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A Goth's Story By Sable Chapter 1: The Club It's sunny outside, according to the newspaper. If I listen closely, I think I can hear the shouts of children. I used to hate children, strange the things you miss when they are taken away from you. It's dark in here. The only light is from the two large candles, mounted in two twisted iron candleholders, either side of me. There is just enough light for me to write by, my ink pen scratching on this coarse paper. In these stolen moments, while he is otherwise occupied, I'll fill in my story. It all began a year ago, in Islington, on a thunderclouded night. The rain was drizzling against my car window, forming sheets on the tarmac, making the road-markings indistinct beneath the eldritch street-lighting, as I looked for a place to park in the busy Saturday-night streets. I had been told the club was special, that I would like it. Lee, my friend, had laughingly referred to me as a wannabe Goth, and told me that I should come up and see what real Goths looked like. He also assured me that the women in the club were quite stunning. "Your jaw will drop." He said. "I don't know what to wear." I replied, attempting to avoid the touchy 'Woman' subject. I was still single. In the three months that I had known Lee he had had three different girlfriends. "Something black." He responded, sarcastic tones cascading. Then, in a different tone of voice, "It won't matter anyway." "Why?" "Oh, it's dark in the club." I sensed this was an evasion, but I didn't know why. Lee continued, "Can I borrow a fiver to get in?" Lee was always short of money, and I was always lending it to him. I didn't really mind. The journey was amusing to say the least; we bounced merrily along to a compilation of Sisters of Mercy, The Mission, Depeche Mode and Bauhaus. "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead." Throughout the journey, I felt that Lee was watching me. I didn't quite know what made me think that; I could certainly never catch him doing anything unusual. It was just a feeling. The Murk-Dwellers club in London is an unprepossessing building, looking like a derelict warehouse tucked behind an underground station. We queued outside, me fretting, hoping my appearance - black jeans, black T-shirt, would be acceptable. Lee seeming distracted, slightly on edge. He signed us in and led me inside. The main corridor of the club is painted in slate grey reminding me of a prison. My attention was only briefly on the walls however, as my gaze was torn forcibly by the creature that stood five yards in front of me. The first thing I noticed was her hair. Jet-black, it hung almost to her derriere. Streaks of purple and white ran through it. She turned and I saw her face. She wore white face powder, with black lipstick. From her heavily mascara-lined eyes intricate designs were painted in black, coiling and swirling across her cheeks. Around her neck was a silver collar. She wore a tight corset, apparently of black velvet and, beneath her narrowed waist voluminous black lace skirts billowed. Beneath those I could just make out the lines of fishnet stockings. On her feet was a pair of PVC ankle boots with spiked heels. I would have fallen in love with the shoes alone. Lee was right. My jaw dropped. Lee waved to the girl. On seeing him, she smiled slightly in recognition. He led me up to her. "Hi Seppy," he said, "how's it going." "Not bad," she replied in a soft, melodious voice. "Who's your friend?" "Ah." Lee said. "Rob, meet Sepulchre, commonly known as Seppy." "Pleased to meet you." To say I stammered would be false. I was, however, very careful over my words. Sepulchre semi-smiled at me before turning back to Lee. "Is he the one?" Lee nodded. "Yep. What do you think?" Sepulchre cast an assessing glance over me. "He'll do. A touch on the large side but a diet will deal with that." "What the hell are you talking about?" I interjected, insulted. Sepulchre turned to me. "Oh, never mind. You'll find out later." I subsided, determined to find out from Lee what she had been talking about. "Is the Patrician here yet?" Lee asked. "He's upstairs. I'll tell him you are here." She turned to go, before turning back to me, a glint in her eyes. "Enjoy the club, Sab." "Rob," I corrected. "Whatever." After Sepulchre had climbed the concrete stairs, Lee led me through a narrow and somewhat busy corridor into a room filled with people. Like the Cantina Scene from Star Wars, I felt that I had stepped into a different universe. Everywhere I looked were strangely garbed and made-up people. In the corner, on a bench, a couple writhed together. The air was filled with voices and the steady beat coming through a thick door at the other side of the room. Lee led me, sliding through the press to the doorway. Pushing it open, the noise hit me like a hurricane. I didn't recognise the track, though the style was familiar. On the now-revealed dance-floor, through the haze of a smoke machine, I could make out the forms of people dancing, vaguely to the beat, their arms waving in elegant coils. Looking round I saw that, although I was under-dressed, I wasn't out of place. Black did seem to be the recurring motif. Odd flashes of purple, white, silver and blood red splashed, here and there, across the black canvas. I felt that I had stepped into a different world, a world behind the one I thought I knew and that I was very much the learner. Lee led me back into the antechamber room and sat me down on the, somewhat wet and chilly, floor in the corner. "Wait here." He told me. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes." With a nod and a wave to someone across the room, he wove back into the press. I was alone. I looked around, across from me, an alien with pierced eyebrows and a purple Mohican sat deep in conversation with a girl dressed in PVC hot pants and a black lace top. He turned and looked at me, I glanced away, my eyes alighting on a somewhat surprisingly tall lady. I think. I sat there, unconsciously staring, trying to work out whether or not it really was a woman. I wasn't an archconservative, being fairly liberal in views, but there were some things that just didn't turn me on, and that was one of them. After I had been sitting there about five minutes, my bottom starting to get slightly wet and cold, Lee returned with his fist clenched tightly. "Come on." He said, leading me back through the crowd to the corridor. As we entered the corridor he swung a tight left through a door. Looking around, I realised that we were in the toilet, although there was nothing on the door to indicate that. "Close your eyes and open your mouth." Lee ordered me. "Why?" I responded, confused. "Just do it." Reluctantly, I shut my eyes and opened my mouth as instructed. I felt something small, round and pill-like enter my mouth. "Swallow." I paused, tried to get a question out. "Ot I it?" "Swallow." Lee ordered, vehemently. Startled, I swallowed. Nothing happened. "What was it?" I asked. Lee smiled. "You'll find out. Come on, let's go dance." We went back to the dance-floor, where something loud and with deep gravelly voices was being played. I tried to copy those around me and soon I felt I was getting into the swing of things, relieved that a sense of rhythm appeared to be purely optional. "Roll head like I'm drunk, wave arms like 'Lets Pretend to be a Tree', twitch body in time to last track." I thought repeatedly to myself. Surprising, I actually started to enjoy it, despite the fact that I looked silly. As we danced, I became aware of a blurring at the edge of my vision, a slight tunnelling effect. I waved at Lee, he didn't notice, possibly assuming it was a dance move. I tapped him on the shoulder and mimed taking a drink. He nodded and led me off the dance-floor into the antechamber room. In one corner stood a Coke machine and, relieved, I bought us a Coke each. Lee, of course, had no money. We sat down in the corner. "Well, what do you think?" Lee asked me. "It's cool," I responded "I didn't think I was going to like it, but you're right, it is good. And I don't feel threatened and out-of-place at all, like I do in normal clubs." "Good." Lee smiled. "I was sure you'd like it." "And I'll give you one thing. " I said quietly. "Yes?" "You were right about the girls." I gave ground gracefully. I drank more from my can hoping I was just dehydrated. My head felt like it was stuffed full of wool and sounds were getting fuzzier. "Any in particular?" Lee grinned. I cast my eyes around the room. There were many exquisitely made up and interestingly dressed woman standing around, but in my mind I was comparing them to one who was not in the room. Eventually, I gave up. "Ok." I confessed. "I think that the girl you introduced me to, Seppy, was easily the most attractive here." To my surprise, Lee giggled, something he didn't normally do. "How are you feeling?" He asked. "Woozy," I admitted, "What was that thing." "Just a small pill to make you a little more tractable. You can be remarkably stubborn when you set your mind to it." "What?" I interjected, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it. "I had to rectify my current financial situation, you know." "Eh?" I found it difficult to work out the implications of what Lee was saying. "Stand up." Lee commanded. I tried to work out what I should do, failed, and therefore stood up. I noticed that Sepulchre had entered the room on the far side. She looked over and beckoned, like a siren. Even had I not been in my fogged state, I would have bounded over to her. As it was, I unsteadily wove my way across, Lee in hot pursuit. "Hi!" I said, when we reached her, trying to sound cheerful. "Hmm." She said. "Come along. The Patrician will see you now." She turned, and led me along the corridor and up the concrete stairs to the upper floor. The upper floor was much smaller than the lower, and had much more of a 'private club' air. There was a plush deep purple carpet on the floor and the black painted walls had traces of silver filigree-like paintwork sliding vein-like across them. Ethereal light came from recessed lamps in the walls and from the multiple candles burning in candelabras across the room. There was a familiar, slightly musty, scent to the room and a faint haze filled the atmosphere. Music played softly, much more quietly than downstairs, with a less pronounced bass line as well. I took the room in at a glance, before my eyes fell on the person at the end of the room. Fell, and then were locked. Mentally, I gasped. At the end of the room, on a raised plinth, sat a chair. Baroque and gothic, this chair, or rather, throne, was designed and executed with such over the top extravagance, such brio, that it defied anything that I had seen before. Celtic crosses were interwoven with pentagrams, with cobwebs binding them together. Silver snakes, frozen in an instant, slithered across the sides. The arms of the chair were curved bones. Atop the backrest, which was lined with purple velvet, sat a malevolent-looking silver spider, with sparkling gems as its eyes. Sitting on this throne was a man, who I assumed to be The Patrician, examining me with interest. He was in his late twenties, with jet-black hair and an aristocratic air. In his eyes was a glint of steel and when he spoke his voice was laden with the overtones of command. "Bring him closer, Sepulchre." He ordered. Sepulchre obeyed, taking me by the arm and half-leading, half-dragging, me forward. "Enough." He commanded. He indicated with his hand. Sepulchre dropped my arm and moved to him, dropping to her knees by the side of his chair. With Lee still lurking at the back of the room, I felt very much alone and slightly naked under the scrutiny of this lord in front of me. I became aware of the other people in the room, lounging on seats around the edge, standing in tight huddles, where, presumably, they had previously been conversing. Now all were watching and studying me intently, adding to my feeling of vulnerability. "Good evening, young man." He said to me, after a short time. "Good evening, sir," I responded, the 'Sir' coming unbidden to my lips. It seemed appropriate somehow. He seemed pleased, and leant back, a half-smile playing over his lips. I found myself studying those lips, anything to avoid looking at the eyes, which cut through my defences like lasers, laying bare my inner core. "How do you like my club?" He asked, pleasantly. "It's very impressive, sir." The sir's still seemed appropriate. "Good. And what do you like best about it?" I paused for a second, thinking of an answer. My eyes flicked to Sepulchre, kneeling next to The Patrician. I wasn't given a chance to respond to his question, for he had seen my glance. "I see. You are not the first, nor I trust the last, to find our Sepulchre interesting." He looked down at her, reached and ran his fingers through her hair. "Sepulchre," he ordered. "To him." Sepulchre stood and strode purposefully towards me. She stood in front of me, and looked into my eyes. I hadn't noticed how tall she was, as tall as I, until this moment. Her raven-black eyes seemed like oceans swirling and seething and drawing me in. The room faded around me. It was just her and I, alone. I felt her hand brush against my face; still my eyes remained locked to hers, enthralled. She moved closer, I remained statuesque. I felt her touch against me, her chest touching mine. The music faded, all I could hear was my breathing, and my heart beat. She cocked her head to the left and slowly, slowly, brought her lips close to mine. I closed my eyes and I felt the soft touch of her mouth. Simultaneously she wrapped one of her legs around mine; I heard the whisper of her stockings across my trousers. I clasped my hands around her corseted waist. She slipped a hand down to the bulge at my crotch and began to stroke it. I kissed her hungrily, desire making me oblivious to the audience so interested in this performance. I held her close to me as she began to undulate her body, entwined around me, her hand stroking gently but purposefully. "Enough." The Patrician's voice whipped through the cloud of my ardour. Sepulchre stopped and stepped clear of me. I was left, panting slightly, my passion displayed for all to see in the tent-pole like arrangement of my trousers. This passion quickly faded as mortification set in. I had publicly disgraced myself. I blushed. Unabashed, the scarlet Sepulchre returned to her supplication at the side of The Patrician, leaving me red-faced. Amusement sparkled in The Patrician's eyes. "Don't look so embarrassed," he told me. "You haven't done anything wrong. Sepulchre usually draws that reaction." His faced hardened, "I grow weary of his current demeanour. Hawk, Aisling, take him away." An extremely tough looking man strode towards me. I turned to run, straight into the waiting arms of an equally fearsome woman. She grabbed my arm and twisted it into an arm-lock. The man took hold of my other arm and, kicking and protesting, I was dragged through a door that I had not seen before, situated as it was behind the Patrician's throne. I was bundled into a corner, to some kind of man-sized chest and the door slammed closed above me. In fury I beat on the lid. It opened a crack. I heard the hard voice of the woman, Aisling. "Don't bother. There's nobody to hear you and if The Patrician finds out you've been misbehaving, well, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." This was followed by the hoarse laugh of the man, Hawk. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes anyway." "Well, he isn't going to be in them himself for very long." The door slammed shut again, and I heard their laughter recede into the distance. I sat in silence, stunned and disorientated, partly from the drug I had been given, but mostly from the sudden and unexpected turn of events. What had happened to me? More importantly, what was to happen to me in the future? I was scared, but inside, deep inside, a dark part of me had tasted abandon, in the shape of Sepulchre, and was starting to crave more. I heard a faint, muffled, but familiar voice. Lee seemed to be talking to someone in the distance. "I get what we agreed then?" Followed by the sharp crack of The Patrician's voice. "Yes. I concede that you have delivered the goods as before. He should do well, like the previous one." "I think I'll prefer him when you're done. He's a bit of a pathetic worm now." I closed my eyes. This was betrayal. Lee, it seemed, had sold me. Into what, and for what, I had no idea. In addition, apparently, I was not the first to be thus beguiled. Their voices faded as they walked away and I was left once again in silence, to consider. After a while in the pitch darkness, having tried the door and found it locked, my eyes closed and I drifted into sleep. Chapter 2: The Transformation I was awakened by the sudden movement of the box in which I had been locked. It felt as if someone had picked it up and was carrying it along. "Stop." I shouted. Somebody thumped the box violently. "Shut up," a gruff voice ordered. Helpless, I obeyed. From the tipping of the box we seemed to go down a staircase and then the box was set down somewhere. I heard the slam of a metallic door and then the sound of an engine. I was in some kind of car or van, taking me away from the club. I resolved to track where we were going from the movement of the car. Such things are easier in films than in real life. I didn't know London well enough to cope, and I was swiftly lost. After a journey of approximately fifteen minutes, the vehicle stopped and I heard the door open. Once again my prison was hoisted and taken on a bumpy journey up a staircase, before finally being set down with a bump. I determined to make a break for it as soon as the door opened. Seconds later, my chance occurred as the lock snapped open and the door moved. I pushed it open quickly, and tried to jump to my feet, only to be pushed back in by strong hands. I looked up. Hawk was holding my shoulders down whilst Aisling held my feet. I felt someone else placing something around my ankles. Shifting my head to look around Aisling, I saw, to my dismay, that it was Sepulchre. I had hoped that she was not involved with my kidnap and imprisonment, unfortunately, it appeared she was. My hands were roughly pushed together in front of me and I felt something clasp around them. Hawk's arms, holding my shoulders down, and the sides of the box, prevented me from seeing what was going on. Then, I was released, and lifted out of the box and deposited on my feet. I looked around. I was in a medium-sized rectangular room with whitewashed walls and a wooden floor. There were no windows; the light came from some bare fluorescent tubes, harshly reflecting off the walls. At one end of the room was a hairdresser's chair and equipment, but I could see no mirror and at the other was a shower cubicle. There were two doors, one at one end and the other, a set of double doors half way down the long wall. Sepulchre was locking the far door whilst Hawk and Aisling held my arms. They released me, and I turned to run, hoping to surprise Sepulchre and escape. Moments later, the floor was rushing towards me. I frantically put out my hands to break my fall, only partially successfully. After I had landed, with some pain, I re-assessed the situation. Black cuffs were bucked around my wrists and ankles. There was just enough slack in the short silver chain between my ankles that I might be able to walk slowly. My hands, however, were chained very closely. I had hopes of unbuckling my ankles, until I noticed the neat padlocks on the outside of my legs. Examining the wrist-cuffs more closely, I saw they too were locked on. "What's going on? What are you doing to me?" I asked Hawk as he roughly picked me up. He set me upright and stepped away. Seconds later, the left side of my face exploded as Aisling slapped it. I staggered, just managing to keep myself upright. "You only speak when you are spoken to. Understand?" Aisling barked at me. "Yes," I responded sulkily. Another slap rocked me. "And you call me ma'am and Hawk sir. Understood?" "Yes...ma'am," I responded, chastened. "Good. Sepulchre you may call by her name. For the moment, she is the only person you may speak to freely, and then only when you are alone." This hardly made me distraught, and that must have shown in my eyes. Aisling laughed and produced a knife from her belt. "Don't hurt me," I pleaded. She laughed again. "I'm not about to," she told me. "The Patrician would be most disappointed. He wants to hurt you himself. No, this is just to remove some excess baggage." She grabbed my shirt by the neck and, with a terrible tearing sound, cut it down the back. The sleeves followed in seconds later and my shirt was ruined, and I was wearing only my trousers and shoes. "Take off your shoes." She ordered, and I obeyed, kicking them off. She beckoned Sepulchre over and ordered her "Socks." She turned to me. "Lift your foot." I lifted a foot; Sepulchre removed my sock. "Other one." I repeated the action. I was being undressed, slowly. I wondered how far. Quite a long way appeared to be the answer, as Aisling slit my trousers and ripped them from me, leaving me only my underpants, and the cuffs that held me. I must confess at this point that my underwear was hardly sexy, and Aisling was struggling not to giggle as she regarded me. Glancing at Sepulchre, I saw that she too had a smile on her face. Looking into her eyes, however, I saw only sadness and sympathy. I felt I had a friend, even in my adversity. I realised I had little hope of protecting my modesty, and seconds later I was vindicated, as the knife descended again, leaving me naked. I tried to cover myself with my hands, unsuccessfully. Aisling collected up my belongings and put them in a black plastic sack, which she threw in a bin in the corner. "You won't be needing them again." Hawk led me over to the shower that Sepulchre had been warming up. This shower cubicle didn't seem particularly unusual until my wrist cuffs were unchained and my arms raised. I heard two clicks from above and looked up. My hands were locked onto a bar stretching across the cubicle. My feet were unchained and my legs were spread. The familiar click sounded and I was locked into an 'X' position, utterly helpless. Sepulchre stepped in, showerhead in hand and began to wash me. As she soaped me, rubbing me with a sponge, I began to get a little turned on. She giggled when she saw it. "Can't have that." She said and, putting aside the shower for a moment, closed her hand around my penis. Quickly and deftly she masturbated me, bringing me to a climax that would have brought me to my knees, were it not for the bonds which held me upright. Then she washed the traces away in a business-like manner before returning to covering me with soapy foam. I should have suspected what was about to happen, but then I always have been grossly stupid at times. The first I knew was the cold touch of the razor blade upon my thighs. "Don't you dare move," Sepulchre told me. "I'll cut you, and you'll regret that." I couldn't disobey her, especially not after what she had just done for me, so I held as still as I could while she went about her work. Expertly, she shaved the hair off my legs and my feet before turning to my chest. That completed, she shaved my arms, reaching up carefully, moving the cuffs when necessary. This left only a few places on my body still with hair. Beginning to suspect a little of what was going on I didn't think it would remain that way for long. I was right. My armpit hair disappeared in a couple of painful minutes. Only one thing remained and, five minutes later I was totally hairless, except for my head and my eyebrows. I felt cold and more naked than ever before as Sepulchre dried me with a soft towel. Aisling led me over to the hairdresser's chair. On closer examination, this chair had been modified in a way that I was almost coming to expect. The arms and the stand had loops of steel, which looked like a place where something or, I presumed, somebody, could be attached. Aisling 'helped' me into the chair and neatly clipped my cuffs into the loops. I tested the strength of my restraints, as I expected I was held fast. Aisling spread a cover over me, velcro-ing it behind my neck. I was relieved, feeling less naked despite the draft blowing uncomfortably across my feel. Sepulchre, who had followed us over from the shower, proceeded to dry my hair gently with a towel. I was wondering, to an extent, what was to come next. I tried to take stock of what I knew. Firstly, I had been betrayed by my friend and kidnapped. Secondly, I was undergoing a makeover, and a full body shave. I couldn't work out why, or what the end result was to be. I was nervous and scared, but I looked for the misery that I knew I should be feeling, and couldn't find it. I wasn't happy, but I seemed to be accepting what was going on with a remarkable sang-froid. Nonetheless, I was curious, however, with Aisling standing there I couldn't ask Sepulchre what was going on. Sepulchre. I looked up at her. She was looking at me, her wide dark eyes filled with a knowing compassion. I realised that I was falling for her, falling in a big way. I only hoped that whatever these evil people were planning wouldn't prevent me from telling her that, someday. I was beginning to wonder whether Aisling, Hawk or Sepulchre were hairdressers, although none of them were making a move towards the scissors and other implements resting in a jar of disinfectant on the table in front of me, when there was a firm knock on the door. Hawk walked over and opened it, and let someone in. I heard the door being bolted closed after him or her. "Morning, dear," the estuary accent rang out. "How's you?" Hawk didn't reply. "Oh yes, still playing the strong silent thug, I see." The sound of heels on floorboards was nearing me. "Morning, Aisling," she chirped. "And if it isn't darling Seppy, how are you, you did turn out well didn't you. Happy, dear? Yes, I can see you are. Or you're not letting on if you aren't. Now where's the subject, I do so love these little jobs Brian gives me to do." I realised that this was someone who didn't shut up even when asleep. She bustled into view. I was surprised. I was expecting, from the voice, to see a large middle-aged woman. I was wrong. What I saw was a woman in her late twenties, tall anyway, but even taller in the platform boots she was wearing. She had long blue hair in two bunches, heavy black eye makeup and a pierced nose and pierced lips. She was a Goth, in other words. "Hallo, dear." She said to me. "Dreadfully sorry about having to do this, but Brian will insist. I think you'll come around to the idea in the end. Most do, don't they, Sepulchre?" Sepulchre muttered something inaudible. "Anyway, let's look at you." She grabbed my chin, held it up, looking appraisingly at my features and then, letting my chin drop, she ran her fingers through my hair. "Oooh, yes. I think we can work wonders with you. Right then, let's get started. Seppy, can you get me a bowl of warm water. Ah, you have, excellent. Right dear, what we're going to do is this, we're going to dye your hair black to start with, cut it a little bit so it grows right OK?" Dye it? "No, distinctly, no," I replied vehemently. The hairdresser jumped back, surprised. Aisling came over and bent to my ear. "If you don't co-operate, I will break every bone in your body. Slowly. Understood?" she hissed. I hesitated. She reached out and started twisting one of my fingers back. I've never been of the unsusceptible to pain persuasion and I was finding this argument fairly convincing. "OK, OK," I sobbed. "Good," Aisling whispered. Defeated, I sat there, head bowed. The hairdresser pulled some plastic gloves onto her hands and opened the bag she had brought with her. "Now that's sorted, dear, I hope we won't have any more nonsense. We can do this the easy and fun way, or we can do it the hard way. Aisling and Hawk would enjoy the hard way. You wouldn't. Now, lift your head up a bit." I complied. "OK, dear, we're going to have to keep this out of your eyes, so..." Everything went dark as I was blindfolded. "And here we go." She squirted some liquid into her palm and massaged it through my hair. Repeating the task she slowly worked the liquid to the roots. "Right," she said, some moments later. "Now, we have to leave that for ten minutes or so. So, how about a nice cup of tea? Sepulchre?" I heard Sepulchre disappearing to a corner of the room where, presumably, the kettle was, although I had not noticed it. Five minutes later, Hawk, Aisling, Sepulchre and the hairdresser were enjoying a nice cup of tea. Obviously, without being able to move my hands I could not hold a cup, even had I been allowed tea. After they had finished, they came back to me. "OK, dear, let's just wash the gunk out of your hair and let's see what we have." The hairdresser, with Sepulchre assisting, used the bowl of water and a sponge and carefully washed out my hair. She stepped back to assess. "Hmm, perfect, right, just cut that to length." My hair reached down just to the nape of my neck. I wasn't allowed it longer, because of my work. She snipped away with some scissors, for a very brief period. Obviously, she hadn't taken much length off it. "Ok, that will do. Now let's do the complicated and long bit." She was right. It took three or four hours of fiddling to do whatever she was doing. Yanking odd bits of my freshly dyed hair, twisting and pressing. After about an hour I noticed the weight of my head increasing. Later, I felt something soft against my neck. Apparently she was attaching something to me. I couldn't work out what. When she was done, she removed the blindfold. "Ta-da." The impact was not immediately noticeable as there was no mirror, however, I twisted my head trying to catch a glimpse of what had been done. As I did so, I felt something large and heavy moving behind me. Then some of it came into view near the floor. I tossed my head, hair came tumbling down in front of me. The hairdresser carefully brushed it back behind me. "Yes dear, I've given you hair extensions. You have a lovely raven black head of hair. What we'll do is we'll cut it back as your own hair grows. But you're going to have to take care of it." I breathed. I wasn't as shocked as I thought I might have been, but this was still a blow. "Why is all this happening to me?" I had to ask. "Oh, dear. Well, it's not my place to explain it. You'll see if you're good. In fact, you'll see if you're bad as well." She giggled. "Now, let's deal with the other matters." She quickly brushed my hair back and pulled it into a long ponytail. "That'll keep it out of my way while I work." She reached into her bag again, and pulled out a metal device. "We're going to be nice to you, you know. They could have done so many things, but they thought they had better let you choose. Hold your head still." Seconds later, my right ear was on fire as she pierced it. The left ear soon followed. "That wasn't too bad." I thought to myself. However, I was preemptive. The process was repeated five times for each ear, until I had 5 studs in the lower lobe and one in the top corner of each ear. My ears hurt like hell and a painful realisation was slowly dawning. "Why are you turning me into a girl?" I asked. "Oh well done!" she squealed. "Aisling, Hawk, she worked it out. Isn't she intelligent? It only took her an hour longer than Sepulchre managed!" My head snapped up. "Sepulchre managed?" I gasped. "Yes dear, Sepulchre was once called Steve, until she too met your mutual friend." I turned to Sepulchre, entreaty in my eyes. She looked away. I felt disgusted, humiliated. My tolerance towards homosexuality had never extended to wanting to take part in it. "Get on with it," Hawk rasped, "he is waiting you know." "Oh, I guess you're right," the hairdresser twittered. "Now, you will have to do this in future yourself, with Sepulchre's help but I'll do it for you to begin with." She reached up and pulled a large box from the side. Opening it up, she pulled out a base, some eyeliner, mascara, lipstick and nail polish. Also, she brought out some tiny plastic objects in a small sachet. Half an hour later, I was led through the double doors, having been made up, to what effect I did not know. My fingernails were now an inch long and covered in shiny black nail polish. Even had I not been cuffed, there was no way that I could have manipulated anything with these unmanageable talons on my fingers. Chapter 3: The Dressing Through the doors was a large closet room with hundreds of garments in. However, to my surprise, the first one I was helped into was a flesh-coloured item that looked a little like a jockstrap. As Sepulchre pulled it up my legs, Aisling reached in front of me. Seconds later, I was on my knees in agony. My balls and penis had been tucked very firmly into a latex pocket, which was now tightly folded between my legs. As the pain subsided, I looked down and all I could see was a featureless smooth bump, with no visible sign of my manhood. Although I had recognised what was happening to me, it had not really penetrated until now. I thought of all that had been snatched away from me, my life, my freedom, my masculine appearance and now, forcefully, my manhood. Strength left me, I curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing in despair. I felt strong hands gripping me, I resisted, but they were too powerful. Aisling and Hawk dragged me to my feet. Sepulchre stood in front of me, dark eyes flashing angrily. "Stop that immediately, child." She slapped my face; my cheek stung painfully. "I could cope with it and so can you. Grow up! You'll smear your makeup and make us late if you're not careful." Chastened, I stopped crying. The hairdresser wandered in front of me and inspected me. She adjusted something around my eyes with a small brush. "Not too bad, dear. You're lucky. Now, no more nonsense or Hawk and Aisling will get to play." I realised that this 'play' would very probably be painful. Cowardice has, unfortunately, always been part of my personality. I backed down, at the same time resolving to try to escape at the first opportunity. "Good," the hairdresser said. "OK, let's put an outfit together for you." She wandered amongst the racks, Sepulchre close behind her. "Yes, this, yes, this, no, no, those ones." Returning, Sepulchre laden with a large pile of black cloth. "Now dear, we have a nice corset for you, which I'm sure Hawk will lace up." She held out a black satin corset, a full one. I trembled slightly. I had the suspicion that this was going to hurt. Hawk placed the corset around my waist, and started to do it up. "Hang on a mo'," the hairdresser said, "that's a touch low". She worked it up a bit. "That's better." Hawk started to tighten the strings. I was made to hold on to a bar, leaning slightly forward, as the corset was laced around me. Tighter and tighter the corset went; looking down, my waist was narrowing. Hawk put his knee to my back and yanked the last inches together, driving breath from me. I was helped back upright. Carefully, gingerly, I started to breathe. I found I could do so, although only with very small breaths. If I was to do any running on my escape, I would have to dispose of the corset first. I looked down, as best I was able. My waist seemed inconceivably thin. The hairdresser got a tape measure out. "Twenty-four inches, Hawk, well done." Twenty-four inches? My waist was usually thirty! No wonder it felt tight. "OK Aisling, you can put it on now." I heard a click from the small of my back. "Done," Aisling said. "Good. OK dear, we've put that on you and we don't want you taking it off, just because you don't like it, so it's been padlocked on. Sorry and all that," the hairdresser said, with fake sincerity. I was locked into this constricting prison. "We'll obviously have to change it as you become accustomed to it." "And as she loses weight." Aisling commented. "She's going on quite a diet." "And she needs it," agreed the hairdresser. Insulted, I looked away. "Except in certain areas. Those are not impressive." She was staring at my chest. I have never had much flesh there, and it was obvious that the intent was for the corset to push what there was into two breast-like mounds. Looking down, however, it was apparent that this had not been successful. There was a hint of shape there, but only a hint. Perversely, I felt a little disappointed. If I was going to be a girl, I wanted to be an attractive one. "Well, we can't do anything about that now. Brian will decide what, if anything, is required. Let's get the other things on her," the hairdresser decided. She handed me a pair of panties, black and lacy, and gestured for me to put them on. I attempted to obey, however, I could only bend over enough to reach my knees. Attempting to pick my feet up, I fell over. I was helped to my feet quickly and Sepulchre, grinning, helped me into the panties, which fitted across the cache-sex exactly. A garter belt soon followed, Sepulchre assisting once again, and then the hairdresser held out two black, thin items. Sepulchre pointed to the cuffs I still wore. "I can't get them on past these." She said. "Oh yes, Aisling, remove them, they're hardly necessary at the moment." To my relief the wrist and ankle cuffs which had bound me through my ordeal were removed. Sepulchre then bent to helping me again and in seconds I was wearing a pair of fishnet stockings, neatly clipped to my garter belt. I stood there, corseted and dressed in panties, stockings and suspenders and with no trace of my masculinity showing. My face felt stiff with the makeup that had been put on it and my ears still ached where they had been multiply pierced. My dyed black hair, tied into a long ponytail, brushed against my back and all the way down to my buttocks. For the first time, as well as emasculate, I felt feminine. Sepulchre helped me into the next garment, a black velvet dress with a high-necked collar. The front of the dress was open to reveal the top of what little bust I had and nipped tightly at the waist before flaring into voluminous black skirts. The sleeves were long and tight. "Walk up and down," the hairdresser commanded me. I obeyed, feeling the skirt sway as I walked. The corset forced me to walk fairly carefully and more upright than I would normally. The hairdresser appraised me scrupulously. "Sepulchre, the 5 inches, I think." Sepulchre came up with a pair of boots in her hands. "Now, normally, I wouldn't want to make you taller, but you aren't so big and you could probably get away with these. Asides, I want to watch you walk in them," the hairdresser commented. With Sepulchre's help I got into the PVC boots. I almost fell over again, but, swaying alarmingly, I stayed upright. Gingerly, I took a first step. Ever so unsteadily, I walked forwards and backwards, humiliated by the daintiness that was forced upon me and by the way the boots made me sway my hips from side to side. "Hmm," said the hairdresser, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile, "just the final touches and then we'll be done." She went over to a chest of drawers and pulled some items out. "Now, we can't really give you any earrings until your ears have healed a touch, but we'll make up for it." She stretched my hand out, palm down, fingers extended. Carefully, she pushed a ring onto each of my fingers, she then picked the other hand and placed a ring on each of those. I examined them, they were ornate silver filigree work, with vaguely occult and very gothic designs on. The effect on me was to make my hands look very feminine indeed, with the long black nails and the silver rings. She then held my right arm straight and forced a spiral of silver up over past my elbow. Around my right wrist she placed a large number of silver bangles, which chimed as I moved my hand. Around my left wrist she placed a heavy silver bangle, with intricate designs carved on it. With the compression on my biceps from the slave bracelet, the weight of the bangle around my left wrist and the sound of those around my right, more than the skirts or the corset, I was forcibly reminded of my feminised state. The hairdresser undid my hair from the ponytail and brushed it out. "OK," she said. "We won't do anything too fancy with your hair, just back-comb it a little bit. There we go, that's lovely. Now, shall we show her the end result?" "Might as well," Aisling said, "She needs to know what state she's in." Sepulchre brought up a mirror from a cupboard in one wall. In true 'makeover' style, they kept it facing away from me. She leaned over as she pushed it in front of me and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry, you look gorgeous," she murmured. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. My male pride would have been hurt, but not much of my male pride remained. "Oooh!" interjected the hairdresser. "Nearly forget." She bustled up to me with something in her hands. "Brian would have been most annoyed. Sorry dear, this is another lock-on effort," she said as she fastened a collar around my neck. There was an audible click as the lock closed. "OK, turn around the mirror." The full-length mirror was turned around. Even though I knew what had been put on me, I was shocked by what I saw in the mirror. There, instead of the image I knew as 'me' was a drop-dead beautiful Goth girl. With silky pitch-black hair and a narrow waist she was an image from deep within my fantasies. It took some moments before I realised that this girl was me. My face had been beautifully made up, white powdered with black lipstick and black eye liner and mascara. At the corners of my eyes, which looked larger than I could have believed, a tight black spiral had been painted. My ears had a neat row of silver studs in each of them and around my neck was a wide silver collar, similar to that worn by Sepulchre. I looked further down my body, past the distressingly flat chest to the painfully nipped waist. I noticed that my hair now dropped past my bum to the tops of my thighs. I raised my hands, marvelling at how feminine they looked. "I think she's impressed." Aisling commented, laughing. "And so she should be," bristled the hairdresser. "That's a lot of work in there that is." I was impressed, and I was responding to my own appearance, which, as I was fairly firmly tethered down below, caused some discomfort. "Right," Aisling said. "She's ready, and I suspect The Patrician is waiting. Sepulchre, go and check." Sepulchre scurried from the room. Aisling stood in front of me. "Listen. If you misbehave now, Hawk and I will take it out of your ass. That's on top of what The Patrician will do to you. Keep your eyes down, speak as softly an as femininely as you can and do what you are told." Sepulchre re-entered the room. "He is ready for her now." I was led through a door into a long corridor, tottering slightly on my unaccustomed heels. Inside, I was a knot of nerves, I had been kidnapped, transformed and prepared for this man, this man that I was about to see for only the second time in my life, and the first in my new state. Keeping firm to my resolve to escape, I was led down the corridor to face The Patrician. Chapter 4: The Presentation The antechamber was decorated in the kind of overblown style that I was coming to expect. Candlelit, with black walls, the room was like a refugee from a Hammer Horror movie. The door by which we had entered was cushioned with velvet, the double doors, that, I presumed, led to the room in which the Patrician entertained, were flanked by two grandiose statues of naked women lithely contorting around severe looking spikes. I sat on a marble bench along one of the walls, flanked by Aisling and Hawk. The hairdresser sat twittering to Sepulchre on a bench on the other side. I, in my new and humiliating dress, sat contemplating my new situation. I had been captured, treated like a piece of meat, an item, and made to wear a corset and a Goth dress. I was currently tottering around on a pair of ridiculously high-heeled boots that, combined with the corset, made me sway my hips provocatively as I walked. I had to escape, partly to regain my freedom, but partly because I was, almost subconsciously, enjoying this. That was the truth that I had to escape from; I enjoyed being the centre of attention, being made to feel special. It was appealing to depths of me that I had seldom, if ever, explored before. The double doors opened, to reveal a man dressed as a butler. "The Patrician will see you now," he said, in a stereotypically stately manner. I stood, half voluntarily, half propelled by Hawk and Aisling, the two intimidating guards that had marshalled me through the transformation and were still ensuring my compliance. I walked, still unsteady, but trying for as much grace as I could manage, through the doors and into the presence of The Patrician. The room into which I walked was much larger than I was expecting. I realised that the building I was in was, or at least had been, partly a church. This cavernous hall had been the nave, along the side, columns rose high, to a vaulted ceiling. Candles, flickering slowly, lit the room. As I walked up presumably what had been the aisle, although the pews had been removed, my heels clicked loudly on the stone floor. I felt like a bride going to the altar. I wondered how apt that analogy was going to prove as I approached where the altar had been. On the dais a throne rose, designed in similar style to the one at the club, but on a much larger scale. The Patrician sat, looking imperious, upon it. People, who I can only describe as club bunnies, gathered in small cliques around this end of the room. They had been talking, gathered in small cliques, but now were silent, watching me with interest. Lacking instruction I continued walking until I stood before him. "Kneel!" Hawk hissed in my ear. Startled, I complied, ungainly in my unaccustomed attire. There was a ripple of amusement, a shifting, from the courtiers. Hawk and Aisling, up to this moment escorting me, dropped back a couple of paces. The Patrician stood. I continued to face forward as he paced around me, inspecting the handiwork of the hairdresser, who I could hear nervously murmuring some distance behind me. "Well then," he said, after several agonising minutes. "How we have been changed. You probably have many questions. You may not ask them, but I will answer some." He reached forward, and lifted my chin. "You are mine now. Bought and paid for. You exist to do, and to be, what I will. I have paid for your transformation, and will continue to pay for it, for it is not over." I couldn't understand. What more could he do to me? I felt the answer gnawing at me, an expanding darkness within. "Something permanent," I whispered inaudibly. "Your old life is gone. I would imagine that Lee has sold of most of your belongings and thrown away the rest. You resigned from your job, pleading family problems. Your bank account has been emptied and closed. Your family, well, they might miss you but not for long, at least not after the letter that you're going to send them. Understand this. There is no going back. There is no escape, either. Your old life is gone. I think you'll enjoy your new one, though." He paused. "Your old name is gone as well. I give you a new one. From now on you are Sable. You have no other name, nor any need of one." His hand caressed my cheek and gently stroked my hair. "You may call me Master, or The Patrician in the third person. You kneel in my presence as does Sepulchre. You will do what she tells you until you become more accustomed to your life." He walked back to the throne and sat. "Oh, one more thing. You have seen your last daylight. Your apartments, in this building, are blacked out. You will find no windows in the parts of the building that you can visit. You will only be allowed outside during the night." I was surprised that I was to be allowed outside at all. I obviously showed that, for he continued. "Oh yes, you will be allowed out. Within certain limits, of course. You are now a creature of the night. My creature of the night and I am proud of my possessions. How could I resist showing you off?" He turned away from me. "Lucy!" he commanded. The hairdresser clattered forward. "Yes Bri-sir." She caught herself just in time. The Patrician frowned slightly, but let it pass. "We are pleased, as always, by your efforts," he commended her. "She is, however, overweight, which the corseting and the diet should deal with. However, I am displeased by her lack of cleavage and a little with her face. I don't believe that hormones alone will correct this, and so I have decided that she will undergo surgery tomorrow." I stiffened, appalled. I must, must escape. "Can you arrange it?" He finished. "Yes, sir." She replied. "I'll contact Darren. Breasts and face?" "Yes," he confirmed. "Take her to a 36D cup, that should be adequate for her size. Do her lips, nose and cheekbones on her face. Her eyes are really quite acceptable." He reached down, lifted my chin a bit and peered into my eyes. "Yes, quite, quite acceptable." "You may go now," he ordered, dropping my chin. "Take her to her rooms." Hawk and Aisling stepped forward as I rose gingerly. At their prompting I backed off before turning and leaving the room via the doors we had entered. Hawk led me through the corridors of this, apparently vast, building that was now my prison. The corridors were decorated to look like the passages of a medieval castle. The floor was tiled and the walls painted to look like stone. My footsteps rang hollowly as I hurried along, behind Hawk but with Aisling prompting me. I soon lost my sense of direction, and track of the turnings, as all the halls looked identical. Hawk suddenly stopped, causing me to almost fly into his back, I stumbled but managed to retain my precarious balance. He opened the door he stood before. "These are your rooms," he said. "Do not leave them before you are collected. Do not do anything stupid. Your position is quite hopeless. Understood?" I nodded. "Ok. Get some sleep. You'll find a night-dress in your closet." He held the door for me, and I walked in to my new apartments. As a prison, this one was fairly comfortable, I decided. I had two large rooms, a spacious bathroom and a large and mostly empty closet. The first large room, which I had entered from the corridor, was a sitting room, black-walled, with a wooden floor. The only light came from candles in large wrought-iron candleholders. There was a large, comfortable sofa, black, of course, and a matching armchair. I had a dark wooden writing desk and a fairly large bookcase. Glancing over it, I saw that it was stocked partly with gothic horror novels and partly with fetish erotic books and magazines. The lifestyle that I was to be forced to lead was becoming obvious. The second room was my bedroom. It too was black and candle-lit, with a wooden floor. It was dominated, however, by a vast four-poster bed, with black satin sheets and covers and a black canopy. It had a dark wood chest of drawers and a bedside table in one corner was a vast dressing table with a mirror. Doors led from this room to the bathroom, which was spacious, with a large bath, but remarkably normal otherwise, even including an electric light, and the walk-in closet, which had space for thousands of garment, but actually contained only two. On a hanger on the left-hand side was a long flowing black nightdress, on another a hooded black satin dressing gown. The most notable thing about the rooms was the entire lack of windows. It seemed The Patrician was not joking about never seeing daylight again. I sat on my sofa, considering my options. If I stayed here then I was going to become the permanently feminised slave of The Patrician. I would be given breasts, my features changed beyond recognition. Beyond that, however, I had no idea what would become of me. My mind turned over all sorts of sordid concepts. I resolved to escape, this very night, if it was night. I realised I had no idea what time it was, or where I was. Nevertheless, a break for freedom must be undertaken soon. Before the situation was irretrievable. Before, a voice at the back of my mind said, I became too enamoured of this dark and hedonistic world I had been forcibly inducted into. When I knelt in front of The Patrician, when he ran his fingers through my hair, something felt very right. I had felt very safe, protected by this powerful man, more powerful than I had ever been and giving in to him, doing exactly what he said, letting him make all the decisions, was a very seductive proposition. I shook my head, trying to clear these degenerate thoughts from my head. I must not succumb, or I would lose myself in this new life. I tried the door. To my surprise, it opened. Hope flickered within me. I quickly unlaced my boots, as speed and quiet would be crucial. I didn't think I could run that fast wearing the corset, but removing it was not an option. In stockinged feet, I padded out into the corridor. I picked a direction, right, and, hitching up my skirt, crept quickly along the hall, ears straining for the slightest hint of someone coming. I padded along, turning almost at random, until I came to a staircase leading down. Reasoning that down was more likely to be closer to out, I tip-toed down it. At the bottom was another corridor. I paused, breathing quick sharp breaths, my lungs and diaphragm restrained by the corset. I heard voices, approaching me. I looked around desperately. Underneath the staircase was a door, I tried it, it opened. I crept in and held the door closed. "The Patrician does pick his toys well," one voice said. "I quite liked the look of that new doll," a second one agreed. "Sepulchre and Sable. The names go together well. Which will you prefer?" "I don't know," replied the first. "I think I'll wait until Sable is finished before deciding." "Good idea." The voices faded as they went past. I waited for a couple of minutes. There was no sound. I left my hiding place cautiously and continued my escape. I soon found another down staircase and descended to another identical floor. After five minutes on this floor, I came out onto a balcony. I crouched, looking through the railings. The balcony ran along one side of what apparently was a foyer, red carpeted and grand. A master staircase ran from the balcony in a graceful curve to the floor below. A large door, with locks and bolts indicating that it might be exterior was in the middle of the far wall. I crawled along the balcony towards the top of the stairs, the exit now in sight. Suddenly I heard the voice of the Butler. "I'll just go and lock the front door, Mary," he was saying. "No one will be arriving now." He walked across the floor; I lay as low as possible, praying he wouldn't notice me. He had almost reached the door, probably about to lock it closed and me in, when a bell rang. He paused. It rang again. "Damn. I'd better go and see what he wants," he cursed. He turned and walked swiftly back the way he had come. This was my opportunity; I had to move quickly before he returned. All attempts at stealth off, I ran down the stairs, grateful for the carpet muffling my footsteps. I ran to the door, fumbled with the latch. I looked around, nobody was coming, and opened the door. The cold night-time air, for it was night, breezed through the door. I tasted freedom, I ran through the door, not bothering to close it. I was free; I had escaped! I got about four paces from the door when I felt it, like a kick in my neck. Fire spread from my neck all through my body. Over and over an unknown force hit me. I fell to the floor. In the distance I heard an alarm bell ringing and people running. I was picked up and carried back inside, half-conscious, half-aware and only half-disappointed. I was carried into the building and dumped on a couch. Slowly, the pain ebbed and I regained some semblance of normality. I looked around. I was in a small room, with a single door. The familiar frames of Hawk and Aisling flanked the door. Aisling looked disapproving, Hawk frowned, but there was a glint in his eye and the hint of a smile. The door opened and The Patrician walked in a flowing scarlet dressing gown. "You were warned," he stormed. "And you still chose to run. Now you realise the futility of your actions. Your collar, which was locked on you, will shock you repeatedly if you stray without permission from the places in which you are allowed. Alarms will sound and you will be found. Now, Hawk, Aisling, prepare her for punishment. You will soon regret this, even if you don't already." Without giving me a chance to say a word he spun and stalked out of the door. Hawk's grin was now plain. "Stand up," Hawk commanded. I obeyed, dispirited. It seemed that escape was impossible. Hawk unzipped the back of my dress and pulled it down. "Step out of it and hold out your hands." He commanded. I obeyed. Aisling pushed aside the bracelets I wore and fastened a pair of cuffs, very similar to the ones I had worn throughout my transformation, around my wrists. These cuffs she then fastened together. Hawk, having put away my dress somewhere, returned with a long chain, one end of which he locked to my collar. There was a knock at the door; Aisling opened it to reveal Sepulchre, who had a sorrowful expression on. "They're ready," she said simply. Hawk dragged on my lead and I stumbled after him. He led me through the corridors back to the chamber wherein The Patrician had held his audience. The room seemed much as before, but a bar had been lowered from the ceiling, to hang about seven feet off the ground. Hawk led me in and stood me beneath this bar. The Patrician entered through a side door, as I had been commanded, I dropped to my knees. "Well," he said as he approached, "you learn some lessons at least. You are responsible for this. Your choice." I sneaked a look out of the corner of my eyes. The Patrician had changed into a different costume. He seemed to be wearing riding boots of some description, and he was tapping something against the side. "Understand this. To every action there is an equal and opposite re-action. You have spurned our hospitality. You have acted in an ungrateful and uncivilised way. Therefore, we will be uncivilised as well. Stand up." I obeyed, cumbersomely. "Raise your arms above your head, touch the bar." I heard the all-too-familiar click of a padlock as I did so. I tried to lower my arms and found that my cuffs had been locked to the bar. "Raise the bar," The Patrician commanded. The bar rose jerkily, pulling me more and more upright, until I was off my heels and standing on tiptoes. "Enough," he ordered. "After each stroke, I will offer you the whip. You will kiss it and then thank me. You will say 'Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth girl who deserves to be punished.' Every time you do not say it, you will get another five strokes. The score starts at twenty." I heard a whistle and then my buttocks exploded; a line of fire being etched across them. I yelped. At the same time, I felt a stirring in my still-tethered genitalia. Something about being whipped by a powerful man appealed to me. The Patrician proffered the whip in front of my face. I wanted to kiss it, to say the words, so that this agony could be minimised, but I could not. There was a wall in the way, a last bastion of pride and reserve. I turned my head away. "Twenty-five, then," he said evenly. The whistling came again, followed by the crack across my buttocks. This time it hurt worse than before, as The Patrician had hit across the first weal. The whip was proffered again; again I refused. "Thirty." Thirty more strokes, I felt that I could not stand a single one more, let alone thirty. I must say those words. The whistle came again and I jerked with the blow. Through the haze of pain I saw the whip in front of me. I felt the curtain part slightly, and I kissed the whip. I cleared my throat. "Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth..." I paused. "Well?" The Patrician asked. "... girl who deserves to be punished." I finished in a rush. "Not bad," The Patrician commented. "But not quite good enough. You don't sound like a girl, and you don't sound like you mean it. Nonetheless, we are merciful. The count remains at thirty." The whip fell again and once more I jerked as my buttocks flamed. I kissed the whip and said, as softly as I was able. "Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth girl who deserves to be punished." "Excellent. Twenty-nine strokes remain." Half an hour later I sat on the sofa in my room, weeping softly to myself. I had been led back to my room in tears by Hawk, who had at least had the discretion not to say anything. Lacking anything to wear, and feeling rather vulnerable in my half-undressed state, I had put on the nightdress and dressing gown. It felt comforting to have them drawn around me. Then, still in a lot of pain from the beating I had taken, and emotionally broken and distraught, I had sat on the sofa, fortunately soft beneath my aching rear and wallowed in self-pity. There was a knock at the door; I looked up. "Yes?" I managed to say in a quivering voice. The door opened slightly to reveal the head of Sepulchre. "Hello, Sable, may I come in?" She asked. "I guess so." I said. She came in, sat down beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. "It hurts, doesn't it." "Yes." I replied. "It hurt when it happened to me, too." She said. "You?" I asked. "Yes," she responded. "I made a bid for freedom on my first night as well. He wants you to. It was made easy for you, and for me. They feel, and I guess they're right, that they can tell you that escape is impossible, but you have to demonstrate it. Besides, he then gets to beat you." "It was deliberate?" I asked. "Yes. Tell me, do you feel like trying to escape again?" "No!" I responded vehemently. "Why not?" She inquired. "Because I can't cope with the pain, because the collar would stop me, because I don't want to be whipped again and because..." I stopped, surprised at what I had been about to say. "Because you like feeling special, and you like being the centre of attention," she finished. I nodded sorrowfully. "Don't worry. I felt, and still feel, the same. Lee is very good at picking his candidates. You'll find, if you haven't already, that you'll enjoy this life much more than your last. I know I do. There's something appealing about being humiliated and serving a man like The Patrician." "Why does he do it?" I asked. "Lee or The Patrician?" she questioned. "Lee does it because he needs the money and because The Patrician has threatened to do it to him if he doesn't find candidates when The Patrician wants them. The Patrician takes people because it amuses him, because he likes broken people serving him and there is no-one more broken than a feminised man." "What about tomorrow?" I asked. "Are they really going to operate on me?" "I'm afraid so," she responded. "He is much more keen this time. I got to spend a week just dressed before they operated on me, and it wasn't that severe. You, I'm afraid, are going to be changed quite noticeably and quite permanently." She paused for a moment. "Now get some sleep, you'll need the rest." "OK," I said, feeling somewhat better. "Oh; and Sable," she said, as she rose to go. "Give in. Submit. You really will enjoy your new life much more. Trust me." She bent down and plante