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Minpha Saga

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He woke to the feeling of his cock being jerked and squeezed. It sort of hurt.

This wasn’t her lounge room where he’d just been, drinking. Moreover, his forearms were tied behind a wooden chair where he sat, his knees spread apart, his ankles bound to the chair’s legs. He still had his clothes, but that wasn’t much of a comfort when he’d come wearing a pink-and-white “Sweet Lolita” outfit with an above-knee three-layered skirt, and no underwear of any kind.

“To be perfectly honest,” she said as she knelt between his knees, stroking him, “it’s really ugly. Small, the foreskin both short and tight. Anyone else who’s ever told you it was cute was lying, too.”

His gaze had moved quickly over the surroundings: asphalt, dim light, cars, so many cars. It seemed to be an underground parking garage. He didn’t believe her comment about his penis. This had to be some kind of a game. “Listen,” he said, “I am really into bondage games, but I prefer to be the dom.”

Her hand stopped. A second later, he had a finger twisting in his arsehole.

“Ouch, ouch—”

She laughed. “You’re pretending, right? You’ve seriously never taken something in here before? All the better then. It doesn’t matter what you prefer when you’re nothing but a slab of meat with a hole for men to fuck.”

A dark laugh; footsteps in the shadows. The man who revealed himself then was tall and covered in tattoos; he wore nothing, and held by the base an erection bigger than Minpha had ever seen. The girl—he’d never even learned a proper name for her—pulled her finger out and stood. “This is my favourite employé of my father’s,” she said, stepping away and throwing an arm around the guy’s muscular waist. Her free hand groped the bulbous, glistening head of his throbbing cock. “He has a real penis, and it doesn’t care where it goes. It will grade you. Aren’t you lucky? I’d want this for myself if it hadn’t been in so many arses.” She rubbed the head playfully, then let go.

“No,” Minpha stammered, “y-you can’t just...”

“What? Show you a good time? Take you to your true calling in life?”

The man approached Minpha, muttering, “I’ve never seen a boy with long, pink hair tied in bunches who wasn’t asking for a gig like this.”

“Stay away—it’s too big—this is rape!”

“Father taught me a funny thing about consent,” the girl said. “He said that in the end, you can accept anything, and formal agreements were meaningless if someone had power or any kind of influence over you. Perverted cross-dressing bandman, it shall happen quicker than you think: you will start to like all the ways we can make money off you.”

This can’t be happening, Minpha thought. He squirmed to no avail; in a last ditch effort he screamed for help, but only an echo answered him. They did not try to shut him up. Nobody could hear him down here. When the man unbound his legs from the chair’s, he thought of kicking, but could not put that to action as those muscular, ink-stained arms pushed his ankles over his head.

The slimy head of the cock pushed at his sphincter.

“Didn’t you hear me? It’s too big, it won’t fit—let my legs down! I’m not gay!” He was snivelling now. He couldn’t help it. The girl and the man laughed at him. The organ pressed, hurting him, and he broke into a full sob.

“Ah, am I supposed to feel sorry for you and stop my penis in its tracks now?” the man murmured. “Such an emasculating display only makes me want to hit your shit-filled womb harder.”

He thrust. Minpha cried as the huge thing breached him painfully—and, he felt sure, bloodily. It went deep, and he cursed his body, his cock at full mast, swaying above the rapist’s. The man fortunately didn’t seem to notice, so engrossed was he in the rape. Minpha wanted to vomit, and maybe that would have helped him, maybe not. At any rate it wouldn’t come as more than a hiccup.

When he started to pull the monstrous thing out, Minpha thought his bowels would also escape him, stuck to its skin. He cringed and shut his eyes tight, trying to be somewhere else, someone else. For a long time he’d seen his dainty girlishness as nothing other than an advantage on the increasingly perverted boyfriend market—he’d never thought he could be treated like this.

He yelped as it slammed back into him. The creep above him panted, emitting a warmth that smelled of cheap cigarettes and hard liqueur, speeding up his passes. It still hurt, but there was no resistance left in Minpha.

“See?” the girl said. “I knew you’d come to accept. Someone weak as you is always ready to accept.”

He couldn’t believe she’d stuck around to watch him be humiliated. “You... ah—you bitch... you get off on this...”

“Did you say something? I’m sorry, the squelch of your shit as it’s pushed back in you and stirred up inside is so loud.” She breathed stertorously. It was all the confirmation he needed.

The man fucked him so fast and recklessly he was compelled by fear to open his eyes. Drivel hung from the chin of the stubbly grimacing face, just about ready to fall on Minpha. The least of things to inspire disgust. The huge cock was coated in slime, mucus from inside him, tinged both red and brown, and it wasn’t done scooping him out. His own cock had grown soft only to stain his skirt with semen.

He never thought he could come from being anally raped. Before the rapist, even...

“S-squeezing me so tight... is this what you want, boy? Hngh...”

Minpha felt it expanding and contracting inside him, but did not become aware of what had happened till the man pulled out, the shit-smeared cock giving one last squirt just for him—it landed on his lips, his chin, his neck. It was over, Minpha thought, but immediately recognised his nebulous sense of relief for stupidity. It was only beginning.

The man let his legs down and turned away from him, gave the girl—now half obscured by a yellow car—a thumbs up and said, “Now that’s Grade A boycunt. Hey, what are you—”

“None of your business. Ah... yes, go get the boys to shackle and shower him. They can try him out in the shower, too, but nothing too—ah—big.”

“I don’t think he’ll see anything this big for a while.”

Or that dirty. You should take a shower, too.”

I was going to!”

As Minpha listened to their conversation it became clear to him just how little they saw him as human, as another person. He amounted to nothing more than a cow for them. But would he give milk?... Of course. It’s not like someone so weak had a choice in the matter.

***

Help! Anyone, help me!”

For all response, he got his hysterical echo. Light glinted at him from the polished metal bodies of parked cars, more cars than could possibly (hopefully) belong to the criminal organisation’s employés. A private collection, Minpha thought.

They’d left him alone in this huge, dim place, but not before tying his legs to those of the chair again. He was waiting for someone, some people, “the boys”. That’s right, they were coming to clean him up and... he didn’t want to think beyond that. His memory was foggy, and he could not be sure if it was due to shock, or if he’d fallen asleep at some point as he sat there with only his fears to keep him company. For some reason, he had an erection.

And for minutes Minpha meditated on what it could mean as his anus still burned from that monster’s cock—he’d probably opened a haemorrhoid or two. Had he enjoyed it, after all? Being raped? Was he crazy? His feeble mind ran in slow circles till the two men arrived. Chubby, shirtless young men with loose trousers and short, well maintained beards. They had different beards, and one man was taller and hairier than the other—that was the only way he could distinguish them from one another.

Whoa, cute boy!” said the shorter one and hurried close to Minpha. “He looks like some bratty girl, doesn’t he?”

Who are...” Minpha began, then realised he didn’t care so much about their identities. “Why are you here?” That was important.

The taller man spoke as he drew near. “We’re here to transport and prepare you. I thought you’d been told.”

No! Ah, maybe that was mentioned, but I shouldn’t be here—I was brought here and raped against my will!”

The short guy giggled, and the other, seeming disinterested as Minpha could imagine anyone being, responded: “Of course. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t against your will.” He held in his hands a pair of manacles, and a bit of patent leather and metal that Minpha soon determined to be an open-mouth gag. “Now let’s get you up and on your way to a new life.”

He was speechless as the short man untied him, and did not struggle as they undressed him, took out his hair ties, put his hands into the new restraints, and fastened the gag around his head, the metal bit parting his teeth. These men were the same as the rapist, as the girl; Minpha was but a piece of property temporarily in their care. He noticed a lift as he was pulled out of the chair, and a stairwell beside it, and had short-lived imaginings of an action-hero’s escape.

Walk,” said the tall one. “Don’t even think of trying to run from us—all that’ll get you is some broken bones.”

Minpha walked, following the short man, the tall one close at his back. They entered the lift and someone pressed the button for the first floor—first of four above the underground car park. He glimpsed the night through windows, and was led away from these, toward the back, down a short hall. Then he found himself in a large shower with four drains and beige tiles.

Where was this place? Such a spacious building of such height... it couldn’t be somewhere out in the countryside, so far from help. He even thought he occasionally heard the thrum of traffic, but he couldn’t expect rescue from someone driving in the middle of the night. Even during the day, would anyone who might care for his predicament be passing by? Probably not. He had to be right about in the city centre, where the worst criminalities could go on unchecked under the moniker of business.

A shower head sprayed his face. “Hey,” said the short guy who held it, “no day-dreaming till you’re making money sitting on cocks. Then it’s all right.”

The other man held a bar of soap and gob of lather, which he smeared on Minpha’s chest, over his belly, down to his balls. The short guy took the soap and started lathering his backside. Minpha’s body responded horribly to these slippery caresses, his erection twitching.

This one’s warming quickly to his new position, huh?” A soapy finger rubbed between Minpha’s buttocks, eliciting a whimper.

The taller guy stroked Minpha’s prick. “Indeed, his little toadstool’s rock-hard. Hey, get the boy’s cunt ready—we should try it out before the final rinse, or we’ll have to waste time rinsing again.” He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers, throwing them in the corner of the shower.

I’m working on it!”

The short guy’s short, fat finger squirmed in Minpha’s arsehole, soon joined by a second. They slipped in so easily thanks to the soap, and they felt good, which was very bad. He really liked girls—he really wanted to pork that one who got him into this mess, and that very good, normal desire was what led him here, getting raped by men and, against all reason and propriety, liking the way it felt. Now he wanted to die. He hoped they’d kill him with their penises.

The equipment of the tall guy looked just appropriate: long, thick and hard, swaying like an old ship’s mast in a storm. He pinched it by the base and slid it in between Minpha’s thighs, then he reached down and grabbed one of his legs by the knee, raising it, opening the way to his portal as the shorter man’s fingers slipped out. Minpha heard him taking off his trousers, too.

The head of the erection to his front slipped to and fro between his buttocks, just missing his anus, making him shudder. He wouldn’t say it out loud—even if he weren’t gagged—but he longed for that feeling of being full again, of being stuck like a girl; his defeat was total and all too fast—he never did have a thing called pride. He reached down and took the cock’s shaft in hand, guiding it, pointing it right to his hole.

You want it that bad? Then I guess the foreplay is over. Brace yourself, slut-boy!” The tall man thrust, heaving his soaped-up length in suddenly, painfully. Minpha cried through his nose, his heart rate leaping; the man pulled his hands above his head by the chain linking his manacles, and starting moving his hips, moving his cock inside.

Minpha’s anus was just a masturbation sleeve, a toy vagina. Why had he dressed and done his hair the way he had if not, in the end, to please men? Consciously it was to gain and abuse the trust of girls, but really... he wanted this. The penis glided more easily inside him now—he was getting used to it—but he did not expect to feel the shorter man’s erection press against the base of his spine.

It darted into his gaping arsehole as the other pulled out, and the one to whom it belonged lifted him off the tiles from behind, hands under both his knees. A finger joined the new cock from the front, hooking inside, stretching Minpha. “This should be enough room,” said the taller man; then he began to squeeze his erection in between his finger and the shorter guy’s cock. Minpha could do naught but whimper in not-so-heartfelt protest.

He couldn’t believe he had fit two in at once, but his loose hole gobbled them up, and it didn’t even hurt that much, not till they started thrusting in tandem. When he moaned, they thrust harder, gripped his flesh tighter, trying to hurt him.

“Gah, I’m coming,” said the man at Minpha’s back. One last powerful thrust, and his cock seemed to expand inside briefly. The short man kept on fucking as Minpha felt more and more slippery, the softening organ drivelling as the other squeezed against it.

Neither slipped out till both had come. At that point, they lowered him carelessly to the tiles, leaving his arse sore inside and out. And after spraying him with cold water from the shower head, they picked him up by the arms.

Guess you’re ready to see your little whore-stable now,” said the tall one.

They dried him roughly with a towel, then half dragged, half carried him out of the shower and down a hall into another room that seemed like an oversized boudoir, well lit, with a vanity table and a large wardrobe to one end—but along the other walls were short wooden dividers. Minpha was ushered in between two of them, the space littered with colourful cushions onto which he was thrown.

This room has everything you could ever want or need now,” the short man said. “Even companions in a similar predicament. So you’ll have no excuse to shirk the duties henceforth expected of you!”

Minpha sat up. He noticed someone staring at him over the divider—a girl, or more likely another unfortunate boy. The straight, long-fringed blue hair did look like bandman hair. He had smeared mascara and wide, scarlet lips.

Suddenly Minpha’s vision was obstructed by a heap of garments.

Put them on,” said the tall man, bending over him and unfastening his gag and manacles. “Look about the right size and style for a bitch like you.”

The clothes rolled into his lap, and a quick examination revealed them to be PVC-treated fabrics: a pleated purple micro-miniskirt and a sleeveless little top in sexualised imitation of seira fuku.

The man continued as he backed away: “Shoes in the wardrobe. Maybe you’ll find something that fits and isn’t in use. Fight over shoes for all I care—but not too rough.... Well?”

They were waiting for him to put on the scanty schoolgirl fetish uniform. Hesitating no longer, he did. It felt only slightly better than being nude, in such a place. Now he was free to speak, but found it impossible to give voice to the mixture of shame, revulsion, fear, and perverted excitement he felt.

The shorter man addressed Minpha’s nosy neighbour now. “How do you feel about your new playmate, San-pon?”

Ah...” The boy licked his lips. “Really... cute.”

That’s what we like to hear. Livestock is supposed to get along. You can play after we get back.” The man reached in, and pulled out a leash.

Time to work?...”

Time to work.”

The boy’s head sank behind the divider. The short man was leading him on the leash hooked to his collar. He walked on all fours out of his stall, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, till he started to leave the room. Then Minpha noticed it.

He did not walk on hands and knees. He walked on stumps. Amputated limbs. A long and fat half-hard cock—really impressive—swung between his two shortened thighs, little more than an inch off the floor. The contrast was obscene.

Would they make a freak of Minpha, too?

Hey,” the tall guy commanded his attention: “Look in the wardrobe for some shoes that fit, or I’ll force you into something either too big or too small. Also, fix your hair up again—it’s a good look for you. He tossed the hair ties over.

***

When Minpha had fitted himself with some sensible shoes about his size—knee-high black vinyl boots with platforms and high, chunky heels—he found a couple hairbrushes on the vanity table, and, sitting down at it, used one to detangle his hair before tying the back up in two high bunches. There was makeup on the table, but he didn’t really need any. The man watched him watch himself in the mirror, then moved suddenly, as though remembering something. Before Minpha had a chance to react, a leather collar was locked around his neck, and a leash promptly attached. The man tied it to a steel pole with an insurmountably complicated knot—Minpha had never been able to deal with even simple ones. “You wait here,” he said needlessly and left the room.

Minpha pulled at his collar, barely able to get a finger underneath it. High-quality leather. He tugged on the leash to test the pole’s sturdiness. Not a creak of hope. The tall guy returned in a minute, anyway, dressed in an expensive-looking suit. His strong arm soon replaced the pole. “Stand up, bitch,” he said. “Unless you prefer to crawl—but it might be a problem to have your knees all bruised up before we get there.”

Since he wasn’t so used to heels, he took great care in getting to his feet. He wanted to ask about their destination when the man tugged him forward, and Minpha thought it’d be better to watch his step. They didn’t have far to go. It seemed to be a kind of bar—nothing too unfamiliar. Patrons sat and stood, drinking and discreetly laughing, all well dressed young men. Most of them grinned at Minpha when he entered. That was unsettling.

The bitch has arrived,” said the man with the leash. Some of the patrons brought out their cocks then, and the man pushed Minpha toward them suddenly, knocking him to the sticky floor. The leash was dropped, but it didn’t matter—someone else picked it up, or stepped on it when someone picked Minpha up.

Ooh, isn’t this one the cutest?” said the obviously drunk patron to his face. He reached suddenly under Minpha’s skirt and squeezed his balls. “A boy bitch, huh? They said they were branching out into this kind of territory. It’s no problem here, so long as it has a cute face and dresses like a woman. The bitch will be treated right all the same.” So saying, he gave Minpha’s balls a painful twist before letting go, then he reached around and dug his fingers into a buttock.

Minpha expected to be gang-raped here and now. He didn’t expect the punch to his bare abdomen, or the way someone from behind pulled his legs out from under him, forcing him face-down to the floor again. He cried, his most pathetic, girlish cry—just what they wanted, he soon realised.

One patron got on top of him and squeezed his buttocks so violently he thought he might tear the flesh from his body, all the while giggling drunkenly; and the introduction of a dry cock between them did little to calm him. Burning pain radiated from the point of entry, which wasn’t quite as bad as Minpha had expected—he supposed he’d got loose since being abducted. Another man, kneeling down in front of him, pulled his hair, making him wish he’d stuck to pink wigs rather than dying his real hair. He opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out when an erect penis closed in on his face, hoping his utter compliance would make these wealthy-looking jocks go easy on him.

Aren’t you a cock-thirsty slut?” the one kneeling before him said, tugging on his hair, making him nod. “I’ll give you what you want—this is my charity.” He shoved in balls-deep, and Minpha gagged on it as the guy on top of him fucked his burning arse so hard he thought his pelvis would break against the floor. The smell was strong of liqueur and piss, and the other men standing around watching had voices full of vile mirth. Yet amid all of this, Minpha’s cock pointed erect between his thighs.

Tears welled up in his eyes from the cock punishing his throat. He didn’t enjoy this, he thought to himself; the previous rapists were nicer to him. That one fucked his throat while clutching his hair, and the other slammed his insides; and as soon as the latter blew his load, gave Minpha’s butt a hard smack, and pulled out, another man took his place. This one was better endowed, but he wasn’t quite as rough; with vague amusement Minpha thought there could be some relation between those two two conditions. A moan was killed in his abused throat as the new penis entered him from behind, and his hips were raised a little off the floor. He felt himself ejaculate when it pushed in to the hilt—maybe his body loved this, but he could hardly hate it more.

His throat tightened, or the penis in it expanded, before the man in his front retrieved himself, drivelling semen along his tongue, squirting a little on his face and throwing his head down. The replacement who soon got down and brought his sizeable member up to Minpha’s mouth, not content to just pull some hair, grabbed onto Minpha’s bunches, using them as handlebars as he proceeded to fuck his throat.

For hours it went on like this: men fucking and coming in both ends of his digestive tract, being replaced by other eager men almost as soon as they could pull out; a couple times the cock in his arse and the one in his mouth switched places, just to make him smell and taste his own rectum, and at various points he was repositioned, flipped over, hit again, bruised; they seemed to consciously avoid damaging his cute face—perhaps the people in charge here had put that of all things off limits, to maintain his market value. But the punches, slaps, and kicks to his body never let up; some fellows definitely preferred beating him to fucking him.

At one point they took especial note of his persistent erection, and made a game of stamping on it and kicking his balls with their pricey-looking, well polished shoes. “Look at this ugly little thing,” one guy had said, spitting on his cock. “The foreskin’s short, proportions are all wrong... I hope they cut it off!” And Minpha found himself almost wanting that by now. The girl had said something similar...

The crowd in the room eventually thinned out, many of the young men doubtless having some business to attend after taking out their sexual rage on Minpha. The last few were quiet, and someone shoved the neck of an empty glass bottle up his loose arse after coming inside; he was too exhausted and pained to make a fuss over that—it slipped back out pretty quickly anyway. He felt a great sense of relief, almost euphoria, when hands ceased to grope him, shoes ceased to strike him, and cold, empty air caressed his bruised skin. They had left. He could sleep.

***

The tall man’s voice brought him barely above the waves of slumber, something about a meeting. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been able to sleep—maybe an hour, or maybe just a few minutes—but he really wanted to sleep more. In the borderline delirium of his half-awake state, he carelessly uttered a curse. Then the man smacked his face, hard, and pulled his hair, and he had to give up any hope of dreaming.

Stand up, bitch. You have an important meeting with my boss, and if you fail to attend, or otherwise offend him, you’re dead.”

Minpha got to his feet, aching all over, nearly falling back down since he’d forgot he wore high heels, but the man prevented that. His limbs felt heavy, as though they were not yet fully awake with him. The stupid things were slow to understand the call to self-preservation, only working it out after a harsh tug on the leash. Minpha was led.

Down a hall, up some stairs, down another hall, and into a room whose only light was a lamp on a bedside table. A middle-aged man sat on the side of the bed, wearing a black robe and smelling musty. He gave a shadowed smile when Minpha’s guide pushed him forward and handed the leash over before seeing himself out with a curt bow.

I couldn’t tell you from a girl,” the boss said, “if you weren’t dressed so sluttily.” He moved one of his thighs aside then, letting his erection poke out of the robe. It was inhuman in its size, and covered in bumps—silicone beads, Minpha had heard of that kind of augmentation. At least he hoped that’s what they were. “Don’t just stand there,” the boss continued; “get to work on my cock. I must personally sample everything my top boys give an A rating.”

Minpha stepped into the room’s dim light. The man grimaced, said, “Pity it was a weekend. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stopped by the secondary school kids’ room to pick up all those bruises. Looks like they went easy on you though.” He folded back some more of his robe to let his monstrous erection into full view. The bumps weren’t the only thing strange about it; it also bent downward, almost like a hook. And people called Minpha’s ugly! The man began to stroke himself slowly, expectant. Minpha noted that he looked strong, even though his chances of escaping were nil anyway, and at this point, he felt content to not have his face ruined. He got on his knees at the side of the bed, and cautiously extended his tongue, tasting the bossman’s bumpy shaft.

He felt relieved it didn’t ooze blood or pus, and started using his lips, slobbering along the length. The man groaned, sounding pleased. “You watched a lot of porn before my girl scouted you, huh?” he said. “Everyone learns from porn these days—it really trains up the virgin whores for this business.”

Minpha couldn’t think of any way to make conversation with the man, and he decided he’d better not. Instead, he kissed the cock’s crown, and began stroking the higher part of the shaft. He never watched much porn—pleasing men seemed to come natural to him: it was in his girlish face, his small body, and now the care he took with penises. It took this kind of brutality for him to admit it to himself, and it could have been avoided altogether if only he’d admitted it sooner. He regretted everything, and now made his amends to a black market.

Your silence is starting to turn me off,” the man said. “Don’t you have some braindead quip, or anything? You just work your tongue and lips like a cocksucking machine. In principle I like that, but it’s disrespectful to ignore your owner’s words, you—what’s your name, anyway...?”

What was his name? That world, where people knew the name his parents had given him, stopped existing a long time ago. He had a couple stage names he’d been using as a bassist in recent years—Rin, and Minpha, which the girl knew. He inched his face away from the organ and said it: “Minpha.”

Is that what you call yourself? I guess it’s good as anything for you.” He patted Minpha’s head. “Don’t slack off now.”

And Minpha couldn’t understand how he felt, but he went back to work on the man’s obscene cock, doing all he could to make it come without having to take it in his throat. But in the end, he couldn’t avoid it: the man gripped his head and forced the fat flesh-hook into his mouth. The bumps along the shaft, soft yet firm, tickled at first, but only made the experience more uncomfortable when the thing began to snake down his throat. For the first time since he started gagging on cocks, he felt sure he was going to vomit.

And he did.

The bossman only laughed, and employed it as lube on the way down. It was mostly water, anyway—it had been a while since Minpha ate. The cock expanded his throat—a situation he’d more or less grown used to by now—and the man began to push and pull his head on it, chuckling. “Your neck’s real nice and tight for this.”

Being used in such a way, Minpha realised, was profoundly arousing; he couldn’t help but reach down and play with himself, his erect little mushroom-shaped prick, while the man fucked his throat with his huge hook-cock. In a short while, he removed himself from inside without warning, leaving Minpha coughing.

Let me see your cock,” he said.

Minpha took his hand off it, letting him see.

Oh, how pitiful! We’re going to have to do something about that wretched little thing.”

H-huh?” Minpha didn’t understand.

Our new line of working boys,” the boss went on, “all need to meet the specifications of customers we know we’ll have. That being the case, cocks must either be gorgeous, or...”

Minpha’s erection had disappeared. “Or what?” he demanded.

I mean, it’s not at all pleasant to look at. That alone wouldn’t be a problem if it served some purpose, but given its size, I’m afraid our only option is to remove it.”

Y-you can’t be serious,” Minpha stuttered. But he had no reason to believe the man was playing with him. “You’re going to cut off my penis?!”

The man flinched, as if startled by the outburst. Then he brought his palm hard across Minpha’s face. “Know your place, boy. You’re my property now, and I can modify you as I see fit, or I can just dispose of you. You’re not leaving me with your life, so think on it: do you want to live?”

And Minpha, eerily calmed by the violence, by his burning cheek and the man’s decision not to do more damage for the time being, did think on it. Harder than he’d ever thought on anything in his twenty-odd years of life. It wasn’t long ago he’d wanted to die, or thought he wanted to; but the subsequent abuse, and the strange, incomparable pleasure that went along with it, had really changed his mind up to this point. Maybe there was some Stockholm Syndrome involved, but he felt as though all these violent rapists had broken down something false he’d built up to hide who he really always was: a simple toy for men. He nodded frantically in the affirmative. Had his ugly little prick ever been anything but trouble, anyway?

Then it’s settled,” the boss said, stroking his half-erection. “We have a pretty good surgeon for these kinds of modifications, you know—you won’t feel a thing, and you’ll live happily ever after without that thing hanging off you, ruining your cuteness. Now stand up and show me your butt—I have a reward for your compliance.”

Minpha did as he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t feel sad—the tears were of a perverse, maniacal joy. They surprised him, but he recognised why they came instantly. He was going to live an easy life from now on! His erection bothered him when he felt the boss’s big fingers part his buttocks, hot breath on his arsehole—but he didn’t touch the thing; he didn’t want it thinking it could stick around. The boss tongued and sucked on Minpha’s sphincter awhile, then pulled him down, down onto the head of his hard, manly cock, which tickled him with its own modifications as it pushed inside, stretching him out.

An incredible thing, he instinctively placed his hand on his abdomen to feel for it as it entered his depths—a bulge to prove what made him so happy—and there it was. He rubbed the tip of the boss’s cock through his skin till it disappeared as the man drew back, preparing for a thrust. He climaxed when it drove back in to that same point, where he could feel it through his belly; but it was far from done.

When his thighs were almost parallel with the boss’s, he didn’t feel a bulge in his gut; instead, he almost vomited again. The state of affairs excited him, a sex-doll who could feel excited. He used to exploit his small stature to put girls at ease and get them receptive to his advances; now it just made him a snug receptacle for penises. The boss bounced him on his lap, his obscene organ wrapping itself in intestine, pushing around Minpha’s internal organs. It never stopped feeling good, not until his guts lurched, and the boss pulled out, leaving his anus gaping cold and slimy.

Pushed forward onto his feet, Minpha stumbled and fell, and the bossman laughed. “Wait right there,” he said. “I have a call to make.”

So he didn’t bother getting back up. He rested, and explored himself idly, running a palm and fingers over sensitive, bruised flesh, reaching his arse—the hole had already returned nearly to its original tightness, though he found it very moist, and unsettlingly pliable; he could squeeze four fingers in, and shuddered with delight as he did, overhearing in the meanwhile the boss’s conspiratorial tone as he spoke to somebody on his mobile. Minpha didn’t try to associate meanings with the words he heard, something about an “Operation 2B”. They were talking about him, too.

***

The man who’d entered the room had nice shoes. In fact, they didn’t differ much from what Minpha had put on in a hurry. A stranger with a strange voice, he said from on high, “Looks like you’ve got this one pretty tame already. Do you think it’ll come along without restraints?”

Let’s see,” the boss said. “Minpha-chan, will you get up and go with this nice man without causing problems or trying to get away?”

Slowly, Minpha rose to his feet, getting a full view of the new man, who wore a labcoat, and goggles. His hair was crazy, teased up at all angles, half of it bleached and the other half dyed blue. A reject from the Visual Rock scene, just like Minpha himself. Aside from that, they probably had little in common. “I won’t be trouble,” Minpha said. “I’m going to get my dick cut off, right? I won’t miss it...”

Even so,” the boss addressed the ‘visual doctor’, “don’t let your guard down completely. She could still have a change of heart. But soon, none of that’s going to matter.” He threw Minpha’s leash over, and the man took it off the floor where it landed. Minpha had forgot all about it.

The goggles-man turned, stepping out into the hall, tugging the leash. Minpha followed. They went downstairs, but another way than he’d been brought up, and farther down. A chill permeated his underdressed body, more poignant than any hitherto felt. They came to a steel door, and the doctor opened it and pushed Minpha into some place, brightly lit while gloomy, which, with its steel and plastic furniture, and assorted cutting implements on little tables, gave the impression—probably correct—of an improvised, basement operating room.

There was a pause in everything, as if he were being encouraged to take it all in. A vague imulse to run floated close to the surface, but a needle pricked his neck and extinguished it. He blacked out. No sense of time or place, he was hardly even aware that he existed—and then that, too, slipped away.

***

When he woke, a bright light overhead made him shut his eyes again. His whole body half numb, he moved his fingers, rubbing the sheet of synthetic cloth beneath him till he could feel its texture. The light dimmed, and he opened his eyes on the doctor above him, who seemed to have switched off a strong overhead lamp.

Don’t try getting up yet,” he said. “You’ll fall if you do, and you don’t need any more bruises on you—not so soon.”

There was no going back now. Minpha knew his cock had been removed, though sensation hadn’t yet returned enough for him to confirm it, and it felt like a bad idea to reach down. It occurred to him to ask how he’d pee from now on, but he couldn’t be sure what shapes he was making with his lips at the moment, so the question came out an inarticulate whine.

Maybe the standard dosage was a bit excessive for someone with such a small body,” the doctor said. “But you should be fine in a couple minutes.” Stepping away, he sat on an unseen chair, and continued with something—maybe an electronic vaporiser—in his mouth: “When you’re able to form them, I’ll answer whatever questions you may have. It’s only fair. This establishment’s on its last legs, and you and whores like you are going to prop it back up.” Whatever he held in his mouth, he took it out for a moment to add, “With the help of my artistry.”

This guy probably wasn’t a licensed surgeon, Minpha thought. In a moment, while still he stared up toward the ceiling, he was able to ask his question: “If I don’t have a cock, how am I going to piss?”

A curt chortle kicked off the reply. “How does anything without a cock piss? Beats me. But if you worry it has nowhere to go, you don’t have to. I rerouted your urinary tract to a nice little duct—it even has a plug. All medical grade materials, of course.”

So... I’m a freak?”

A cock like yours, I’d say you always were a freak. The procedure was an improvement, if anything.”

I guess so,” Minpha sighed. They had defeated him utterly and rebuilt him, his body, into something that, by all appearances, suited his true nature better than the cards he’d been dealt.

You still have your balls though. Aren’t you glad? I tucked them inside before stitching you up. The duct should handle orgasms as well as piss. That means, if some girl was really determined, she could still bear your children.” The doctor paused a moment, then he burst out laughing. When he calmed down he said, “To be honest, I doubt you’re ever going to set eyes on a pair of tits again, besides your own.”

M-my own?” Minpha sat up on the operating table.

The specified operation is a package which includes starting hormone treatment. I guess the boss wanted you to fill out a little.”

Minpha felt his still flat chest, and was relieved. At least they didn’t give him implants—he’d always hated those in girls.

The doctor smirked at him, twirling his vaporiser between two fingers. “You know,” he said, “most girls whose parents called them boys have to work a lot harder to get to where you are now. You’re really lucky!”

It’d take some getting used to for Minpha. It wasn’t until he’d been abducted and brutalised that he realised he’d wanted it. He guessed he was a girl now.