they had created was, they

assured him, both deep enough and narrow enough to afford him exquisite

pleasure. They had each fucked the little she-male twice more in the ass before

departing, but the honour of deflowering the child in its newest and most

welcoming orifice fell to Dan.

Cole/Collette had been moved from the metal bedspread to a real bed, made up

with fresh linen. There the child had spent two weeks while recovering enough

from the enforced vaginoplasty to accept Dan's cock. Dan passed most of those

two weeks in an alcoholic stupor, but as the day he had set for the act of

deflowering approached he managed to sober up, and when the day arrived he was

in tip-top shape.

The child was lying on its side, crying quietly, when Dan entered the room. Dan

took the child lovingly but firmly in his arms and arranged its body on its back

with its legs apart. He then stood back and looked with awe at what he and his

accomplices had created. He undressed. Never had he felt so aroused. Never

had he been so erect. He wanted to throw himself on the child and bury his cock

to the hilt in its man-made but fully functional vagina. But first there was a

ritual to perform.

"Who's my favourite little girl in all the world?"

Cole/Collette groaned with despair. This was not in the script. Dan began to

get angry, stepped forward and hit the child twoce, gard, in the face, cutting

its lip.

"WHO'S MY FAVOURITE LITTLE GIRL IN THE WORLD?"

Fearing a further blow, Cole/Collette managed to recite the old litany.

"I am! I am!" the she-male gasped fearfully.

"And who are you?"

"I'm your PRINCESS!" the child managed to moan.

"And what do I like most about my little princess?"

Silence.

"ANSWER ME, YOU SLUT! WHAT DO I LIKE MOST ABOUTY MY LITTLE PRINCESS?"

"My CUNT and my BUTT!"

"Oh YES!" Dan shouted as he flung himself on his child and plunged deep inside.

THE END