The Deception Of Choice, Episode Eight free porn video

The Deception of Choice. Episode Eight, comprising Chapters 21& 22. Preamble David's struggle against the insidious encroachment of femininity becomes ever more crucial. Perhaps not helped by the sweet reasonableness of Dr. Tabatha. Certainly not helped by the more physical aspects introduced into his study of Female Sexuality. And then there is the added complication of the arrival of the latest recruit and David's role in helping her to feel at home. Chapter 21. The days passed in the established routine. Meals with the other girls. The weather continuing fine, the end of each afternoon was marked by drinks on the roof garden. Laura and Janet Saggren usually were to be found amongst them. Emma, Anne, and David continued as a close knit group, although after the scene on Saturday, David felt that it was no longer quite the same. A slight reserve seemed to have entered the relationship. Perhaps it was his imagination. Just a hangover of guilt. But it was there in his mind. David tried not to drink as much. Knew it weakened him and any capacity he had for independent thought or action. Suspected also that it could be used against him. The fact that he had not been warned about it, when they must have known, perversely worried him. But he was not altogether successful. His good intentions invariably weakening after his first Plymouth gin. He continued inexorably to become, outwardly at least, more feminine. Of course the progress was slight. Not noticeable from day to day. But it was taking place. All the tuition, all the training, was having its effect. Little drops of water, little grains of sand .... David knew too in his heart that it was not just outwardly so. Inwardly also. Repetition dulled the edge to his resistance. Increasingly he donned his bra and knickers, his dresses, stockings and shoes, not only with more skill, but with less thought. Caring for his hair, applying make-up, smoothing his skirt when sitting knees together, even sitting when urinating, were becoming, if not exactly natural actions, then at least everyday, normal ones, done without too much thought, no longer accompanied by a sickening questioning. He was losing the struggle. He hated himself for it, but could not deny it. Sometimes, admittedly for only brief periods, but still sometimes, and no longer rarely, he would lose himself when chatting with Anne and Emma. All girls together. He would join in their laughter, natural and unforced. Just two things stuck in his mind from the next few days. Before Coralie arrived and everything changed. The first came about almost accidentally. It was towards the end of his second session with Dr. Tabatha. With growing confidence he has started to unburden himself. More and more Dr. Tabatha was assuming a listening role. Her questions often came out of the blue, changing the tack, questioning David's assumptions. But more and more she just let him talk. He told her of the privations he had suffered during those long months in Reception, and she listened with seeming sympathy. She prompted him. "So basically although conditions are infinitely better in the Holding Wing, you are still here under duress. Moreover you see the enforced feminisation that is part and parcel of your existence here as a threat, as an affront to your self image. That although you have agreed to embrace this opportunity to explore your femininity, you feel that you have been manoeuvred into such commitment?" "It is more than that. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be Sophie. It is far worse. I fear that being female is my future. That I shall never be me again. That ..." David tried to marshal his thoughts, his emotions, his arguments. There was too much indignation within him to let it out in an orderly fashion. "Yes, I see," said Dr. Tabatha. "And it is all tearing you apart." "Yes," David said. "All that. All that. It is wrong. I cannot get my head round it. I should not be here. I do not know why I am here." Dr. Tabatha nodded. "Yes. It is not then the physical hardship? So much as the duress, the not knowing why?" "Do the words 'bare branches' mean anything to you?" The question was out there, between them, before he realised it. He had not consciously framed it. It had just come out. Dr Tabatha was unfazed. She just smiled at him. "Yes," she said. "Why do you ask?" She seemed unsurprised. "Why do I ask?" David said, taken aback by her positive response. Still surprised by his own question. "Why do I ask? Because it might be a clue .... It might explain .... Is it .... Is it the key to why I am here? To why this is happening to me?" Dr. Tabatha seemed to consider this. Then she sighed. "I did not expect you to ask me so soon. I am pleased that you feel able to. Pleased and rather flattered." "You knew?" She shrugged. Went back to the original question. "'Bare branches' is shorthand for an existing situation that has inspired, led directly to, the project by the Venumar Foundation of which you find yourself part." The silence grew between them. David broke it. "And?" "And what?" "And what is it shorthand for? What is the project?" Dr. Tabatha shook her head. "I am sorry but I am not empowered to tell you that. And even if I were, I do not know that I would. It would not help you to know. It would not change anything for you." "But I would know why. Why all this!" David's gesture included his whole feminine body. "And what end would that serve? It would not change anything." She seemed to relent. "Look, if it helps, the end is a laudable one. Very much so. You are unfortunate in that you are currently on the losing end of the age old philosophical question as to whether the ends justify the means. You have to believe me when I say that the end is pre-eminently important, and humane." David was aghast. "And what comfort is that to me?" "Very little I imagine. That is what I have been trying to tell you. Knowing would not help." David, desperate, tried another tack. "You are a doctor, You are sworn to act ethically. How can you reconcile your involvement in all this. What price now the Hippocratic Oath!" "Sophie. Listen. My work here is but a fraction of my duties within the Venumar Foundation. I do not approve of all that I see. I think that may be true of all large corporations. But I personally do my very best, using my skills to the utmost, to help people. And I think I do a worthwhile job. If you think that is cynical, so be it. But additionally, and specifically, I do believe that, as far as the 'bare branches' project is concerned, potentially the end benefit is enormous." David was reduced to silence. Shaking his head in bewilderment. One final "Please?" She shook her head. "Sophie. I will do my best to help, to make things as easy as possible for you. To help you get through this. Hopefully to come out at the other end none the worse for the experience, perhaps with an even better life in front of you than you would otherwise have had." A pause and then gently "You must realise that I can no more influence what happens here than you can. Only help you deal with it to the best of my ability. To ensure that mentally you can overcome it, even profit from it." There seemed little else to say .and the session limped on towards its close. But the exchange remained crystal clear in David's mind, and he replayed it many times in the days ahead. The other event was more of a shock A sudden glimpse down the dark abyss at his feet. It happened at the following Monday's 'Female Sexuality' session. The previous two sessions had lulled David into feeling that his earlier worries about the subject had been unfounded. Nothing startling on the DVD first and second tracks either. But on Monday Felicity Cranwell's opening words dispelled all complacency. "What we must explore today Sophie is how your own sexuality can find expression. Obviously your own special circumstances rule out, for the time being at least, the more obvious errmmm .... avenues, which brings us nicely to fellatio and anal penetration. Such valuable weapon's in any girls armoury!" David's mind found itself operating on two levels. Fellatio? Anal penetration? And perhaps worse .... "Sophie! Cat got your tongue?" Mrs. Cranwell's usually friendly face had a slight frown. "Do pay attention Sophie dear! You do need to perfect your skills in these areas ...." "Perfect my skills?" Perhaps worse .. 'for the time being at least!?' "Yes Sophie. An amateur approach is simply not good enough. One must maximise possibilities. Learn how to both give and receive maximum pleasure." Alarm bells carilloned in David's head. "Skills? But I have no skills. I have never ever .... And I do not want to!" "Never admit to 'no skills' Sophie. I won't have my girls showing a negative attitude! I am sure that, even without tuition and practice, if such a situation were to occur, innate instinct would more than suffice." She giggled conspiratorially. "And as for not wanting to! Well playing all virginal is all very well darling and I know that you are being trained to be genteel young ladies, but a girl has got to do what a girl has got to do!" Again the surprisingly salacious giggle. David cringed. " A girl who has mastered the techniques of both is in such a strong position. Not only can she manipulate mere males so much more easily, and apart from that feeling of control of the masculine ego being a powerful aphrodisiac in itself, quite ecstatic sexual pleasure can accrue to the girl herself." Felicity Cranwell winked knowingly at David. "And of course the anal possibility has such particular relevance for yourself darling. With that little prostrate thingy of yours begging to be massaged. Nothing like a good, hard, thrusting prick up your arse to make a girl like you give thanks to whatever gods there be. But there is so much to be had from cock sucking too Sophie. Really. If anything more scope for variety, innovation even, and of course ultimate control." She looked at him searchingly. Taking his silence perhaps for him not being quite open with her, for holding back. "But Sophie. Surely you have already? I mean I just assumed that you must have .... Oh a whole new world lies before you sweetie! You are going to have such fun!" David recoiled from the plain inference that he would be a participant in these fun situations in a not-so-far-distant future. And restless at the back of his head still echoed her phrase. 'For the time being at least!' Felicity misinterpreted the expression on David's face. Or perhaps she chose to misinterpret it. "Sophie pet don't worry about it! Instinct and a little enthusiasm will get you through most situations. And you will soon pick up the niceties with a little tuition. That is after all what this course is designed for." "The only problem is where to start!" Her smiling enthusiasm did her credit as an instructor. "Firstly never forget Sophie that in whatever you do, your prime aim must be to exercise control. To strengthen your dominance over the man. To know, and to have the necessary skills, to either prolong the man's pleasure, denying him orgasm, until he is reduced to begging, pleading, promising the earth, for it; or, at the other extreme, bringing him off so quickly that he hardly knows what hit him. But using it always to your benefit as the situation demands." She giggled. "Men often describe it as a tool. They may for once be right but they seem unaware that it is very much a two edged one, so to speak, and can best be used against them. All that is required is a little knowledge, a modicum of practice and a smattering of common sense on the girl's part." David did not need to reply. Her enthusiasm swept her along, so that an strategically placed nod on his part from time to time was quite sufficient. But, ever recurring, through his mind ran the phrase 'For the time being at least!' "Now. First things first, before we get to techniques. To swallow or not to swallow that is the question! What do you prefer Sophie pet. Oh I forgot you say you never, well haven't so far, well .... well whether you have or not, take my advice, and swallow pet. One swallow may not make a summer but it can make a relationship." Again the conspiratorial giggle. Husky and attractive. "Some girls get to love the taste. Well they have a point if you like Horlicks made with salt, but even if you would rather be drinking a single malt darling, that is not really the point. Men love to think that producing yummy sperm is such a wonderful macho thing. Their dear little bollocks churn away and produce something that if it can't impregnate someone can at least taste delicious!" She shook her head despairingly, inviting agreement as to the general foolishness of the male sex. David thought of his own bollocks, whose sperm was seemingly no longer destined to taste delicious, let alone impregnate someone. Echoing through his mind. 'Your own special circumstances rule out, for the time being at least.... the more obvious avenues. For the time being at least. The time being. Rule out. At least.' Echoing. "Well at least the taste can be acquired and I am told that the stuff is protein rich and can do no harm. So that must be a plus! The important thing is that men, bless their confused little child minds, like it. It inflates their ego. Just at the time when everything else is deflating." Again the sexy, husky giggle. "It panders to them, God knows why. What relevance can it possibly have? But what swallowing does do pet is to stop it spraying all over the place. Whatever the merits of its taste there can be no doubt that it is messy. It creates havoc in one's hair, and it stains dresses." Felicity made a moue of distaste. "I know dresses can be cleaned, hair re-done! But why should we have to? And, as is often the case, the cock-sucking is done as a quickie! A little on account, promising other joys to follow! And one has to rejoin the company with all the evidence of one's little peccadillo all over one's dress and hair. So embarrassing pet. Much better to swallow and hoover up all the evidence as it were." And so it continued. Felicity moved on to techniques of first cock- sucking, and then of anal sex. "Taking it up the arse is so important for you Sophie pet with your present limited options! Even afterwards it will be such a useful skill to have mastered." 'Present options.'? 'Even afterwards'? 'For the time being at least'? At the end there were the usual DVDs for David to study. "For discussion at our next session, Sophie pet." Then David's world reeled. "What has Laura provided for you in your dildo drawer Sophie pet?" David found his voice with some difficulty. "Nothing. I haven't got one. Haven't got a dildo drawer." "But every girl should have one pet. Just like a knicker drawer. Sometimes the same thing for a modest collections of course. Or for girls who have dispensed with knicker wearing altogether." Her deep, throaty, chuckle vibrated like a cat's purr. " I will speak to her about it. But at the very minimum you will need a lifelike penis on which to practice the sucking actions I have outlined. And of course some butt plugs just to accustom your arse to the feeling of being filled. Perhaps a progression so that your first experience of the real thing .... " Here she winked at David. " ... will be pleasurable rather than an ordeal. We do need to stretch your sphincter muscles so that they can accept their alternative role with the minimum resistance." She shook her head in sorrow. "So many girls have been put off by their first experience of anal sex. Denied a lifetime's source of pleasure by the failure of either school or parents to provide the necessary instruction or practical advice. Naturally the introduction of a hard cock into a virgin arse can be painful without careful preparation And of course the men don't help. Ignorance personified! As they are in most other aspects!" She leant forward and patted David's knee. "But you don't need to worry about that Sophie pet. We will make sure you are perfectly primed so as to milk maximum pleasure from the experience. No girl of mine is lacking in that respect!" "But butt plugs are an essential aid. Quite indispensable! I will arrange with Laura for you to have some. I will work out a progression for you, as soon as we know which type suits you best. And of course a vibrator to tone up the prostrate. These imitation penises are all very well for giving girls ideas, but for the prostrate one wants a vibrator that is really going to hit the spot." She made a note in a small, silver backed, notebook. "A girl can't start too soon." As David left the room, after he had numbly promised Felicity Cranwell to make a real effort to study and to follow the suggestions in the DVD's, for the first time in half an hour the nagging refrain of 'For the time being at least!'was stilled. A more immediate horror loomed. He was sinking deeper. His options were narrowing. Options? What options had he? Femininity was invading him. Daily exposure to it was already imbuing the more outward signs of dress and behaviour with a sense of normality. And now there was a move towards shifting his sexual behaviour in the same direction. Becoming a penetratee rather than a penetrator was no longer a suggestion but an overt instruction in which he was expected to co-operate. Indeed in that respect he had already signed away his birthright. He had agreed to actively embrace, to enthusiastically seek feminisation. And now the chickens were coming home to roost. Embracing feminisation was not just a matter of wearing skirts and perfume and accepting breast forms. It was also a re-orientation of his sexual habits. What had been, was still, anathema was destined to become .... the source of, his only, source of .... And this was the Holding Wing. Just a preparation, an introduction. What else lay in store? What happened next? What awaited him at the Finishing Centre? He must resist. And yet resistance led directly to Rehabilitation. Anne's words that evening on the roof garden still burned bright in his memory. Rehabilitation meant the destruction of all what he was now. Utter loathing of all that was David. Rehabilitation had driven Olive to suicide. And even if Anne had lied, exaggerated about her own time there. Even if .... But no her own fear and revulsion must be genuine. She could not fake that. And Olive had died. Perhaps Grace de Messembry could be persuaded that he was not a fit subject? His chances there seemed equally non existent. Physically he knew he was a fit subject. He looked down at his carefully manicured small hands and knew it And mentally he seemed to be a guinea pig. They would make up their own minds. When they had sufficient data from the experiment. David shuddered. Anyway his attempts at negotiating so far with Grace de Messembry had not brought much in the way of benefit. He now realised that whether she had agreed or not to submit him to the 'minor surgical intervention', the long term result would have been much the same. He had been set up. He had nothing to bargain with any longer. May never had had anything to bargain with. And if by a miracle, or for her own private amusement, she would entertain the idea of negotiation, he could at best only buy a little time. The end was pre-ordained. And that left escape. That must be the only possibility. But how? How? Deep in the back of his consciousness David became aware of a new voice, a small, calm but insistent, voice. A voice that he had no noticed before but which may have been there for some time, only drowned in the clamour of his desperation. A still calm voice. A new voice. 'Relax. It is not as bad as all that. Just relax. Look on the positive side. Nothing here is life threatening, nor even painful. Relax. Take your time. Be positive. There is nothing here that you cannot deal with if you are rational. People want to help. Just relax.' David tried to relax, Tried to be rational. Tried to calm his fears. Tried to concentrate on the potential for escape. The roof garden was five storeys up on the fourth floor. He would need some rope or something similar if he were to descend to the garden below. There may of course be convenient drain pipes but with the glass panels in position he could not lean over to inspect the side of the building. And of course at first he had to get around over them to start the descent. Even if he could scale the armoured glass panels and succeed in reaching the garden below, he still had to escape from there. Get out over the high walls that surrounded it. His room, and the main concourse, was on the fourth floor. His own window opened only about a foot. It would be difficult, probably impossible, to exit by it. Perhaps the other rooms had windows that opened wider but even so .... the problem remained of how he was to descend safely and whether he could get out of the walled garden. Unless .... he must check for drain pipes. He could at least get his head out of his room window to examine the wall. The small voice at the back of his thoughts demurred that it was an awful risk. That he might kill himself. Wouldn't it be better to just wait and see. It couldn't be that bad. Dr. Tabatha was right. Trust her. And if he did reach the garden and could get no further, he certainly couldn't get back. And what if he did get over the wall and escape. Dressed as a girl? No money? His flat would be watched. They would recapture him. It would mean Rehabilitation and the end of David. Anyway, the little inner voice reminded him, it was time to meet the others on the roof garden. Time to enjoy the unusually fine weather with the other girls. Time to have a gin before dinner. Maybe even two .... And then there were those new DVDs that someone had dropped into his room ... And so he succumbed and joined the others. And chatted in the evening sunshine and drank his gin and tonic. And tried to forget what the day had brought. That Monday night though was restless. Sleep came late and fitfully. His mind, half asleep played back variations of his conversation with Felicity Cranwell. In the small hours his fears grew and twisted into waking nightmares. As the first grey lightening of the dark infused through his curtained window, he finally slept. Slept and dreamt. A peaceful nerve resting dream of which on waking he could remember only two things. What the dream was about he could not recall. Of the others who had featured in it only the fact that they were sympathetic and seemed to approve remained. What he did remember was that in the dream he had been wearing high heels. They were boots, elegant and black, that came to just below mid-calf. Not only had he a visual image but that he was aware of how they felt on his feet, firm under his instep and heel. It was odd. Rather like when he first acquired some proficiency in French and had awoken one morning aware that he had dreamt in that language. Then he had been pleased. Smug almost. Now worry replaced pleasure. And yet the second thing he remembered from the dream was that, after an initial hesitation, he had been pleased, very pleased, and had basked in the approbation of the others. Chapter 22. That morning brought Laura bearing gifts and requesting a favour. Neither were welcome. David had finished in the bathroom when she arrived. Clad in panties and bra, he was sitting on the bed carefully rolling up his stockings when, after the customary double tap on the door, she entered. "Hurry up Sophie dear. A busy day ahead and your running late. Here," Laura deposited a brightly coloured carrier bag on the table, "Felicity asked me to drop these in for you. But no playing with them now darling, you just haven't time." She perched on the edge of the bed close to him. "I have a favour to ask you in return for bring such an array of gifts!" She winked at him. "We have a new girl joining us this afternoon, Coralie she is called and I want you to be particularly nice to her. She is really in Janet Saggren's charge but as her background is similar to yours, we, Janet and I, thought it would be helpful if you could help her through these first few days leading up to the inspection." David had almost forgotten that the inspection was due Friday. So many other things had crowded in. But it made sense. He also had arrived on a Tuesday and then bustled towards Friday's Inspection. No time to resist. A moral pressure to conform, to help the others. History was repeating itself. "So Sophie dear, Janet and I thought it would help settle Coralie if you could join us this evening. The poor dear must be feeling quite disoriented and it would be such a comfort to her to meet you and be assured that her femininity was something to be welcomed and enjoyed. You remember how Anne was such a comfort on your arrival?" David nodded. "Yes but I am only new, and the least accomplished of all .... of all the girls. His voice faltered. "What about Janet's girls or Emma, or Anne if you think a 'new' girl is, would be, better?" "But poor Coralie is fresh from Reception Sophie dear, so you will know just how she is feeling. And then I thought it would be such a good opportunity for you to show your commitment following your undertaking to Grace de Messembry. And you mustn't underestimate the progress you have made darling." Laura's eyes sparkled saucily as she inclined her head in the direction of the carrier bag. "Such progress Sophie dear!" David found himself blushing. "Laura it is .... I mean Mrs. Cranwell insisted .... I have no intention of .... of using those things. I mean I don't want to know ...." "Of course you will use them Sophie dear .... don't be such a blushing virgin. You will just love them! Girls do. My fault for not giving you them earlier. Anyway it is part of your commitment. But that is not the point. I need you to help poor Coralie." "And in helping her you will help us all sweetie, as of course we all have a vested interest in ensuring the success of any of Grace de Messembry's girls. Laura patted the bed beside her. "So I can count on you Sophie dear? Coralie will be moving in to Mona's old room. Perhaps you could join us there for a drink after dinner? Say eight o'clock?" It was not a take-it-or-leave-it invitation. "Of course Laura. If you think it will help." Laura rose. "Thanks so much darling. Must rush now. See you at breakfast. And keep your little fingers off the toys until later." She winked roguishly. "Much to do today. The inspection looms for us all. See you at breakfast. Oh by the way for this evening wear the black and white Couleurs d'?t? dress with the V neckline and embroidery on the front. The one with the shoestring straps and slightly fitted waist. Nothing too elaborate but it is very feminine in an elegant, understated, way. Just to show poor Coralie how pretty one can look with a little effort!" When she was gone David hastened through the rest of his preparations before joining the others for breakfast. The news of Coralie's imminent arrival had preceded him and there was already a buzz of gossip. Janet had also told everyone about David's role in the welcome and the other girls were eager to proffer advice. All seemed genuinely to believe that Coralie was fortunate to be here and that she would soon settle down accepting her new feminine role. It just underlined his own isolation. The day passed as David sank back into his routine. An increasingly feminine routine. All the usual sessions including a session with Dr. Tabatha. Her questions probed his beliefs. Questioned his motives for rejecting femininity. Pointing out the inconsistencies. Letting his own answers betray his argument. Turning aside the reality of his situation with the regretful admission that she could not influence that. Always in a gentle understanding way. During the hypno-therapy, David found that he seemed to slip into the numbness of trance quickly. Again Dr. Tabatha's voice came clear and calm through the background ebb and flow of the music. Reassuring him, gently suggesting that his concerns were exaggerated by his own prejudices. That acceptance of his situation would dispel his darker fears. Make life so much easier, enjoyable even Repetitive messages that soothed, allayed fears in a logical reasoned way. And again after the trance had ended and he had been brought back to world, he was surprised to find that 45 minutes had passed. Perhaps he had just slipped deeper and could not remember all that was said. "You will awake feeling better Sophie" Dr. Tabatha had said. And she was right. Lunch and in the afternoon further short sessions of Deportment, Voice Training and with Mrs. Townsend, the beautician. David dressed carefully ready for his evening meeting. He suspected it was also a test for him. That it was designed to see whether he was keeping to his undertaking to embrace femininity. So it was that when he joined the others on the roof garden before dinner he was rather late. He had to sit and hear the oohs and aahs occasioned by the his Couleurs d'?t? dress. The Plymouth gin slipped down rapidly. His overall appearance came in for a lot of praise. He felt they all wanted him to look his best. To be an example to Coralie of what could be done. Almost a tinge of jealousy that he should be the first to meet her. And then, without warning, the still voice at the back of his mind wondered if Coralie would really think that he looked sexy and feminine. He found himself preening, twisting slightly aware of his posture and the shift of his breasts. The thought jolted him. He finished his gin in a single swallow and took a second although the others were already rising to go and dine. The second drink followed the first in a double gulp. He sashayed after them, aware of the enticing sway of his hips as the deportment lessons kicked in. At a few minutes past eight he found himself outside Mona's old door. Now with the name ~ Coralie ~ in the brass holder. He tapped and entered on the lilted "Come in Sophie dear.". Laura was there with Janet. They both rose to greet him and air kissed both his cheeks repeating the exclamations of approval as to his appearance already received from the girls on the roof garden. "So kind of you to drop in hun." This from Janet, as Laura stood there smiling her approval. "I do so appreciate your help in helping Coralie feel at home, to know that she is amongst friends." "Coralie darling. This is Sophie." So saying Janet took hold of David's hand and led him close to Coralie so that it was quite natural for him to lean forward and, laying his cheek against hers, to air kiss her also. It all came sweeping back to him. Only a fortnight ago he had been in exactly the same position. Only it had been Anne's kiss on his cheeks, her perfume wafting over him. He looked at Coralie for the first time. She, or he? No he was still a he in spite of the name. Just as he was. He saw him, saw Coralie, just as Anne must have seen him, David, for the first time. A slim figure pathetic, dejected, shoulders slumped in fatigue. An occasional tic at the corner of his left eye. Prison pallor complexion. Eyes dead. Dressed in a blue poplin shirt dress such as he had first been inveigled into. "Just this evening Sophie, just for me. Just to please me." Laura's words came back to him. Coralie's hair was blonde and tied back in a pony tail. She, he rather ... no, she would be easier. She, like him, must have been in Reception months for it to grow like that. There was a trace of lipstick and of foundation on her face. He tried to remember whether he had worn them that first evening. He accepted the white wine offered, and sat opposite Coralie, joining the others in a room layout that mirrored his own. He found himself concentrating on all he had been taught in deportment classes, his knees close together, his hands poised delicately, his back straight, his breasts on show but not, heaven forfend, blatantly. That new calm voice inside him prompted the thought that although Coralie had evidently so much to learn, she really could be quite a beauty. Lovely bone structure, and given training and the gift of more curves could be quite a honey. Lucky girl! God what was happening to him? That is what they must think of me! Lucky girl! The poor bastard is like me! And then it hit him that it was not so. The poor bastard was like the David of a fortnight ago. Not like the present David, not like him now. The David of a fortnight ago would never have weighed up Coralie's bone structure, wished feminine curves upon her. Not thought of him as her, not thought 'lucky girl'. David sipped his wine. Smiled and tried to gather his wits whilst he exchanged girlish pleasantries with Laura and Janet. Smiled sympathetically at Coralie who could not however meet his gaze. She was trembling slightly. When her wine glass was refilled she needed two hands to steady it. David played his part in trying to reassure her. He articulated the small voice that increasingly was heard within his own thoughts. Told her how things were so much better here. That she would soon settle in to her new regime. That all the other girls were dying to meet her and how she would find them all so very supportive. He noted that both Janet and Laura played down the femininity aspect. It was presented as a mere whim on the part of the authorities. Dress and act like a girl. Nothing more. No big deal. Smile, conform and in time it would all doubtless go away. But in the meantime there was the inspection and she, Coralie, really must make an effort to co-operate in readiness for that. The realisation swept over David that he was being used as a judas goat. Sitting there, smiling. Trying his hard to be the pretty vivacious girl that he was required to be. Being a r?le model for poor Coralie. As Anne had been required to be a r?le model for him. Perhaps there was a difference though. Anne had accepted her femininity. She had seen what Rehabilitation could do. David hadn't. David was still David. He quelled the small voice that he heard sighing within him, giving a lie to his resistance. He heard again the sickening self-accusation 'Judas goat'. Anne had acted in all honesty. He wasn't doing so. And yet .... he remembered his own introduction. Anne had brought him comfort. Laura and she had given him some sort of stability after the horror of the eternity in Reception. Deception there may have been, certainly was, but perhaps such had had a positive r?le. Just as it could have now for the poor disorientated figure before him. And he felt also to his shame a sort of bonding, not with Coralie, but with Laura and Janet. There was a feeling of being on their side. Of helping them. Of being included by them in their group, their conspiracy. Of being accepted as an ally by them, as one of the girls, almost as an equal, on the fringe of authority. When it was time to leave he kissed Coralie on both cheeks, feeling her tremble. Sensing with a sudden horror that she recoiled from him as if he were a carrier of some unspeakable disease. Had to make an effort to look her in the eyes as he promised her that he and all the other girls would be there for her in the days ahead. And that, with their help, she would soon come to terms with all the little rules and really enjoy herself in the Holding Wing. Back in his own room he found himself trembling. But whether because of the memories it brought back of his own arrival, or because of the feeling of betrayal, of not only of the unfortunate Coralie, but also of himself, he did not know. He sat down and saw on the table in front of him the bright carrier bag that held Felicity Cranwell's 'presents' delivered by Laura that morning. He could not face it. Abruptly he got up and, holding the bag as if it were red hot, placed it out of sight behind the sofa. The new small voice inside him, mewed its disappointment. Arguing that he really had to investigate the contents; try out the new toys. It was expected of him. Part of his commitment. Anyway, the inner voice slyly simpered, it might be fun. David could not face it. He tried to shut out the other voice, which sensing failure, fell back to suggesting that he play a DVD before bed. David gave way and, inserting the nearest to hand, half dozed in front of the screen, sipping coffee and trying to concentrate again on the possibilities of escape. The evening's events, Coralie's arrival and his own reactions, had frightened him. Bringing home how far he had travelled on the route pre-mapped for him. There must a way other than scaling down to a garden which itself had no known exit.. He had arrived through the door at the end of the corridor. It was a double door, recessed flat with the wall with no apparent way of opening it from this side. Not that he had ever seen it opened apart from on his arrival. Laura and Janet had apartments flanking the door and he presumed that they had their own way out through those apartments. So if he could gain access to either of them, there might ...? David stared unseeing at the flickering screen. He had never been to either of the flats. If he could get an invitation? He didn't even know how they were locked. If it was by key maybe .... David frowned. The screen distracted him. The film was a light comedy with a rather silly anodyne plot. Nothing sexual at all. Suitable for all ages. And yet he felt vaguely uncomfortable. Distracted by thoughts of cock-sucking. He shook his head. It must be that bloody carrier bag getting to him. It was late. He was tired. Tomorrow was another day. He turned of the unfinished DVD and made his way to the bathroom. He sat to pee. The image in his head had made his penis hard. Wanting to be sucked? Although that was not quite the image. David frowned slightly. No not of being sucked. He shook his head angrily. He was tired. He needed to pee but couldn't. Too hard! He had to get it down! He stood up and thought of other things, washed and removed his make-up. Cleaned his teeth. Thought of escape and the need to find out how he could gain entry to the apartments at the end of the corridor. Sat down again quickly and peed. He wanted sexual relief badly but somehow felt he was stronger without it. Somehow felt that his sexuality was being used against him. Curled up in bed. He felt the insistent sexual urge. Fought against it. Distracted his mind with feelings of guilt and of escape. Finally slept. But not a dreamless sleep. He was back in time. Before Sophie. When he was pure, unadulterated David. Naked in a boat. They had to be back in time for a drink when the pub opened. He grasped the oar and pulled on it. Hard. The blade churned the water and the boat surged in a circle. He called to his companion to pull too, but she had vanished. He went to grab another scull but all he found was his own penis. It too was hard. Thick as an oar handle and he found he needed two hands to control it. It twisted in his hands as the water seized it. Twisted and grew. And grew until it formed a pole in the middle of the boat around which the boat revolved. He had to hold it tight to stay in control, but however tightly he grasped it, it moved in his hand. Moved and grew. He looked down at him and felt the old uncontainable urge. A small dewdrop appeared at the centre of the oar and it in turn grew and ran down the side of it, lubricating it so that it slipped between his fingers. Impossible to hold. His fingers fought for a grip, his hand sliding up and down the oar which wasn't really an oar but his penis. His penis which was the centre of all his nerve endings, and which swelled and lengthened until the glistening tip bobbed just beneath his lips. Inviting a tongue, inviting, imploring relief. His tongue responded, God so good.! Mmmmmmmm. His lips seemed to stretch out. They touched it, enfolded it. Sucked it. So good in his mouth. His loins were on fire. Hips moving in response. Gathering momentum, faster, faster, in and out, warm in his mouth, so good, warm and slick, so good, faster, faster. But not his penis any longer. Silly to think it was. His penis couldn't reach his mouth. His penis had disappeared, The oar was back warm in his hands. A slick salty oar. Mmmmmm so tasty. Smooth, fleshy, a lovely cock. So good. Tasty. Hands on his boobs. My God! So good!. The cock thrusting in and out. At the back of his throat. Not his cock. He hadn't got one now, but this lovely man had. Such a nice cock. Filling his mouth. Filling his thoughts. His lips tight around it , moving up and down, relishing the feel, the texture, He sucked it deep, helping it in and out. Controlling it. It filled his mouth, grew as he sucked on it. Pulsated. Pulsated. In and out. Pulsated. In and out. His hips jerked and he was awoken by his own massive orgasm. He lay there on his back, half waking to a pulsating flooding in his loins. Aware of a sticky warm wetness down there. He lay there until a small voice prompted him to get up and clean himself. His lovely nightie ruined. All sticky and soiled with semen. Ugh!! Men! He should have swallowed it. As it was he needed to rinse his nightie immediately before it was stained. He rolled over and threw the sheets back. Staggered to the bathroom. Pulled his nightie, that froth of silk and lace, carefully over his head, being careful that the sticky residue did not contaminate his hair. Ran a hot bath. Plenty of bubbles. Lay in it and soaked. Noticed that one of his breasts was showing a line where the adhesive had weakened. His nipples poked out through the suds, two soapy cherries. He felt sick as he relived the dream. Wide awake he tried to dissect it. Daren't go too deep. But it was not normal. Not him. Was it the subliminal effects of TV and DVD? Or the missing time under hypnosis? Or both? He looked at his boobs. Automatically he extended a forefinger and touched a nipple. He wondered what real ones would be like. Would they also float in that provocative way? He stood up quickly, splashing water on the floor. He mustn't go down there. He must escape. The process was accelerating. He couldn't afford to sit back and see what happened. Tomorrow he must look at the possibility afforded by Laura's apartment. He found himself a clean baby doll nightie. The twin of the stained one but in peach rather than champagne. Pretty and sexy but he preferred the first. More his colour. Sleep came quickly. The sexual release had at least that benefit. Coralie arrived at breakfast escorted by both Laura and Janet. All the other girls were there, eagerly awaiting the new arrival. They had both obviously worked hard on her. Certainly she was wearing breast forms which made the real difference if only because she was conscious of them. Her nails too were a pretty coral pink to match her lipstick and she was struggling to come to terms with her modest 2" heel. Her dress was simple but clung sexily to her. She clutched a purse, and sported a pretty wrist watch. It was a start. David knew that by lunch she would have been transformed much further by Mrs. Townsend's ministrations. They all tried to welcome her. David almost frenetically so, driven half by guilt, half by a genuine desire to smooth her ordeal. Coralie said practically nothing. Her eyes never met theirs'. The tic was still in evidence. Her food lay untouched on her plate. David recalled his first breakfast here. Saw the same reactions from Coralie. But he had at least eaten something and had tried to respond, even if only in the odd monosyllable. Although Coralie was at the other table, David saw Laura exchanging the odd worried look with Janet. Early evening Laura joined Anne, Emma and he, as they sat at their usual table on the roof garden. Christine and Alice were at an adjoining table but of Janet and Coralie there was no sign. "Poor Coralie is having a little difficulty in adjusting to the regime here. Janet will be bringing her up soon hopefully, but I just wanted to let you know. I know I can count on you all to help as much as you can.!" Her eyes smiled at them all above her schooner of sherry. "Especially Anne and Sophie who perhaps have the greatest insight to what she must be feeling. Although, dear Emma has shown such understanding in the past that her contribution will also be invaluable." "Not that any amongst us can coast on cruise control until Friday's inspection, especially you Sophie dear." She winked at David. "Rather surprised to see you here in fact darling. Thought you might be fully occupied in trying out Felicity's little toys. Not had time to become addicted yet perhaps?" The other two giggled. "Shame on you Laura. You really mustn't tease poor Sophie so. You will make the dear girl blush!" Emma leaned forward and patted David's knee. "Pay no attention Sophie darling. Laura is quite shameless. Probably sex starved herself ...." Laura cut in laughing. "Emma. You little minx! Sex starved indeed! Have you no respect!" They all giggled. All except David, who felt his cheeks burning. He was saved from further attention by the appearance of Coralie shepherded by Janet. The transformation was remarkable. Her face was a tribute to Mrs. Townsend's art. Her eyes large and blue under gracefully arched brows and framed by sweeping mascaraed lashes that rested on delicate apple blossom cheeks. Her lips slightly pouting, eminently kissable. Two ears set of by the sparkle of diamond studs that twinkled and hid when her honey blonde hair swayed across the side of her face. Wherever Grace de Messembry had found her, she was a treasure well worth the capture. Janet led her to their table. Alice and Christine joined them there pulling their table across to make one big one. Drinks were got for the newcomers, refreshed for those already in attendance. There was an air of excitement. All eager to welcome Coralie. To express their admiration of, to compliment her on, her new appearance. The centre of attention did not reciprocate the warmth, the interest. Her eyes stayed downcast. Her face dead under its new beauty. Her voice had obviously benefited from one of Sally's throat sprays, but its feminine huskiness was evidenced only by a couple of non-committal half grunts. It was not so much that she was rebelling against her new circumstances or showing defiance against whatever fates had brought her here. It was just a deadness. She seemed beyond their reach. If she showed any emotion whatsoever it seemed to be an additional distaste for Anne and himself. Especially himself. She tried to sit as far away as possible from him, and shied away from any bodily contact, or indeed closeness. Last night he had at least been permitted to air kiss his cheeks. Now she turned her head away to avoid any repeat of that greeting. If she was non-communicative with the others, she was icy with him. At dinner the two groups split up as usual, Coralie ensconced amongst Janet Saggren's girls. Her silence though weighed heavily over Laura's adjacent group and the meal was a subdued affair at both tables. David was aware of the tension and the somewhat strained conversation increased his own introspection, his own moroseness. Back early in his room David sought the window and, as he had so often done before, when stress or events brought him near to crisis, gazed out into the late evening. Out there people were leading normal lives. They seemed so far away. He was increasingly aware that he could not just passively resist. That way led only to defeat. A defeat whose scope he only vaguely comprehended. Could not even consider. He was being eroded. Acceptance was the great enemy. And now acceptance lived within him. More and more he heard its voice within him. A calm voice whose reasonableness was increasingly difficult to gainsay. Even sleep now brought its own betrayal in his dreams. Coralie's arrival had in some way crystallised the danger. The contrast between them. The effect of a fortnight's passivity on his part. In here the Foundation held all the cards. It, they, were too strong. He must get away, must escape. He had no option. He fought back the small voice 'Darling don't exaggerate! What a drama queen you are becoming! Relax! Let's see what there is on TV. Or a nice DVD perhaps?' He must escape! It was becoming imperative. He must reconnoitre Laura's, or Janet's, door. There must be a way out through their apartments. Did Venumar occupy all the building? And if so what with? Was there strict security or were there just offices and the like belonging to their more legitimate activities? He had been here fortnight and he knew nothing! Nothing! He left the window and on impulse quietly opened his own door and looked out into the corridor. It finished about fifty feet away. A door like his own, leading to unoccupied rooms, on each side and then, flanking the heavy double central door, the doors to the apartments of Laura and Janet. David knew he would be under observation. He turned the other way towards the main body of the Holding Wing and then abruptly turned back as if he had forgotten something, or had changed his mind about going out. He paused and then, after a long moment walked back towards, and re-entered, his own door. He had seen enough though to know that on both the apartment doors there were handles but no sign of locks. It was odd. Unbelievable. But there could be no doubt. A handle, and what looked like a peep hole but no sign of a key hole, a lock, on either door. Nor of a press button panel, nor of a hand print panel. Nothing but a handle and a peep hole on each door. There must be something. It couldn't be that simple. The Foundation did not make mistakes like that. It wouldn't allow one just to walk out. There must be something he didn't know about! But what? David sat in his chair and tried to think what the security could be. He must get it right. There would be no second chance if he tried and failed. No answer came. It came to him that he had never seen Laura go through her door. Each time she had walked back with him she had left him in his room. Never said good night in the corridor. He recalled her words as she left that first evening. About the lock on his own door. "We don't need that now. Where on earth would you go?" And yet if her door really didn't have a key ...? His brain went round in circles, increasingly desperate, increasingly frustrated. He found he had turned on the TV. There was a chat programme about the increasing r?le of women in initiating sexual activities. His eye was distracted by a corner of the bright carrier bag peeping out from behind the sofa. Christ he had almost forgotten that! He got up to push it back out of his sight line, back completely behind the sofa, to erase its presence from his consciousness. He found himself sitting back in his chair with it on his lap. A small voice, that twisted Jiminy Cricket of a voice, insisting that he couldn't hide it for ever. That he had to face reality. Laura would ask tomorrow. Felicity had sent it and would want to know .... would insist. He had a commitment to Grace de Messembry to honour. The least he could do was to see what was in the bag. He could always pretend, dissemble, but to do that he had to know what she had sent him. He couldn't be an ostrich indefinitely. The others had already started to tease him. They thought it funny. It couldn't be that bad, that outrageous. There were six boxes inside. Simple white card boxes, on which the only decoration was the Venumar logo. The presentation was expensively simple, more redolent of that used for professional instruments than the garishness normally associated with sex toys. The first contained an artificial penis. According to the blurb on the outside it was a Mark VI Model and was described simply as a 'Oral Gratification Training Aid'. Full Instructions were apparently contained inside together with a suggested 'Programme of Use' and a DVD, enabling maximum benefit to be obtained. There was a reference to the fact that it was to be used only in conjunction with 'Cartridges Type VF19, VF20, VF21 and VF23'. David turned the box over. The Mark VI was no ordinary sex aid. The description 'Training Aid' was more than fully justified by the short description he found there. The artificial device replicated, with electronic sensors, the nerve endings in the average male penis in both location and intensity. The outer skin was a flexible approximation to that of a real penis, having a carefully calculated limited movement over the shaft itself. It also measured stimulation based on trials of in excess of 1,000 penises. When the appropriate oral stimulation had been received by the device, modified by a complicated time factor, the cartridge discharged, under pressure, a dosage of semen substitute. Thus, it explained, the operator could prolong almost indefinitely the ejaculation, alternatively bring such to the quickest possible conclusion, or any of the multitude of steps in between. It was a matter of training. Of the application of skill acquired. Bench marks were to be found in the Full Instruction Manual contained therein. No guarantees were given that it would replicate any individual's reaction under specific circumstances. It was however pointed out that it was based on an average reaction of over1,000 test subjects under a given scientifically controlled ambiance. The semen substitute was contained in the 'Cartridges Type VF19, VF20(a), VF20(b), VF20(c), VF21, and VF23'. Type VF19 was Venumar Foundation's latest attempt to replicate real semen in consistency, taste, smell, colour etc. The other types were variations of such incorporating different flavours and medication. Type 23 incorporated a female hormone replacement additive. Apparently this latter was the result of the latest research by the Venumar Medical Research Laboratories Plc. David sat back. His skin felt clammy and cold. They didn't really expect him to use this as a .... Training Aid? Not really to suck on this grotesque thing in cold blood? Put it in his mouth and measure how long it took him to .... to .... ? And then to swallow? He put the box aside unopened. The next to emerge from Felicity Cranwell's bizarre lucky dip was a long rectangular box containing six butt plugs of ever increasing length and diameter. They were also described as a training aid. Specifically 'A Training Aid as a Precursor to Anal Penetration'. Each butt plug was designed to accommodate a standard radio controlled bullet vibrator, also included. The bullet was inserted into the plug and locked in by a bayonet fitting that also incorporated a swing arm. This arm, once the plug was fully inserted was designed to swing forward fitting snugly between the legs behind the penis so that the half hemispherical end inserted pressure on the perineum. Its sprung action held the butt firmly, immovably, in place once inserted, inclining it forward towards the prostrate. Apparently it was patented. Another package contained a remote radio transmitter which would not only apparently activate vibrating bullets at 300 yards but could act as a staging point for more distant signals. A selection of bullets were included. Then there was an inflatable butt plug. Mundane almost in comparison with what had gone before. Although it was also linked to the transmitter in that it was inflated by a small state of the art electric air pump that could also be activated, monitored, and controlled by it. A package of Anal Lubricant. Another small box labelled ' Hygienic Sheaths (Lubricated) for Anal Plug' All the packages formed an unopened pile in front of David. The largest package was at the bottom. Under the Venumar logo it said simply '48 x Disposable Cartridges for use with the Oral Gratification Training Aid Mark VI', and underneath, on the next line, stamped on was. 'Type VF19' Seeping through his revulsion, David found one crumb of comfort. At least they weren't Type VF23! David put them all back inside the carrier bag and hid it behind the sofa. Not now. No. Not ever! Not ever? Not now certainly! The inspection was on Friday so it would clash and automatically cancel his next session with Felicity Cranwell. He had until Monday. A lot could happen before then. He could die. That or escape. He must escape. And the voice said. 'Calm down. It is not the end of the world. Many people would envy you. Try to come to terms with it. It is not life threatening and it is just foolish to talk of dying. You must be reasonable. You really are becoming quite hysterical!' But even deeper than the quiet voice that now seemed such a constant companion, David heard his old self and knew that he had no option. To do nothing was to accept defeat.