Specialty Whorehouse

Specialty Whorehouse

I guess I should tell you a little about me -- before. I was fourteen, a successful kid, popular at school, both with the gang of guya I hung out with, and, though I was a little new at it, I was realizing the girls liked me and I liked them and I liked the things we could do together. Not that I had done it that much. Certainly not as often as I bragged to my friends that I had. But I felt up Shelly, the red headed cheerleader in my math class with the real breasts. I knew they were real, not Kleenex stuffed into a training bra, but real soft warm flesh. And I had felt the warm wet between her legs, and heard the shuddering way she moaned when I did it. And we were going to meet down behind the railroad, where it meets the old woods there. She said she wanted to do IT. So soon it wouldn’t be a lie what I told the guys I had already done

Me and a couple of guys had a little garage band and we played a couple of gigs at the all ages Battle of the Bands, and the girls screamed and jumped around when I got up and sang, flinging my shoulder length platinum blonde hair around in my best rock star imitation.

Plus I was the second best pitcher on the eighth grade baseball team. It was after; my biggest triumph in baseball that I was taken. I had just pitched a three hit shut out for five innings against the school across town, and all the guys mobbed me and slapped me on my but. After the game we were going meet at the mall for post game pizza and pop. Shelly was looking at me with shining eyes and said she’d meet me there. And maybe we could go out by our selves after the pizza. So I was high on myself and on life and on the immediate future and life was sweet. So there I was pedaling my ten speed through the woods between the school and the mall. I came around the bend and there was a van parked at the turn off to the old Smith place, with a man jacking up the rear end and a tire lying on the ground next to him. The side door was open but I couldn’t see anything in it. As I went by the man waved and I waved back but kept pedaling. I had things to do. Suddenly I felt a bee sting on the back of my shorts. I screamed and swatted the thing but my fingers came away with something like a doctor’s syringe instead of a bee and then there was nothing but blackness.

When I awoke I was completely bewildered. I was nude, on big bed in a room that looked like a girl’s room only more garishly decorated. When my dad saw my cousin’s bedroom a year ago he shook his head and said “Looks like a French whorehouse,” and Mom said ”Hush. Watch your language. There’s children present,” But this room looked like that only more so, with pictures of nude girls on the wall. As I gradually woke up I was staring at a poster sized photo of a girl with hair the color of Shelly’s only a lot longer; down to her waist and the hair was really big and wavy and beautiful, not straight and shoulder length like Shelly’s. She was half turned towards the front. I stared at the photo for a while and tried to figure out where I was and what had happened to me. Had I had an accident on my bicycle. But the room wasn’t like any hospital room I had ever seen and aside from being a little dizzy I felt fine. I lay there for at least ten minutes trying to figure things out, and I realized that I was getting a hard on staring at the painting, Suddenly something in the picture jumped out at me. The girl in the photo, more beautiful than any girl I knew, had a dick. Smaller, but just like mine. But she (he?) also had small girlish breasts, and I couldn’t see any balls or scrotum hanging beneath the soft little dick. With a sudden sick feeling I looked around and realized the bed had chains attached to each of the four posts, and what looked like an assortment of whips were hanging on the wall. Suddenly my hard on wilted and I was scared. I curled up in a ball and found myself sobbing in terror.

After a while the door opened and two men came in, large and muscular. I started out of the bed to ask them what was going on. Neither of them said anything, but one stuck me with a stick he was carrying and I suddenly was on the floor screaming in agony. The one with the stick said “No talk” and pointed it at me. I cowered on the floor and nodded dumbly. The other one stepped foreword and picked me up effortlessly, set me on my feet, twisted my arm behind me and the three of us marched down a hallway.. We came out in a big room with a large raised area in the middle. On the raised area were five or six guys my age with their hands in the air and their legs spread wide. All of them like me, nude. My captors marched me up to join them. They set me under a chain hanging from a pipe running across the area. They took a pair of handcuffs, clicked them onto me and attached them to the hanging chain with a hook They then picked up a stick about two feet long with straps on the end. These went around; my ankles, forcing my feet apart. As I stood there a man rolled a cart up to the first boy in line. He was about my age but a little shorter, and thinner, as I looked at the boys standing captive there I realized that all of them were pretty, all long haired. The kind of boys that people told “You’re too pretty to be a boy.” The man picked up a small leather device comprising two rings joined together in a small box about the size of a penlight battery. He placed the box under the base of the boy’s cock, strapped one set of straps around the whole base of the penis and balls and the other narrow strap around the boys balls, forcing them to stand out a little from his body.

“You are probably wondering what you are doing here and when you can go home. Well the simplest answer is this. This is a whorehouse for men with rather special tastes, and you are all whores in training. And to answer the last question is “You are never going home.” You are already half a world from your US of A. You may have had other ideas for your future career, but that will change in the next few months. From this point on your greatest ambition is going to be getting a man’s big hard cock into your mouth or up your ass, or even better, both at once.”

“I realize that you are inexperienced and may have reservations about your new career path. Therefore we have implemented a motivational program for you for the next year. Now this program has two parts: a stick and a carrot. The stick is pain. If you resist in any way you will be tortured. First of all we have whips that we can use on you.”

To one of his assistants he said “Would you please demonstrate with a few strokes for each of our new guests.” The man walked to one of the walls and picked up a short riding crop and began going down the row of boys giving each four or five strokes with the whip. Each of us began screaming when we were hit. My dad had never even spanked me before. When I felt the whip biting into the soft flesh of my bottom it was like no pain I had felt before. It felt like a burning iron had been pressed against my ass.

“Then we have what we call the Motivator. The straps around your sex organs are a small electrical device similar to the radio training collars used for dogs. Should any of you resist, in any way, what is demanded of you I need only press a button with your name on it on this little box like a remote control for a TV. O dear I see that the control box already has names on each button. Oh well you won’t be needing your old name so you can take the ones on the controls. Now lets see who’s who. The first button says Fifi. Lets see which one of you is Fifi .” He pressed one of the buttons and suddenly a brunette boy with chin length ringlets let out a scream. A scream, higher than the first, almost likes a girl’s. The man walked over to the lad and fondled the boy’s package. “Now, young lady what was your name again?”

“My name is Steve, you pervert. Fuck you.”

“My, my, such unladylike language.” He then hit the button again and held it for several seconds, The screams went up a notch even higher than before. “Now what was that name again? I didn’t quite hear what you said. Or shall we play with the motivator again”.

“Fifi, Fifi, My name is Fifi,” The boy cried.

“That’s better. Now who is Brandi? Brandi, speak up.” Suddenly I felt like someone had kicked me squarely in the balls. If I thought that the whip was bad, this was a thousand times worse.

“Now what is your name little girl?” he said to me, gently stroking my member.

“My name is Brandi.” I cried, sobbing in agony

“Good girl”

He continued down the line until all eight of us had acknowledged our new ultra feminine names.

“Now about the carrot part of our motivational program. And we are being very generous here. We will be having a small contest between the eight of you girls, and at the end of each month seven of the eight of you will win a lovely prize.

“What prize you may well ask? Well each of you eight girls has three pieces of sexual equipment between your legs, a penis and two balls apiece for a total of twenty-four pieces of equipment. At the end of each month

The seven winning girls will get to keep all the equipment between their legs.

“I should point out some math. At the start there will be twenty-four bits. At the end of twelve months there will be only twelve male bits between your legs. So you will be only half the boys you were at the beginning of the year. On the average each of you will have a penis and one half a ball, but you can’t have a half a ball and the loss won’t be evenly distributed. So if things follow the normal distribution, one or two of you will keep all your male bits and pieces; one or two will lose everything and end up with less between their legs than even a real girl would have. About two or three will have a penis and one ball and as such still will be a functioning male (at least for a while) and two or three will have a penis with no scrotum or balls.

“How do you win this contest? Well each of you will have a silk rope that you will keep with you. Each time you service a client, after you have brought him to full erection, you will place the previous end point at the base of his cock and mark the tip of the penis as a new end point on the rope. Each penis that you bring to orgasm will be recorded on the rope and the bigger the cock the faster the rope will grow. At the end of each month we will attach the end of all eight ropes to a fence and then stretch out the ropes to the last end point. Then it will be obvious who has serviced the most cock. The longest six ropes will automatically get their prize, but the two shortest will have a contest to see which one can still achieve the prize. Eight men will be chosen at random. Your hands will be bound behind your back and you will have a race to bring your four men to orgasm using nothing but your skills as a cocksucker. If you win that race you will also get to keep all your bits. But the loser will lose one of their male pieces, first your left nut, then your right then the whole cock will get cut off.

Your best strategy is simply to accept that you are now effectively a girl, and if you want to keep any of your maleness, you will have to tell yourself every morning, “I’m a nympho whore in heat. I want cock. Lots of cock.” Every man you will meet here will be a potential client, so you will learn to rub your bodies against men, croon sweetly in their ears “Want to fuck me? How about a nice blow job?” You will learn to quickly get them off and get on to the next cock. And this over and over again, day after day, month after month. In years past the winning contestants have averaged about four to six feet of cock a day seven days a week, thirty days a month,. Twelve months a year for about fifteen hundred feet of rope for the whole year.. Think about it. In the next year you are going to bring almost a quarter mile of male meat to orgasm.

“Now, have you been listening to me? What will you say to yourself each morning when you wake? Brandi, Answer the question, young lady,” He pointed the control box at me threateningly.

“But I’m not a girl, I am a boy, and I’m not a fag.”

“Brandi, Brandi, that is so past an attitude. What is needed here is a commitment to the future. And believe me, your future is as a cock-sucking, sodomized, shemale nympho-- girl. Now, I said, when you wake up, you will say to yourself and you will also say any time you are requested to this ‘I’m a nympho whore in heat. I want cock.’ Now Brandi what will you say when asked what are you?” With that he pressed my button and held it down for a good five seconds. I screamed. And sobbed uncontrollably when he stopped.

“I’m waiting.” He said again pointing the unit at me again.

“I am an nympho whore. Give me cock”

“Well, not bad for a first attempt. But I think a girl like you would speak higher and more girlishly. You almost sound like a boy and we wouldn’t want that, would we? It might give people the wrong impression and you would be punished severely. Now try it again but raise your voice and sound as girly as you can.” Again the threat.

I tried to raise my voice and repeated.

“Better” he said, long pause “But not good enough. He hit me with a two-second jolt.

I tried even harder sounding almost like Minnie Mouse.

Well I’m sure you will do better but we’ll be merciful tonight and let it go. But remember if you speak a single word that sounds like a boy, you will suffer. So practice. Practice. Practice

“Fifi, what will you say when asked?” With the threat of the motivator he got the requested reply from all eight boys, and only a few got shocked, and only two more than once, but Trixi’s voice had already started to change and she got shocked five or six times before our tormentor was satisfied.

By the end most of us were crying and several were hanging from their wrists. He than gave instructions that we were to be locked in our individual rooms.

“I suggest that you masturbate as much as possible tonight. It may be your last chance to experience an orgasm from the inside.” With that he laughed evilly.