Captive!

Scott struggles to survive as Prissy

---

 

Whack!

The strike on my face stung like hell and jarred my vision.

Whack!

Mr. Cabot struck me on the other side of my face with the back of his hand. I tasted the iron tang of blood in my mouth.

“How dare you! You stupid, traitorous bitch!” I could feel the hot breath and spittle that emanated from Mr. Cabot’s mouth as he screamed at me. He grabbed my hair and jerked my head back. I was naked and secured to a chair so he could walk around in a circle and curse at me. The room was small and dark with a table next to me. I couldn’t tell if we were alone or not.

While my neck and hair hurt from his strong pull, he pushed his face almost against mine and hissed, “I gave you everything! I fed you. I gave you a place to live. I personally trained you to be the best fucking whore you could be. Were you not getting everything you wanted? A nice room. Great food. All the men you’d ever want to fuck?” He let go of my hair and spat on me.

I tried hard not to cry. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But I couldn’t stop the tears or the cry in my voice from the pain. I felt sure I was about to die. In a small, pain wracked voice, I looked down at the floor and softly said, “I just want to go home.”

Mr. Cabot slapped me again and shouted, “You are home, bitch! This is your only home from now on!” He paced back and forth in front of me, glaring. I just closed my eyes and cried.

He grabbed my face and shouted, “Look at me! What are we going to do with you, huh? I have a huge investment in turning you to become a cock craving little fag bitch. No, no. Don’t deny it. I’ve watched you. The way you flirt and come on to men. You’re way beyond your conditioning. You want it now. I told you, you’d wind up begging for it. And now you try to run away? That’s how you repay my generosity?”

I didn’t say it, but he’s delusional if he thinks I crave sex with men. I’m playing the system. I was doing what I could to not just survive, but thrive under these horrible circumstances. And then I saw an opportunity and I jumped at it. I should have realized that any politician that would show his face at a place like this would be a douche. I’m ashamed of what I have become.

Crying, I said, “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

Mr. Cabot stroked his chin and said, “Maybe I should just sell you. There are places in Asia that love girly boys like you. But the girls there aren’t taken care of like they are here. And I wouldn’t get my investment back.” He cupped my breasts and squeezed them. He continued, “Whatever shall I do, Prissy? I mean, sometimes you just have to cut your losses, right?” He picked up a long bladed knife from the table he was leaning against. He twirled the knife with the point of the blade resting against his finger tip.

Still crying and in a small voice, I said, “Please don’t kill me. I won’t ever try to run away again. I promise.”

Mr. Cabot leaned towards me, still twirling the knife. He said, “What was that, Prissy? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

A little more loudly, I said, “I won’t try to run away again. I promise. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Mr. Cabot clucking his tongue. “You don’t sound very contrite. I don’t think you mean that. I mean seriously. What good is a promise from you, eh?”

I cried out, “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry! It was stupid of me to run after you have done so much for me. I’m begging you to forgive me. I’ll never run away again. All I want is to be fucked by men.”

Mr. Cabot laughed. “I love to hear you beg. Both for mercy and for sex!” He ran a finger around my breast. He continued as he shook his head, “It’s a stretch to try to consider that you were once ever a real man. No one would ever be confused about that now. Not after seeing this sobbing lump of sissified pussy. It brings shame to the word ‘man’ to even suggest you were ever considered one.”

Mr. Cabot laughed heartily. He said to someone I couldn’t see, “Take this piece of shit back to her original room and secure her to the wall. Everyone can have their way with her for next day or so while she’s just hanging around. But make sure she’s always conscious.”

 

*          *          *
 

“Thank you,” I sobbed as I dropped to my bed after hanging on the wall for two days straight. My arms were sore from hanging and my ass was on fire. They kept the blood circulating by releasing a leg or an arm every couple of hours.

I wanted to murder Mr. Cabot, but instead I thanked him. For two days I’d been in hell. More hell than normal.

The men who took me from the wall left the room. I was too weak and sore to attack Mr. Cabot and he knew it. He walked over to edge of the bed and said, “Take a few days to rest up, Prissy. There’s a cart with food on it, though it’s not the good stuff you’re used to. I do have a proposition for you.” He sat on the bed next to me. I couldn’t move I was so tired. He pulled down his pants.

As he abused my ass, he said, “I’m a believer in second chances, Prissy. You were one of my best girls, with tons of promise. I was going to move you to the next level ahead of schedule because you were proving yourself so well. But to do that requires a little change on your part. Management wants everyone on that elite, high-priced tier to have a pussy. And since I’m a big, generous type, I’ll let you decide. Sounds fair, right?”

I couldn’t even bring up enough strength to grunt at this point as he continued to abuse me.

Mr. Cabot said, “Here’re your choices, Prissy. You can elect to have the procedure that will leave you with a pussy, which we can do right here in our little infirmary, or I can cut my losses and sell you to a Somali warlord. If you take the pussy and are not loyal and not the best girl you can possibly be, I’ll just give you to someone worse. Do we have a deal?”

I started to cry again. I didn’t want a sex change. But the other choice was surely death. As Mr. Cabot made his final thrust, I moaned, “Deal.”

“Excellent choice,” said Mr. Cabot with a laugh.

He left me alone in my room as I cried.

 

*          *          *
 

I was exhausted. To punish me further, before I got my gender re-assigned, Mr. Cabot made me his busiest prostitute. I only got an hour of sleep per day over several days of serving a never ending parade of men. Sometimes groups of men. And if I failed to perform to their expectations, Mr. Cabot would personally come to slap me around. The lesson was learned. I would never attempt to escape again. Even if they held the door open.

When the parade finally ended, I fell into a hard, dreamless sleep. I was worn out. I have no idea how long I slept. I doubt it was very long when Mr. Cabot noisily burst into my room.

“Time to wake up, little Prissy!” said Mr. Cabot in a cheery voice. “You have one more customer before you have your surgery. It’s a special request. If you want to have a real meal today and maybe a few hours of real sleep, you will give this customer your absolute best performance. Am I clear?”

I mockingly gave him a salute and said, “Clear, Mr. Cabot.”

He frowned at me, but only said, “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Fix your make-up. You look like shit.”

It felt good to wash my face. It woke me up a bit too. I sat at my vanity and quickly applied my make-up. I looked at my pretty, girlish face, felt my boobs and looked around my small room and wondered for the billionth time just who in the universe I had pissed off to get me here.

I had just sat on my bed when the door opened and in walked my next customer. A cold shock went down my spine. I felt disgusted that I’d have to serve this man. It was my Congressman.

The Congressman smiled broadly at me and said, “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little faggot. You do look beautiful, though not as elegantly dressed as the last time I saw you. You’re on the house, remember? I arranged a little junket to the UAE just so I could fuck you. Pretty generous of the taxpayers, eh?”

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him, but I held my tongue knowing the consequences of saying what I was thinking. Instead, I pulled off my camisole, and smiling, I slid to the middle of my bed, waving a hand to indicate that he join me.

The Congress started to remove his shirt. He said, “Mr. Cabot assures me that you’re one of his best whores. I certainly hope so. I was in our state just last week. It’s gorgeous there this time of year. But the whores there just didn’t do it for me.”

He dropped his pants and laughed as he climbed onto my bed. Grinning, he said, “I’m going to do to you physically, what I’ve been doing to the taxpayers financially!” He laughed.

I hated every second with this man, with every fiber of my being. But I dutifully gave him the best blowjob I could muster and did every trick I could think of while he fucked me. In the end, I jerked him off so he could fill my mouth. As I swallowed, I imagined holding a gun to his head and decorating the room with his tiny brain.

Breathing hard, the Congressman slowly brought himself to his feet. As he pulled his underwear back up and out of breath, he said, “That was excellent. You are a very talented whore. Mr. Cabot asked me to rate you. I’m giving you eleven out of ten stars.”

That evening, after using almost an entire bottle of mouthwash, I sat down to the best dinner I’ve had since my attempt to escape. I’m never being that stupid again.

I had to serve the Congressman four more times that week.

 

*          *          *
 

I was in pain. I slid my hand down to my crotch and lightly felt the bandages. It was gone. It was really gone. Well, the doc told me he wasn’t removing it; only repurposing it. Still, my lifelong faithful companion was gone, never to return.

I was told that in a week, they’ll remove the packing from my new vagina and then I’ll start the chore of dilation, which he said, I’ll have to do for the rest of my life. In hindsight, maybe I should have taken the Somali warlord.

Two weeks into my recovery, while I was in the process of performing my new dilation ritual, Mr. Cabot walked into the small clinic room I was resting in.

He smiled at me and said, “Good afternoon, girl. How are you feeling?”

Through narrowed eyes I said, “Like shit.”

Mr. Cabot just nodded and said, “That’ll pass.” He picked up one of the dilators and looked at it. He said, “This looks like fun.”

I pulled the dilator from my new vagina and said dourly, “It’s not.”

Mr. Cabot took the dilator from my hand and sniffed it. He said, “Don’t be so sad, Prissy. You’re starting a new adventure in your life.”

Pointing at my crotch I said with restrained anger, “Why did you do this? Give me an honest answer for fucking once. You’re always bringing in women. I don’t wish to condemn them to this hell, but why change my sex? I just don’t get it!”

Mr. Cabot paused for a moment and looked thoughtful. He smiled slightly and said, “For several reasons, actually. One, the clients who like chicks with dicks are wanting newer girls. They’re always looking for something new and different. We have a lot invested in you, in training and such, and you show so much potential, that selling you off at this point would be a loss for us. Since you are one of our best performing girls, with or without a dick, we have decided you warrant an additional investment. We’re a few girls short for our elite clients. Some of your customers have been asking when you’ll be available for their private parties and orgy get-a-ways. You’re popular, Prissy. You seemed to have found your calling in pleasing men. And in all seriousness, I think you’ll enjoy being one of our elite girls.”

I seriously doubted I’d ever *enjoy* being a whore at any level. I said, “Why would you ever be short of women? From when I had to deliver food to the new ones, I know you bring in a lot of women every month. What happens to the ones at the top?”

Mr. Cabot patted my thigh and said, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head about that. But since you asked, some girls quite frankly just don’t adjust well and we have to sell them before we invest too much in them. Just like one of your friends. I’m sure you heard about her. And sadly sometimes our clients get too rough with a girl and unfortunately she dies. The client is expelled for six months if that happens. Some girls, like Misty who helped you with your make-up lessons, get assigned other duties when they stop making money as an escort. And some of our clients are so enamored with a girl that they purchase them for their own collections.”

“None ever escape?” I said.

Mr. Cabot frowned and said, “Talk like that will get you sold to pirates or terrorists, so for your sake, don’t mention that again. And no, there are no escapes. And I know you don’t believe this now, but the girls on the elite level love it. They really do. And you will too. There are no sailors on liberty or drunken tourists on the elite level. You’ll like it. Trust me.”

I laughed for the first time in weeks.

 

*          *          *
 

After being released from the clinic, I’d spent the next two weeks alone in my room with only the food delivery girl being my only human contact. And she wouldn’t talk. She’d only give me that vacant smile.

One of the girls serving me food was Sally. She must be giving them a lot of resistance because she should have moved up from that position weeks ago. Still, from the attitude she was giving them, I’m surprised they were able to break her to this level. They take pleasure in breaking people. As with the Borg, resistance is futile.

While I was dozing on the bed, Mr. Cabot entered without knocking. He was carrying a red sequined evening gown and matching heels. He smiled at me as he placed the dress and shoes on the chair.

Mr. Cabot said, “Before we get on with the reason I’m here, Prissy. Let’s give your new pussy a test run, shall we?”

I knew I had no choice in the matter and that resisting him would only lead to more punishment, so I dutifully removed the camisole I was wearing and slid my panties down as I watched him remove his pants. He already had an erection.

From his pants pocket he removed a tube of lubricant and spread it on his massive hard-on. He said, “It’s always my pleasure to be the first on these new pussies. So let’s get to it.”

It was quite a different feeling when his cock slid inside my pussy. There was only a bit of pain at first and as he slid his cock in and out of me, he also pressed against my new clitoris which began to fill me with a pleasure I’d never experienced before. Considering how he’d treated me before, he was gentle at first and attentive to me. He massaged my breasts and sucked on the nipples as he continued to pump his huge cock into me. As he increased his rhythm, I found myself desiring to being fucked harder. All the hormones I had been forced to take, all the conditioning had finally broken that last resistance.

I felt a swelling of pleasure building up inside me. It was far more intense than any orgasm I had ever had before. Just as it burst into full orgasm, Mr. Cabot released his load with massive thrust into me. I dug my nails into his back and moaned loudly. I’ve never had an experience so intense before. I didn’t want it to end.

Mr. Cabot kissed me as he rolled to one side, his cock growing limp as it slipped out of me. He smiled and said, “I knew you’d enjoy that. By the time you reach this point, you’re already a woman. The surgery is just the icing on the cake.”

He got up and started to get dressed. I just lay there, trying to catch my breath. I was also very pissed at myself for enjoying being fucked my Mr. Cabot. But I couldn’t deny it.

Mr. Cabot grinned at me and said, “Go take a shower and freshen up. Then do your pretty face and wear this gown. I have something to show you.”

 

*          *          *
 

We stepped off the elevator into a lobby I’ve never seen before. There were over a dozen women dressed elegantly in gowns like me moving about or sitting with men dressed in suits.

Gesturing with his arm, Mr. Cabot said, “This is your new area, Prissy. You’re now a high-priced escort. You’ll have a new room. Clients can give you gifts if they desire. We have a five star hotel that caters to only the world’s wealthiest. Adjoining the hotel is a five star restaurant. There are also private rooms with gorgeous views. Hotel guests can request a companion for the evening to dine with. Sometimes they want their companion to provide additional entertainment. At our night club, we get some of the world’s most famous celebrities to entertain. And this is where some of our guests can request from our roster of girls, entertainers for their private parties, sometimes in exotic locations. Our girls cover Europe and Asia. You are going to love it here, Prissy.”

With my mouth hanging open, I walked across the lobby to the wall of windows looking out from the Dubai Tower. I said, “Oh my God. This is incredible!” It was the first time I’ve seen the outdoors since I was in Aruba. I had no idea how long that had been.

Mr. Cabot stepped next to me and said, “We’re a hundred and ten floors up. Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“You can see the curvature of the earth,” I said stunned by the view. I looked straight down, but it made me dizzy.

Mr. Cabot smiled at me and said, “It was worth it to get here, right?” His cell phone buzzed and he looked at the text message. He said, “Wander around and make yourself at home. I have some business to attend to it seems.” He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in an open area for the first time. No guards. No handlers.

I stood there for several minutes just staring out the window. It was amazing to see sunlight again. Just to know there was a world outside these walls lifted my spirits. I tried not to think about home.

“Prissy!” said a familiar voice from behind me. I turned around to see the smiling face of Mr. Yar’Adua. He continued, “If it isn’t my favorite girl. Welcome to the millionaires club, Prissy. I think you’ll be happy here.” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss.

I smiled at him. Mr. Yar’Adua was one of the nice ones who always treated me well, as well as anyone can treat a sex slave. I said, “I sure hope so. It’s nice to finally get out of that small room and actually see outside.”

He smiled back and said, “I know you will. You look absolutely stunning. I’m glad you’re here now. I’ll be sure to add you to my list of girls I’m having brought to my party in three months on the island of Crete. The girls always love my parties.”

I smiled brightly and said, “Oh, thank you! I’ll look forward to it!” While it may be as a prostitute, going to a Mediterranean island sounded wonderful.

He looked me up and down with a hungry look in his eyes. He said, “Are you free now?”

I shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I just got here.”

Mr. Yar’Adua smiled warmly at me and said, “Wait here. I’ll go find out.” He walked away headed for the lobby. After a few minutes, he returned.

Grinning wide, Mr. Yar’Adua said, “You’re included in my room charge. Come with me.”

He took my hand and led me to his room. I was actually starting to tingle from excitement. In his room was a huge, luxurious bed and another spectacular view from his window.

Once in his room and still standing, he started to kiss me. I put my arms around his neck and returned his kisses. When he pressed into me and I felt his hard-on pushing against my crotch, it brought a whole new set of emotions to me. While his kissing intensified, he slowly unzipped the back of my dress. He started to kiss and suck on my neck. He then slid the dress’s straps from my shoulders exposing my breasts. He pulled back slightly to let me unbutton his shirt and pulled it open exposing a chest full of hard muscle. When the tips of my breasts touched the flesh of his chest, it was like an electric shock flowing through me. I was overwhelmed with desire.

He removed his shirt and then kissed my breasts and sucked on one nipple. He then lowered himself and finished pulling my dress down. He slowly slid my panties down to my ankles. He then slid his tongue into where no one has even put a tongue before. He then sucked on my clitoris. I gasped and got weak in the knees as he performed cunnilingus on me. I moaned with pleasure.

Smiling, he stood up and led me to his bed where he pulled the sheets back. I slid on top of the bed while he stepped out of his pants. He slid next to me and began to kiss and suck on my breasts while with a free hand, he found my clitoris and started massaging it. I started breathing hard. He was driving me wild with pleasure and desire. Mr. Cabot had dispensed with doing any foreplay, but I found it to be the best part of having sex as a woman.

When Mr. Yar’Adua finally slid his massive cock into me, I was worried that he was going to be too big for me. It was tight, but he went in. But oh. My. God. While Mr. Cabot had merely gone through the motions of fucking, Mr. Yar’Adua was an absolute master at sex. The level of pleasure he was bringing me to was amazing.

While in my previous life, I never even once wondered what it was like to be a girl, and I had enjoyed sex as a man, I found myself wishing I had made this change sooner. I was so overwhelmed with new pleasures. I found myself desiring the pleasures of even more men. The culmination of all the feminizing drugs and the surgery had finally synced. I held nothing back. I used every little trick on pleasing men I could do.

He let me climax and then with a final powerful thrust he exploded inside me. I cried out in total pleasure. Hearing him moan as well brought intense satisfaction to me. He remained hard while still inside me for awhile as he continued to kiss me.

Finally he rolled off and sighed deeply. Sounding winded, Mr. Yar’Adua said, “Oh baby. You were fantastic. You know exactly how to pleasure a man. You were good before baby. But now you’re amazing. Simply amazing.”

He fucked me four more times before he had to leave to back to his home.

 

*          *          *
 

I yawned and stretched while lying on my satin sheets. The morning light was just starting to creep into my room. I sat up slowly as I was still sore from the night before when I had to have sex with a group of four men.

I looked around my room in the gathering light. I lost track of time and had no idea how long it had been since becoming a woman. I’ve been with several dozen men since becoming a high end prostitute. I felt less like a sex slave though. I had a nice room with a beautiful view. Men gave me gifts ranging from stuffed animals to jewelry, which I got to keep. A little unsteady, I got up and walked over to the window. The view, as usual was gorgeous with the early morning sunlight casting long shadows on the cityscape below me.

While looking out the window, I ran my hand down the smoothness of the black satin nightie I was wearing. A strange feeling of melancholy had taken hold of me and I wasn’t sure why. My life was so much better now than it was when I first arrived here. Granted I still basically a prisoner, but I had freedom to move about. The men I saw weren’t abusive to me. I got to see performers in our nightclub that I would never have seen otherwise. Mr. Yar’Adua’s party on Crete was wonderful with lots of gorgeous men to play with. And his wasn’t the only place I got to travel to. It felt good to be so in demand.

I knew what was coming on and it was dangerous for me to have such thoughts. No matter how well things were going, every once in a while I couldn’t stop the thoughts of home. I wondered what my parents were doing. Was my brother still in the band at school? Was he dating girls now? He was such a spaz so probably not. Did Dad still go camping up in the mountains during the summer? I missed my mom. We always had such great conversations. I miss her meals. She made one mean chicken fried steak. And what would Dad think of me, his oldest son, now a woman, gleefully having sex with as many men as I could? I know I shouldn’t think of such things.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I stared out the window. I finally turned away from the magnificent view and fell onto my bed and cried.

 

*          *          *
 

“Let’s get this party started,” said Mr. Walters as he emerged from below deck on his fifty foot yacht. We were anchored off the coast of Sicily, the day was heading towards sunset and it was absolutely gorgeous.

Three other girls and I had arrived in the Mediterranean by a sea plane late Friday afternoon and transferred to Mr. Walters’ yacht. He had hired us out for just him for the weekend on his private yacht. It was small enough so he didn’t need a crew or a captain.

There was champagne and wine available and the other girls were making good use of it. Like always, I just pretended to drink any alcohol. I always wanted to have a clear head. Especially floating in the middle of a sea.

Mr. Walters grinned from ear-to-ear as he looked at each of us. We were all standing on the smaller, sun deck. He said, “Wow. Four of the most sexy and beautiful women on the planet and I don’t have to share any of them for a whole weekend! Take off those bikinis, girls. I want to see nothing but tits and pussies.”

We all giggled as we stripped. We were far enough out to not be seen. It didn’t really matter anyway as we’d all long since lost our shyness or any sense of modesty.

Mr. Walters pointed at me and said, “You’re Prissy, right? I was told you give the best head of anybody. Let’s start with you.” He pulled down his swim trunks revealing a smaller than average penis. Us girls all gave each other a quick and knowing look and smiled. Mr. Walters sat down and pointed at his penis. He said, “Let’s do it!”

I got down on my knees and proceeded to give him the best blowjob I could manage. He was considered a very high value client and we were all told to make sure he was more than just satisfied. Breathless after he’d finished, he said, “Oh my God they were right. I’m requesting you the next time I’m in the UAE for business. I’m going to have rest up after that, girls. Let’s see how you girls are at kissing. Except you, Prissy. There’s mouthwash below decks.”

That evening we dined on steak and lobster that Mr. Walters had flown in special and lowered by helicopter. This guy really knew how to enjoy his money. While we ate, he told us tales of his wild adventures around the globe. Personally I didn’t believe anything he said. He struck me as someone who’d just attained wealth and wanted to act like a playboy. I didn’t mind. It got me outside.

“Okay, girls. It’s time to check out my bed,” said Mr. Walters with grin. “Trust me, it’s big enough for all of us. Follow me.”

As we entered the cabin where the ship’s controls and electronics were, I innocently pointed at the row of electronics and said, “Are these radios? Why so many?”

Always happy to brag about his toys, Mr. Walters paused our descent to his private quarters and said, “When you’re out in the middle of the ocean, you don’t want to be without communications. This is my maritime radio which has saved my bacon at least once. That’s a shortwave and amateur radio. These smaller sets are CB and two meter, which except for occasional skip on the CB aren’t much use out here.”

An idea was slowly creeping into my head as I looked at the equipment and said, “Don’t you need microphones to use these?”

Mr. Walters wagged his finger at me and said, “Naughty girl! Mr. Cabot insisted I lock up any microphones in case someone got a bright idea. Honestly though, all this equipment is far too hard for a bunch of stupid whores to use. But it’s in the contract to lock them up.”

My heart sank. I had the sudden and dumb idea of using the maritime radio to call for help. I sighed. Mr. Cabot thinks of everything. Thinking of escape is stupid anyway. I’m probably living much better than I would have normally. And frankly, I have to admit that I love having sex with men. How else could I ever been able to afford the multiple trips to the Mediterranean otherwise? If the price is a blowjob, then hurt me again.

One of the other girls saw something behind the shortwave set and picked it up. She gave it an odd look as if it was something bizarre to her. She said, “What is this thing?”

Mr. Walters smiled and took it from her. He said, “That’s like a telegraph key. You hook it up to the shortwave and send Morse Code. I’ve only used it a couple of times when the frequencies were just too noisy for voice.”

A cold spike shot down my spine when I saw the key. I tried to force thoughts of home from my mind after seeing the key. I tried to convince myself yet again that I’m just a prostitute and that’s all I’ll ever be and that I don’t have a home, or parents anymore. I don’t. I don’t…I don’t…

Mr. Walters said, “I should lock this up too, although I doubt any of you bimbos would know Morse Code.” He looked at me in my mental torment and said, “You okay, Prissy? You look sick.”

I shook my head to clear it. I said, “No, no. I’m fine. I guess I just ate too fast.”

Frowning, Mr. Walters said, “Let me know if you’re getting sick. I don’t want you to get the rest of us sick.”

I said, “I’m fine. Really.”

We all followed Mr. Walters down to his private cabin. The bed was amazingly large. I think he had the guest cabin removed to expand his own cabin. I couldn’t take my eyes off Mr. Walters’ hand where he held the telegraph key.

“Climb aboard the bed, girls,” he said. He laughed as he patted his naked leg and muttered, “Hmm. I don’t seem to have my keys on me.” I watched as he opened one of his dresser drawers and dropped the key into it. He then opened a small fridge and removed a wine bottle and popped the cork.

We all started giggling and playing with his little boy penis and kissing him. Mr. Walters passed around the wine bottle and everyone took a slug from it except me. I just pretended. This is one night for sure that I needed a clear head. All my conditioning and even my own conviction that I was actually happy rebelled against my thoughts.

The others couldn’t see the war raging in my mind. Knowing that I’m only a whore who loves pleasing men versus wanting to end my slavery and go home. And how could I go home like this? A whore. A tarted up whore who can’t remember how many men she’s slept with. I doubted my parents would even want me back like this. I surrendered. I have no home to go back to. This is my life now.

 

*          *          *
 

I sat up on the bed in the dark. The others were all asleep in their drunken stupors. I just sat there, unable to sleep and idly twirling my hair, my emotions raw. I stared at the drawer on the dresser that held the telegraph key. I started to cry as I mentally told myself again that I was only a whore. Nothing more. What time was it back in the states? Dad probably isn’t even on the radio.

I slid slowly from the bed, and walked over to the dresser. I stood there just staring at the drawer for several minutes. I started to reach for the drawer’s handle and stopped. Mr. Cabot will punish me, I thought. He’ll take away my elite status. He might even sell me to someplace worse. No. It’s best to just stay a blonde bimbo and do what I do best. I started to turn away from the dresser.

I took two steps from the dresser and stopped. “You moron!” I hissed aloud. I can’t pass up this chance. I turned back to the dresser and set my jaw and gritted my teeth. I suddenly jerked the drawer open and felt around inside. I found the key and quickly pulled it out. I stared at it in the dim light for several moments, rolling it in my hand. I then ran up to the upper deck to the shortwave radio.

I found headphones nearby and plugged them in and placed them over my ears. I plugged the telegraph key into the receptacle and turned the radio on. As I rolled through the frequencies, I heard the familiar hiss, crackles, music, odd voices, and unintelligible single side band transmissions until I reached the freq that I knew Dad liked to use to “talk” to friends using code.

I listened for several minutes to some code being tapped out. I tried to follow in my head, but it’s been too long and I could only catch a few words. I looked around frantically for a pad and a pencil. There was a pad in a drawer under the radio and I started to write down the words. At first it was hard, but it all started coming back to me.

It got quiet and I rested my finger over the button to tap out code. I hesitated, not wanting to violate the promise I’d made to myself to accept my life as it is. I took a deep breath and tapped out my call sign along with “CQ CQ CQ”

I’m sure I was not following proper protocol, but I just wanted to get my signal out. I didn’t know how much time I had.

Faintly, just above the noise level, I heard code that when I read it back, was asking for me to repeat my call sign. I did so.

“scott…that you?”

“yes”

“omg…it’s dad”

I just sat there, numb for a few moments. It was my dad who was answering me back. I looked up and noticed above the radios was a clock showing Zulu time. Back in the day, Dad would usually get on the radio about this time.

I tapped out, “dad…thank god!”

“where r u? what hppnd?”

“I was kidnapped. Long story.”

“thnk god ur alive”

“yes alive”

“u safe?”

“for now. Dad…I’m different”

“different?”

Being as brief as possible and still be comprehensible, I told Dad about being forced into being a sex slave in Dubai and that now I’m a woman. It took several tries before Dad understood what I meant.

It seems that Dad had been getting on the radio every day at his usual time and other times when he could hoping against hope that he might hear from me. The authorities had recommended that I be declared to be presumed dead. Unbelievably, I’ve been in Dubai for almost three years. Dad never gave up hope in all that time.

“I’m coming for you,” tapped Dad.

“don’t”

“y not?”

“these are evil people. They’ll just kill you and probably me too.”

“I can’t let you stay there.”

“Yes you can. I’m just a whore now dad”

“ur my son. I can…” the signal then faded in a roar of background noise that made further communications impossible.

I sat there in front of the radio, listening to the static for several minutes. I couldn’t hear further signals. I was glad that Dad finally knew I was alive. I mentally slapped myself for failing to tell him I loved him and Mom. Still listening to the noise, I cried for several more minutes. Finally, I switched off the radio and unplugged the headphones and key. I looked through the drawers under the radios until I found a large washer. I folded the papers I’d written on so they’d fit inside the hole of the washer. I then tossed it overboard and watched it sink into the black waters.

Still numb from my emotional rollercoaster, I made my way to Mr. Walters’ private cabin. I put the key back into the drawer. I then curled up next to Mr. Walters in his bed and fell asleep.

 

*          *          *
 

“You again? Mr. Cabot must think you’re the only whore I want.”

I looked up from the lounge chair I was relaxing in to see my least favorite Congressman standing beside me. I stood up, smoothing down the front of my gown. I said, “You can always go to the receptionist and ask for a change.”

He looked me up and down and said, “Oh no. You’re fine. You’re gorgeous in fact. It’s just interesting that you’ve gone from a fag pretend woman to a fag fake woman.”

I smiled at him and said, “All the times you’ve fucked me, I’d be careful tossing that word ‘fag’ around. And I’m hardly a fake woman. In fact, I’m more woman than you can handle.”

The Congressman laughed. “No such thing. Oh, but hey. Since you’re a ‘woman’”, the Congress man made quotation marks in the air. “You’d love it back home in our state this time of year. All the wildflowers are in bloom. The temperature is perfect. But you’re here instead.”

I refused to let him goad me. I smiled and said, “I don’t have a ‘back home’ anymore. I love pleasing men. Occasionally they make me fuck politicians too.”

He took my hand and started leading me back to his hotel room. “Let’s see if you have that fire in the sack.”

I really didn’t want this creep to touch me. I knew Mr. Cabot was testing me; to see if I’d refuse a client. I did have that option being an elite escort and all. But he frowned on it and a few girls who refused too many were sent back to haunt the hospitality rooms instead. I just wanted to strangle the Congressman, but there are strict policies against murdering clients.

Once in his room, the Congressman started groping my breasts while I was still dressed and kissing me. I could just be a limp dish rag, but I had taken a personal pride in what I give men. Even varmints like this one. He actually seemed surprised when I came on strong to him. In fact, it was my intent to rape him.

And rape him I did.

He wasn’t expecting me to come on so aggressively to him. I was the one in control, not him. He struggled to keep up and his first ejaculation was pre-mature. I kept at him until he came a second time and I could tell it was difficult for him. I only slowed down after his obviously painful third time.

He rolled back from me, exhausted and groaning, but not from pleasure. Gasping for air with his eyes closed, The Congressman muttered, “You *are* more woman than I can handle. Oh my God, Prissy. You’re like fucking a lioness.”

I slid out of bed, and started sliding my panties back on. As I started to step into my gown, I said, “Call me when you’re ready for round two.”

That was the last time I had sex with the Congressman.

 

*          *          *
 

I smiled seductively when I saw him approach me. I’d only been with Mr. Farnsworth twice before, but he was definitely on my list of favorite clients. He was the most gorgeous man, great build, and well muscled. I have to admit that I’m a sucker for muscles. Not body builder type muscles. But firm, tight and powerful muscles. This guy was a hunk deluxe.

He grinned as he stepped up next to me. He said, “And so we meet again, Prissy.” He bent down and kissed me. His touch sent an electric spike down my spine.

“It’s great to see you again, Farnsy,” I said, calling him by my little nickname for him. Even in heels, his massive, masculine frame towered over me.

Farnsy ran his hand through my long flowing hair. He grinned at me and said, “I don’t know how one place can have so many beautiful girls with you the loveliest of them all.”

I blushed. I don’t blush often anymore, but he made me blush. I just wanted to melt into his arms. He was one of the few men who treated me more like he would his girlfriend than just a prostitute. While I knew there was no chance at anything between us, I have to admit that I loved this man.

He took my hand and we went up to his hotel room. As soon as he closed the door, he started kissing me passionately. I slid my arms sensuously around his neck as we kissed. He reached behind me and slowly unzipped my dress. He pressed into me to show me he already had a massive hard-on. I kissed him harder, sucking his tongue into my mouth as my dress fell to the floor.

He dropped to his knees and with his hands firmly on my butt, he stuck his tongue inside me. I grew suddenly weak in my knees and moaned softly. He grinned at me as he effortlessly picked me up and set me down on his bed. I watched with anticipation as he slowly undressed himself.

He slid into bed next to me, and began to gently kiss me as he pushed two fingers up inside me and slid them in and out. This man was just a very few that I considered what we were doing as making love and not just having sex. With him, I was in heaven.

After he made his final thrust, we kissed and cuddled with his cock still pulsing inside me. Breathless, I said, “You were wonderful.” He just smiled at me and kissed me again.

And then something bizarre happened. A tinny voice crackled from his pants on the floor. It said, “Cameras and stairwell alarms disabled. You have five minutes to secure and extract VIP.”

Farnsy jumped out of bed and pulled a radio from his pants pocket after quickly pulling his pants on. He said, “Roger that.” Turning to me he said, “Let’s go girl. We have to go. Now!” He didn’t bother with his shirt or shoes.

Raising up on one elbow, I looked at Farnsy with confusion. I said, “Go? Go where? What’s going on?”

“This is a rescue, girl. Let’s go!” Farnsy almost shouted.

My mind started racing. A rescue? Oh my God. Someone’s getting me out? How? Oh my God, I can’t go. I’ll get in trouble with Mr. Cabot! I watched as Farnsy rushed to the door and checked the hallway. I just stood there as I struggled with wanting freedom and fear of punishment.

Farnsy frowned, rushed to me and grabbed my hand. He said, “Let’s go!”

I said, “I need to get…”

“Leave everything. I’ll carry you if I have to,” said Farnsy through clenched teeth. “We must go now.”

He pulled me stark naked, with some of the results of having sex running down my thigh, into the empty hallway. Holding my hand, he ran to the stairwell door, took a deep breath and shoved it open.

While running down the stairs, I said between breaths, “This is a rescue and you fucked me?”

Farnsy stopped on the landing six floors from his hotel room. As he slowly opened the stairwell door and checked to see if it was clear, he said, “I knew it was going to take time to disable the cameras and shit. Come on!”

He jerked me down the empty hallway to a door midway down. He slid his keycard into the door, pushed it opened and quickly pulled me inside the room.

Inside the room were two other people; a man and a woman with long blonde hair. They both jumped up when we entered.

The woman picked up a bag and tossed it at me. She barked, “Girl! Get to the bathroom and wash that whore make-up off as quickly as possible. Use the cosmetics in the bathroom. You need to look like a typical tourist. Put the clothes in the bag on. And here. Put this wig on. They’ll be looking for a blonde. They’ll see me and won’t look at you. Hurry!”

The man said, “Shit Sam! You fucked her? She’s daddy’s little princess we’re here to rescue.”

Farnsy, or I guess I should say Sam, just shrugged. He said, “We had time to kill and she’s a great fuck.”

I didn’t hear any further conversation as I rushed into the bathroom. I turned on the water and picked up a washcloth. Can I trust these people? What if this was another of Mr. Cabot’s tests? What if it’s just a trap and they’re taking me to Mr. Cabot so he can beat me? I shook my head as I started vigorously washing my face. Needing to believe in something, I said to myself, my Farnsy wouldn’t do that to me.

As I quickly applied the lighter make-up, my mind spun. How is this rescue possible? Dad doesn’t have the money to hire commandos to pull me from this. Before putting on the panties, I took the time to wash my leg and crotch the best I could. I then started to put on the clothes I was given. A bra, a tank top, shorts and sandals. And a brunet wig. I wondered how they got my size correct.

That’s when it dawned on me. The first two times with Sam he was doing recon. All the times he felt me, running his hands down my body was to estimate my size. I remember seeing Sam hang around in the lobby. He took a few other girls for sex before he finally got to me. I took his gentleness to mean he liked me. Was it all just an act? If he gets me out of here, does it really matter?

When I exited the bathroom, the woman who was dressed similar to me said, “Okay, girl. Looks good. Wear this hat and let’s go. Don’t run. Act casual. Pretend Sam is your boyfriend.”

I had always wondered why women liked these big, floppy hats. I used the bedroom mirror to put it on and adjust it. I smiled. It looked good on me.

The other man stood by the door. He checked the hallway and said, “If we’re all done getting pretty, let’s go. The plan is to try to be as inconspicuous as possible. Once we hit the lobby, we should look like any of the dozens of tourists milling around. We slowly, but directly to the outside where we hail a cab. Sam’s in charge of the VIP. Let’s do this.”

Sam smiled at me and took my hand. The unnamed man took the unnamed woman’s hand and we walked slowly and deliberately towards the elevator. When the elevator door opened and a couple walked out, my heart leapt into my throat. Sam just gently squeezed my hand and smiled at me.

When the door closed, Sam said, “You’re doing fine. Just stay cool. We’ll get you out.”

I hesitated before stepping out into the lobby. The last time I got off the elevator into the lobby, Mr. Cabot’s henchmen were waiting. Thankfully, this time it was clear of any visible bad guys. We blended in with the rest of the crowd.

As we passed through the expansive lobby towards the exit, my blood suddenly ran cold. No more than twenty feet away from me was Mr. Cabot talking to a group of men in suits. I squeezed Sam’s hand and looked away. A random thought popped into my head from a book I’d read a few years ago. The military commander said, “No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.” Does this count?

I swallowed hard and tried not to look over at Mr. Cabot. Thankfully, his focus was on the men he was talking to and we managed to pass him without incident.

After we passed Mr. Cabot, Sam whispered to me, “Breathe!” Only then did I realize I had been holding my breath.

Finally, we exited the building and walked towards the row of waiting taxis. Oh my God! I was outside! The little trips didn’t count as I was always under careful watch. The warm afternoon air washed over me. I wouldn’t allow myself to celebrate just yet. Anything could happen.

We walked up to a waiting taxi. Sam indicated with a wave of his hand that I should get in. The other man and woman had taken another taxi. I just stood there, frozen. A taxi ride is where my nightmare had started. I couldn’t move.

Sam said, “Honey. We need to get into the cab.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It took all my will power to force myself into the waiting taxi. As Sam sat down and told the driver our destination, I held onto his arm and put my head down on his shoulder. None of this was real until the taxi drove away from the curb. I had no idea where I was going, but I was for sure away from Mr. Cabot.

We arrived about fifteen minutes later at a small group of buildings that looked like shops. The other couple was nowhere to be seen. Sam paid the driver and we got out of the taxi. Without a word, Sam took my hand and led me down a gravel road. We walked for several minutes before stopping at what seemed to be an abandoned house.

Letting go of my hand, Sam said, “Go inside and find a canvass bag. Change into the clothes in the bag and stay inside until I say to come out. Take off the wig and put your hair in a pony tail. Leave the clothes you’re wearing on the floor. You have less than ten minutes.”

Inside the bag was what appeared to be a camouflaged army uniform. He wants me to wear this, I thought? Also in the bag were a couple of bands to fix my pony tail. I quickly changed clothes. There was a name tag on the uniform that had the name “Smith” on it. The cap’s fit was just a bit snug.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of some kind of vehicle arriving. A voice said, “Is the VIP ready? We need to go now.”

Sam said, “She’s ready.” A little louder he said, “Okay, girl. Come out.”

As I exited the abandoned house, I saw a military humvee with two men inside. Sam opened the rear door and stood by it.

I walked up to him and hugged him. I said, “Thank you Farnsy. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Sam smiled and said, “Don’t worry about that. Your Daddy’s already done that. Just make sure you make it back home to him safely.”

I hugged Sam again and looked up into his eyes. I said, “Will I see you again?”

Sam’s expression hardened and he said, “No. Goodbye, Princess.” He kissed me on the forehead and gestured for me to get into the humvee. I nodded and moved towards the door. Just before getting inside, I jumped to my tiptoes and kissed him. Sam smiled as he closed the humvee’s door. I never saw Sam again.

The man in the driver’s seat said, “Just sit tight and relax, Miss. And keep your mouth shut.”

We drove for what seemed about an hour or so along the coast of what I assumed was the Persian Gulf. As we approached an odd looking building with large curved coverings over what appeared to be a guard station, the driver again said, “Don’t say a word. Shouldn’t be a problem as we’re stationed here.” On the front of the building was something written in Arabic along with English that said, “Al Dhafra Air Base.”

At the guard station, the driver flashed an ID. The guard looked at the ID and inside the humvee. He handed back the ID, nodded and waved us through. The driver drove us through the air base up to the tarmac. There was a large plane with the engines running, sitting in front of a large hanger. A soldier walked up to us and said to the driver, “You have the VIP?” He looked inside the humvee an at me. The driver nodded. The soldier said, “The C-130’s departure has been on hold for the VIP.” He looked back at me and said, “Let’s go, Miss.”

I got out of the humvee and before I could say anything to the driver, he drove off. The soldier started to trot off towards the C-130 that had its loading ramp still down. As we approached, another soldier walked down the ramp.

The first soldier said, “Secure the VIP.” To me he touched the bill of his cap and said, “Have a safe trip, Miss.”

“Follow me, Miss,” said the other soldier as he led me up the ramp. He pointed at a row of red seats with a webbing for a back and said, “Have a seat, Miss and buckle up.” I did as I was told and took a moment to look around. I wasn’t alone. There were a dozen or so soldiers also sitting as well as a load of equipment of some kind.

The soldier returned with a blanket and said, “Here. You’ll probably want this in a few minutes. The temperature in Kaiserlautern, Germany today is around thirty degrees.”

I looked at the soldier, who was probably no older than me, and very cute. I said, “What month is this?”

He gave me an odd look and said, “Today is November sixteenth, Miss.”

I was going to ask what year, but thought better of it. It was getting close to Thanksgiving back home. The thought of home brought a sudden rush of tears. I closed my eyes as I felt the large plane revving up its engines for take-off.

As I felt the plane become airborne, I leaned back against the webbing, closed my eyes and cried harder than I have in a long time. This was real. I was going home.

 

*          *          *
 

The C-130 rolled to a stop and the ramp was lowered. The soldiers on board started standing and getting their gear. The soldier who had given me the blanket came up to me and said, “This is your stop, Miss. They’re sending a vehicle for you to take you to the main building.” I started to hand him back the blanket, but he just smiled and said, “You should hang on to that. It’s cold out there.”

I wrapped the blanket around me and started down the ramp. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a green humvee approach and stop outside the wingspan of the C-130. As I stepped off the ramp, I looked over at the humvee and saw three people standing outside next to it.

“Dad!” I shouted, as I dropped the blanket in my mad run to my parents. My cap blew off my head as I ran. “Mom! Oh my God!”

It was a short run, but I was out of breath as I ran straight into my dad and hugged him. I cried as I said, “It’s you. It’s really you!”

Dad almost crushed me in a bear hug. Tears rolled down his cheek as he said, “Oh my son! Thank God you’re safe.” He looked at me and said, “What have they done to you?”

I said, “I’m your daughter now, Dad.” I hugged him again.

He said, “We’ll have to adjust.”

I turned to Mom who was crying and hugged hard. “Oh Mom! I missed you so much!”

Mom held me tight, and then wiped away my tears with her thumb as she leaned back slightly to look at me. She said, “We’ve been so worried that we’d never see you again, honey.” She looked at me and smiled. She said, “You’re beautiful.”

I turned next to my little brother, Ross. He was eleven years old when I last saw him. He was taller than me now and must be around fourteen by now. I started to hug him and he backed away and said, “You’re not my brother!”

I looked at Dad and said, “You should have left him at home.”

 

*          *          *
 

We stayed in Germany for over a week to get me processed. Most of the paper work had been done, but my identity had to be established, a passport arranged, and all that bureaucratic nonsense.

I had my name legally changed to Scotti. No way in hell was I keeping the name Prissy. Dad had suggested getting reconstructive surgery to return being a boy. But all things considered, I decided to stay a girl.

After my contact with Dad over shortwave radio, he started a fundraising campaign to get the money to pay for a rescue. He hired a group made up of former special forces that specialize in these types of rescues. They handled all the arrangements. I didn’t ask him how much it cost.

We arrived without fanfare back to our home. It took awhile for me to not worry about Mr. Cabot crashing through our front door. I had nightmares for weeks.

Mom signed me up with a counselor to help me adjust to not being a prostitute and to get me get a prescription of estrogens to maintain my femaleness and to get me a new supply of dilators. Oh what fun.

I was pissed at David for a while since if he hadn’t left me and the girls that night in Aruba, none of this would have happened. I finally got over it and got on good terms with him again. Until he saw me in person and asked me on a date. Now I’m pissed at him again.

Christmas was certainly different now. I didn’t get a single console game, even though I had four on my list. In fact, I didn’t get any electronics this time around. Instead, I got some eye shadow, perfume, nail polish, earrings, panties…do I really need so many panties? And a couple of tops and a skirt just to name a few. My brother laughed every time I got something girly.

In fact, Mom’s gone hog wild with me becoming a daughter. I think she has the idea that when they changed my gender, they also inserted a shopping gene. And that I should suddenly like chick flicks. I don’t complain though. I’m just glad she’s happy about it. It does get in the way at times though. I wanted to watch the Super Bowl with Dad, and we had guests over. I spent most of the time helping Mom in the kitchen than watching the game.

My brother however, rarely talks to me. I’m told constantly that I’m not his brother.

I decided to retake my last year of college. I met this really cute and wonderful guy in the campus ham radio club. He knows about me and it doesn’t bother him. Like I said. He’s wonderful. He’s going with me on Spring Break…a camping trip with my Dad to the mountains of New Mexico.

 

*          *          *
 

“…and those are my promises to you, the good people of our great state. And now I’ll take some questions.”

I pushed my way to the front of the crowd and grabbed the microphone from the person about to ask a question. I looked the Congressman straight in his eyes and said, “Why did you give me back to my captors when I begged you for help in Dubai? Because of you, I spent three years there as a sex slave!”

Looking extremely nervous, the Congressman said, “Miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can we get her out of here?”

“You don’t remember me?” I shouted. “You even told me I was your favorite whore. You had sex with me six times…five times while I was still a boy!”

“Security! Get this girl out of here!” shouted the Congressman.

Reporters started to crowd around me, shouting questions at me. I shouted into the microphone I still clutched, “I begged you for help and you not only left me to stay a sex slave, you specifically requested to fuck me!”

“Get her out of here!” shouted the Congressman.

 

*          *          *
 

The Congressman’s political career ended. He got a talk show on MSNBC.

The FBI, working with the United Arab Emirates, got the brothel that held me captive shut down. Most of the girls were returned home. Some continued to be prostitutes as that was all they knew. I never learned the fate of the girls that were taken with me. Mr. Cabot lost his head as he had embarrassed the UAE as well as caused a slight drop in tourism during the investigations. At least that’s what I was told.

 

*          *          *
 

“Will you hurry up in there?” shouted Ross through the bathroom door. He rapped on the door with his knuckles a few times. “I have to go.”

Through the door, I said, “I’m putting on my make-up. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Ross said, “You don’t need make-up.”

Through the door, I laughed and said, “I don’t?”

There was a pause and then Ross said, “No. Because my sister is already beautiful.”

 

*          *          *
 

The End of Captive!