Where Michell get's kidnapped and sold into the white slave trade.

28 The Sissy farm.

Chapter 28

List of Characters.

Me. Michelle A Natural transvestite sissy.
Janice My Younger sister
Aunty Bev Janice and My mother’s Sister.
Mistress Janet Headmistress of the young lady’s academy
Doctor Shirley Williams. My endocrinologist.
Miranda. A very effeminate Sissy sales assistant.
Miss Stern Miranda’s mistress who owns the shop.
Peregrine. AKA. Uncle Penny. My transvestite uncle. (Aunty Bev’s brother.)
James AKA. Auntie Jamie Peregrine’s Partner. (Soon to inherit his/her fathers
earldom.)
Victoria An older RG friend of mine.
Jemima Victoria’s sissy brother.
Portia Victoria’s mummy.
Julia My dining companion and mentor at Mistress Janet’s Academy.
Sophia and Angelica Victoria and Jemima’s friends.
Delilah & Nancy My ex Attackers.
Davinia. Sissified Gypsy naughty boy once called David
John and Simone Davinia’s older gypsy brother and sister,
Isobel and Sally, The two youngest gypsy sisters.
Uncle Arnold Earl Weston’s odious younger brother.
Cousin William Arnold’s son and Auntie Jamie’s first cousin.
Elaine William’s wife.
Jeanette. William’s daughter, (who fancies Julia like crazy.)
Josephine & Persephone Jeanette’s younger twin sisters.
Andre Hair stylist in N Y.
Dawn Robbins Singer and Actress.
Shirley and Jasmine Friends from New York.

We spent two weeks at my childhood haunts and as adults we even swam in the little pool in the forest for the August sun had proved to be unusually warm and enduring. Nearly all of our family of my generation were down home for their various summer vacations. Shirley and Jasmine were enchanted to go skinny dipping especially as adults and wondered how it could be considered legal. We explained that the pool was actually on our land and despite there being public rights of way through the woods, none of them passed within sight of the pool. To get to the pool without permission from our families, an intruder would have to have committed trespass. Furthermore since the advent of the newer housing estates around the village Earl Weston, had been forced to erect secure fences to keep urban idiots out of the private parts of the woods and to protect its precious, antiquity. The County had managed to get it declared as a site of Special Scientific Interest and that gave power to our elbow in erecting fences to prevent uncontrolled access to the stream and the secret pool.

Thus on hot sunny days the whole of my generation could be found laughing and squealing like little kids as we indulged in our childhood memories. Often not without a reflective tear as we recollected our childhoods in the crystal waters of the pool.
Shirley laughingly wondered if the pool was a magic pool with unknown transgendered properties. We all laughed but it was a sobering thought that everybody in the pool that hot afternoon had some degree of deviancy or transgenderism. Thus I recharged my batteries after three years of academic rigour in New York.

During that brief holiday, Shirley and jasmine had learned of Auntie Jamie and Uncle Penny’s business interests in London and they were curious to stay in the city. I had some old family stuff to sort out with Auntie Beverly and Squire Weston so Simone, Shirley and Jasmine went up to town on the Monday whilst Janice and I agreed to follow them up on the Tuesday. Janice was driving whilst I was checking over some papers relating to our parent’s estate now that Janice was twenty one and the inheritance had reached its maturity. The final monies had been released by the estate executors and we had to visit the bank. We never noticed the pair of vehicles following us up the motorway until we pulled into a service area. Janice went to get some coffees as I annotated the notes. I suddenly found myself grabbed by strong muscular hands and thrown into the back of a transit van. I tried to resist of course, but I was a sissy and sissies had virtually no physical strength. My kidnapper would have had more trouble kidnapping a kitten!

I recognised him straight away and my blood froze. Uncle William, my Great Uncle Arnold’s son! Because of my total lack of physical strength he hardly had to use any force. That plus my naturally submissive conditioning made it unbelievably easy for him. He simply grabbed my slender shoulder with a seemingly iron vice-like grip and flung me through the sliding side door into the transit that had parked right alongside Janice’s car. It was all over in seconds.

“In there you little bitch and no noise or that slender neck of yours will be snapped like a carrot.”

“What d’you want with me. Let me go!” I whimpered.

“Not likely you little bitch. You owe me and dad big time.”

I sensed now, this had everything to do with his father Uncle Arnold having raped me. Somewhere, not far in the background, Great Uncle Arnold lay waiting.

William took the van onto the motorway again and drove at a sedate rate to avoid drawing attention. White transit vans were probably the most anonymous vehicles in Britain and certainly the best vehicle to avoid any unwanted interest. I knew my situation was desperate. He stopped briefly in a lay by where he handcuffed me and placed a thick sack over my head; I would have no idea where I was being taken. Within a couple of hours I was locked away in the cellar of a remote farmhouse and hidden from the world. I could only wonder what the hell they had planned for me. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
The cellar was equipped with a double bed and all the accoutrements of a whore’s boudoir so there was no doubt what they had in mind. It wasn’t long before my fears were confirmed. The lock turned and my disgusting great uncle Arnold entered with a revolting expression of lust clouding his obscenely wrinkled features. He was in his eighties now but still driven by a perverted lust for young flesh, my flesh! And of course, skulking in the background was his equally obnoxious son William, waiting his turn like some second rate hyena loitering at the kill until the alphas of the clan had finished their pleasure. I knew what was coming and braced for the violence. With loathsome creatures like these two it was invariably preceded with violence. Usually enough to ensure submission and with me that wasn’t much. My mind set was all about survival. I would offer no resistance, resistance and struggle was something that accelerated their predatory instincts bringing them greater pleasure and their victims worse violence.

Arnold advanced almost slavering with anticipation as I stood frozen and unresponsive. He grabbed my slender waist and dragged me tight to him as his other hand worked feverishly to remove my clothes.

“What’s the matter you little bitch? No fight in you now is there?”

I said nothing. My survival plan was to turn myself into an unresponsive slab of meat and hope that nothing I did or said would invite something worse than what was already happening. I noticed that he was not ripping the clothes off me, but slowly removing each item, carefully undoing each button of my blouse then slowly sliding the back zipper of my pencil skirt until I was standing there with just my bra and panties and my wasp-waisted shaper.

Arnold knew what he was getting and he was savouring his dish with all the sick, perverted anticipation of some ghoulish gourmet. He didn’t fling me onto the bed but invited me to lie on it. He knew I would obey, I had no option but he was now twisting my ‘co-operation’ to his own ends. Inside that perverted brain he seemed to think that my co-operation was consent; that I somehow, was looking forward to his brutal attentions.

With a sigh I flopped onto the bed and twisted on my stomach. Memories of his last assault reminded me that he must have had some sort of male-homosexual kink for he obviously preferred to take his victims from the rear. Maybe there was some sort of guilt thing about looking his victims in the face or whatever. I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I knew was that if you were face down you stood less chance of having your face smashed and you couldn’t see the blows coming if you were going to get a beating. It was also easier to curl up into the foetal position from a kneeling or face down position. Once you were curled up it was difficult for an attacker to prise your vulnerable parts apart.

I knelt on the floor and lay face down across the bed thus presenting my sissy hole for the inevitable assault; it wasn’t long coming and I felt my sphincter burning and ripping as he drove cruelly into my soft, vulnerable, unresisting body. All the time the words, ‘survive this, survive this, live to bear witness, survive at all costs!’ were pounding through my terrified brain.
To survive such repeated brutal experiences, those who have been there, (and readers, I am one!) slowly learn to try and get themselves ‘outside their own bodies’; to somehow escape from the body and therefore escape from the immediate pain. The hurt then comes later when you are, (that is if your still alive,) recovering. The immediate advantage during the beating is that your body somehow becomes apparently inured to the pain and you don’t scream or squeal as your attacker would normally expect.
By the same criterion, rape either vaginal or anal becomes immediately less traumatic even though the after-effects can be just as destructive, or more correctly ARE just as destructive!

Suffice to say first Arnold took me then his odious son followed suit then they left me bleeding and battered on the floor with dire warnings not to use the bed until I had stopped bleeding and cleaned myself up. I couldn’t understand this because the bed already had my blood stains smeared all over the sheets and pillows. But logic and common sense obviously counted for nothing in the minds of these brutal psychopaths. Unable to stand, I crawled into the tiny en-suite bathroom and showered for what seemed hours.

When I emerged, to my immense surprise, the sheets had been changed on the bed, some food had been left on the table and to my shock there was a milking machine. I had no idea how or where they had obtained it but it served a vital purpose for now my boobs were aching to lactate. Urgently I evacuated my breasts and sat wondering what to do with the milk. In the end, I left it on the table for I had no idea what their intentions where.

I looked around again hopefully but there was no change of clothes. However my original clothes had been folded and placed by the pillow. This apparent concern left me confused and very suspicious so I took the only reasonable course for mental survival and concluded that they were playing mind games. I checked out my cuts and bruises in the dressing table mirror then concluded that I had more or less stopped bleeding. I also concluded that my face was un-marked and wondered what ulterior motive they had for leaving me thus un-blemished.

There was nowhere else comfortable to lie or sit so I was forced to lie on the bed. I took the only remaining dry bath towel and laid it on the bed to absorb any residual blood marks. Once I had gently lowered my bruised and battered body onto the towel I simply lay still and endured the pain. Not knowing when the next assault was coming I could only guess at the physical healing process.

There were no windows in the cellar so I had no idea of time passing. When I awoke the milk had gone and a clean bottle left; I presumed to be replenished. I did this wondering what they were doing with my milk. And I continued with the routine until I was removed some time later.

I still had no idea of time but I was served several meals and then a foreigner was brought down to the cellar by Uncle William. Naturally he raped me then I was trussed up, and with my head covered again I was taken to some other place. I could tell I was entering a city because the noises were familiar to me. At one stage I heard an electric train and recognised it for the distinctive metallic whine of a London tube train. Nobody can live in London for long and not learn to recognise the distinctive motor whine of the Metro-Cammel rolling stock. Once that identified itself to me I quickly recognised other sounds like the diesel rattle of the black cabs that by their sheer frequency, identify the London streets. So I was in London!

It was dark when they moved me from the van to another bedroom somewhere in London and I was flung onto a bed where I was gratuitously raped again. Then there was the prick of a needle and I remembered nothing after that.
I woke much later with my boobs screaming to be milked and I howled in pain until one of my kidnappers burst angrily into the room. He was about to batter me but saw the milk spurting from my swollen tits and he gasped angrily before bellowing down to his crony. They jabbered away in some foreign language then I heard the man who had brought me screaming down the phone to somebody else demanding to know why they hadn’t been told I had milk and where was the fucking baby.

I didn’t hear the reply but about two hours later another car pulled up outside the house and Uncle Arnold arrived in a furious mood. He seemed to think that I was responsible for not bringing the milking machine with me and once again I had to curl up into a ball until he had vented his ire. The foreigner stood looking impassively then casually told my uncle to stop or I’d be no good for business with my body all bruised and battered. Uncle Arnold reluctantly stopped then stormed out of the room and left me to the foreigner. He explained bluntly what I was there for. Their enterprise needed a bit of variety to cater to different needs. I was to serve as a transvestite prostitute. Then he left and I was left to carefully place the milking machine on my agonised nipples. It was almost an hour and I had to empty the bottle load down the lavatory once before I finally evacuated all my excess milk. I left the almost full second bottle on the boarded up windowsill unsure of what they wanted to do with it.
I presumed it was morning when I awoke. I could not see out of the boards but light filtered through and I knew it was daylight. Then the door opened and one of my captors came in with some food. He looked at the milk I had left on the windowsill, grinned then tasted it. His smile widened and he drank a pile before calling down to his mates. I don’t know what was said but it was obviously something about my milk because they all tasted it and grinned like the pigs they were.
After breakfast the guard arrived and watched as I attended to my milking. He leered and made mooing sounds as he held his hands to his head and stuck his fingers out to represent horns. I did not smile but he snatched the first bottle off me then grinned greedily as he watched the second bottle filling up. Then he snatched the bottles off me, drank one and took the other down to his cronies.

I did not smile but I felt a visceral thrill tingling through my aching body as I realised the idiots were drinking my milk.
‘Right you bastards’ I thought. ‘Let’s see how long before you become addicted and before you sprout tits?’
It wasn’t long.

Despite my being subjected to a constant stream of clients every day, my milk continued to flow and my guards became progressively more addicted. So much so that they started fighting amongst themselves for the main share. Just like heroin addicts fighting for the last hit.

I tried to explain to them that I would need more high protein food to increase production but the language barrier proved insurmountable and by the end of what seemed to be a week the guards were at each other’s throats.
Eventually some guy was brought to me to try and understand what I was saying. I explained that without the proper diet my milk flow would decrease not improve and he explained this to the guards. I also lied and told them I would have to go to the chemist with a prescription to collect the necessary additives and high protein supplements. The biggest lie was that I had to present in person at the chemists to confirm the dosages and frequencies.

Had I been just an ordinary whore, they would probably have snuffed me out and thrown me into the Thames but by now, the guards bodies were screaming for my milk. Adults exposed to my milk after the onset of puberty reacted furiously to the hormones in my milk. When they brought me that last meal before settling for the night before the visit to the pharmacists, I noticed both guards were constantly scratching their tits. A sure sign that their bodies were also reacting to other stimuli. That night was the first time I slept a little easier.

During my time at the brothel, I had occasionally met other girls from foreign countries who were also imprisoned there. I could tell they were foreign but because we were not allowed to speak I had no idea of their various nationalities.
In my bed that night. I pricked my arm with my nail and wrote a message on my petticoat in blood. Somehow I would get it to the pharmacist while she appeared to be filling my prescription.

That is exactly how I arranged it.

The next morning I managed to extract a considerable amount of milk before the guards came to rouse me and I poured it down the pan. Then after breakfast my tits did not produce much milk, just enough to tantalise the guard’s cravings.
By crude signs I explained that my tits were dry because I needed the hormones and protein supplements to resume normal production.
Angrily the guards conceded my argument but throughout the trip to the pharmacists, they were tetchy and on edge, mainly through an insufficient dose of my sissy milk.

When we arrived at the pharmacy they were so distracted that I managed to slip my petticoat off and fling it across the counter before they realised what I had done. Then I whispered urgently to the bemused pharmacist.

“Get the police to look at that petty coat and tell them it’s urgent.”

With that my guard came over to see what the delay was but the pharmacists had only started filling the prescription. She handed me the boxes and I passed them to my guard to help me carry them out. I knew he was armed and that he would probably use the gun, (most likely on me,) if I tried to somehow escape. The only safe strategy was to pretend I had ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and appear to be co-operating with the thugs. We returned to the house in West London and I was dumped back into my cell. That afternoon I had to entertain several clients before I finally heard the commotion down stairs. Shots were fired and screams followed but I had already jammed my bed and table and chair against the door. I could not protect the other girls but I would sure as hell do what I could to protect myself. Eventually the crashing and banging subsided and there was a knock on my door.

“Midge! Is that you? Are you in there? It’s okay, it’s over!

I recognised Simone’s voice and finally found the strength to cry as I struggled to un jamb the furniture from behind the door. Then the door burst open and a huge armed copper crashed into the room.

“You all right love?” he shouted as Simone dashed in behind him and flung herself at me. Wailing with relief.
I glanced tearfully over Simone’s shoulder and nodded as he checked out the room and smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes then”