The Deception Of Choice, Episode Nine free porn video

The Deception of Choice. Episode Nine, comprising Chapters 23 & 24. Preamble In which dreams are dreamt and then discussed. Their immediacy though is less disturbing than that of more physical simulations of the feminine experience. Coralie, less prone to the niceties of inner debate, continues to test the skills of all who would help her to come to terms with her new circumstances. All leading to a violent and bloody confrontation on a May morning. Chapter 23. That night the dreams came again, fleeing only with the coming of the dawn. But shreds, disconnected fragments remained. Disconnected fragments of femininity. A femininity not forced upon him, but an accepted, normal, part of life. The details had ebbed away in his first waking moments but they had left lingering a general feeling of contentment and ease. An ease that vanished in its turn as awareness flooded back with full consciousness. Anne and Emma were both lively and chatty at breakfast. Perhaps it was the closeness of the morrow's inspection causing an extra spice of nervous anticipation. Whatever the cause, a sense of their old easy companionship was revised and David found himself soothed by it. No sign of either Laura or Janet, but, rather surprisingly, Coralie was sitting quietly at the next table with Christine and Alice. Still very subdued, but no longer completely silent in a world of her own, but responding, albeit monosyllabically, to the other two. And she was eating too David noticed. Anne was still worried about her, and whether her lack of real progress might somehow condemn them all at the inspection. Emma was less concerned. "Don't be such a goose Anne, Coralie is improving and will continue to do so. If I recall you said the same thing about dear Sophie a fortnight ago" Here she winked conspiratorially at David. "And she was the Belle of the Ball at the party on the Friday evening." Anne was indignant. "Don't you believe a word of it Sophie dear. I always knew you would pass with flying colours. If I did say anything it was just a teeny weeny natural concern as to whether we could still win the competition with you having so little time to accustom yourself, to prepare ...." She glared at Emma. "I never for a moment doubted that you would make a super girl." Emma grinned and put a finger to her lips. "Quiet Anne darling, we don't want the next table to know our little secrets. Anyway I was only teasing. You rise so easily!" Again she winked at David who felt only depression that they all had apparently regarded him as such a problem free candidate for the Foundation's femininity programme. "But with Coralie you must admit it is different," Anne continued. "I agree she seems a little better this morning, but there is still something about her that strikes a wrong note. I know you are a real clever clogs Emma, but I have a feeling about this. What about you Sophie dear?" David shook his head. "I don't know. I was worried too yesterday. She seemed just dead. This morning is an improvement for sure but you may be right Anne. There is something there that is .... But how do I know? How can I judge? It is so traumatic. What is normal behaviour in these circumstances? I don't know about myself, let alone about others." Emma placed a hand over his. He knew he was trembling slightly. She had sensed it, would know it too now. Her voice was soft, concerned. "It's all right Sophie." A warning glance at Anne. "I will have a word with Laura. Perhaps we should try another chat with poor Coralie this evening, now that she seems to be a little more approachable. In the meantime we ourselves have to prepare for tomorrow as well. Lets go and get on with it!" They met Laura on their way out. Emma drew her to one side for a word, but not before she, Laura, had asked them all to join her in the library at noon for a little informal chat. "About tomorrow darlings. And to tidy up odds and ends." David had first a session, shared with Anne and Emma, with Mrs. Townsend before his Thursday appointment with Dr. Tabatha. The beautician by now regarded herself as a close friend and confidante of all the three girls. She chatted as they mutually assisted in, participated in, the treatment of each in turn. It was not just a make-over but an on-going lesson in the arcane arts of the application of cosmetics in the pursuit of perfection. The process no longer repelled David. He accepted it as part of his daily existence and, if he felt no enthusiasm for it, he increasingly found himself interested by the technical problems posed and their solutions when applied to his two companions. Perhaps even when applied to himself. By 11 o'clock he was seated on the couch with Dr. Tabatha opposite, her silver pencil turning in her immaculately manicured hands. Her voice measured and reassuring. "What were we talking about?" She asked. David cast his mind back. Still wary of her and apprehensive. Yet vaguely feeling she could be of help. He couldn't remember the details of their last conversation. Much as usual he guessed. Dr. Tabatha considered him gravely. "If there is nothing pre-eminent outstanding, where would you like to start this time?" "I have started to have dreams," he said. "We all dream. The great majority of them we forget. They are transient things. A few, usually those that occur just before wakening, we remember." "Mine are related to being feminine. I can never remember fully. Just that I seem to be feminine in them." He paused. She may as well know it all. His voice dropped. "Feminine and content." "You wake up feeling content? No nightmares? Just content? At peace with yourself?" "Yes." David muttered. "Wherein lies the problem?" "I shouldn't be having them." "We cannot control the dreams we have Sophie. You are in a feminine atmosphere. Everything about you is feminine. You yourself are being actively encouraged to be more feminine. It is hardly surprising that some echoes of your waking moments should appear in your dreams." "I shouldn't be having them," David repeated stubbornly. A rush of indignation, of pent up fear, surfaced. "And if I can't control them then others perhaps can. Laura said the DVDs, the TV contained some subliminal stuff and , and ...." His voice faded to a close. "And?" Dr Tabatha regarded him gravely. David made no reply. "And? And I suspect that you think I have given them to you under hypnosis?" She shook her head sadly. "You must believe me in this Sophie. I cannot order your dreams. Nor can subliminal messages. Dreams can reflect your own inner emotions and conflicts. But no-one else can tell you what to dream." "Sophie you must believe that I am here to help you. Not to force you into anything against your will. I just deal with given situations and try to assist you in making the best of them. If this means helping you to come to terms with such situations so be it. It is what I am trained to do. But I am not here to initiate any such situations." "I hope you can accept that Sophie?" David felt her sincerity. "Yes", he said. "I accept that. I accept that my dreams are my responsibility. That you act, have acted, professionally. But someone has caused the mental state that leads to those dreams. The responsibility is perhaps once or twice removed but it lies with someone. I accept not you, but someone .... I did not have these dreams before." It was Dr Tabatha's turn to nod. "Perhaps you would easier for you if I were responsible Sophie. If I were a malign controlling influence or perhaps that it would be better if they were nightmares rather than dreams? " Her gaze was sympathetic, understanding. "What I think is frightening for you, is the thought that your dreams are conceived in your own subconscious, and that they signal your acceptance of femininity as an agreeable state?" David made no comment. None was needed. "Better face your devils Sophie dear, than curse their shadows. Come, see if I can help allay some of them, or at least put them in their proper perspective,"and she gestured for him to recline, leaning over to swing the viewing panel into position and handing him the headphones. "Just relax ...." At noon when David entered the library, the others, Laura, Anne and Emma, were arranging themselves around a table sheltered on three sides by bookshelves. It was a confidence boosting pep talk. All girls together. Must all do their best and show Grace de Messembry the progress they had all individually made. Build on the success of the last inspection. They all had hair appointments in the afternoon, and of course Mrs. Townsend would pay them flying visits on the morning itself. Naturally though she, Mrs. Townsend that is, would have her work cut out in helping poor Coralie and so they must all ensure that they were as near perfection as possible by their own effort. There was great excitement as Laura described the new outfit that she had got for Emma. The others, Anne and he, would wear the same as last time. David sat there, brightly joining in. Trying hard to feign the interest and enthusiasm expected of him. He always left Dr. Tabatha's sessions feeling more at ease with himself, and this and the inclusive nature of their talk made it easier to maintain the required front. It was all becoming easier. Perhaps afterwards he would wonder, but now, for the moment, it was easier. The talk turned to Coralie's progress. Apparently Anne had had a chat with her in the morning, and she had seemed calmer, slightly more communicative. Janet was still worried about how she would fare at the inspection however and David felt he had little option when asked but to also speak to her, to try to a allay her fears, to encourage her to make an effort for the inspection, for all their sakes. As Laura pointed out "You and Anne are such valuable r?le models for her Sophie dear. Hopefully she will be able to empathise with you and realise that her silly little fears, whilst of course quite normal and understandable, are far more apparent than real. If you can just persuade her to accept your help and friendship it will help Janet and I so much." David, with considerable inner reluctance, agreed and it was arranged that he should drop back into the library around 6 o'clock when Janet would set up a meeting between them. In his head ran competing misgivings, the sheer hypocrisy involved, his own total unsuitability given his inner horror at the situation, fought with the idea that Coralie did need help and that if he could at least calm her down for the inspection it might be to her benefit. Give her more time, perhaps give him more time also, as she could be an ally in this place. As they were leaving, Laura drew David back, letting Anne scurry on ahead. "Just a moment sweetie," she smiled. "Felicity's little presents .... such fun. But you really must try them. Before tomorrow I mean. Before the inspection. They are not an option Sophie dear. You really must show some progress in accepting your new sexual r?le. Grace de Messembry will expect some progress." David felt himself in free fall. All the ease that Dr. Tabatha had engendered fell away. "A new .... My new sexual r?le?" "Of course Sophie dear. As a girl silly! A penetratee rather than a penetrator remember? We don't expect you to be celibate indefinitely you know. A girl has the right to some fun!" She took his arm and guided him to the library door. "You need to be prepared," Laura coughed delicately, "to find your pleasure in accommodating the male of species darling. To fulfil your feminine r?le in society." David felt the darkness drawing in all around him. Laura's voice, though still light and bantering, took on a noticeably more forceful edge. "So run along now darling and insert a butt plug", Laura glanced at her watch, "you have plenty of time before the afternoon sessions and starting now will give you lots of time to get use to the sensation before tomorrow morning's affair. Specially valuable darling as I see you have Deportment after you hair appointment. It will give your hips that extra wiggle you'll see!" She winked roguishly. " I'll bet Veronica spots it immediately." "No. Please Laura. Please. If I have to for the inspection, well then I have to, but I don't need to just to practice surely?" "Don't be such a goose Sophie dear. It is not just for practice, it is to accustom and tone the muscles there. We need to monitor your progress through the various sizes. Quite indispensable for your future happiness. You know I wouldn't ask you otherwise." She released his arm and patted his bottom. "Now run along like a good girl and do as I ask. No more buts please dear. Butts but not buts!" She giggled. "Better get on with it darling. You have only twenty minutes before your hair appointment. And remember you have to be back at the library at six for Coralie!" Back in his room David selected from its box the smallest of the six butt plugs. Gingerly he held it. With distaste he examined it. With even greater distaste he slipped into its interior the small silver bullet and locked in place. Seven minutes had passed. He could not take all day. He blankly looked at the small instruction leaflet. The letters swam before his eyes. God he felt so ashamed. He was doing this of his own volition. Nobody was standing over him, threatening him. By himself he was preparing to push something up his arse the sole purpose of which was to prepare him to be sodomised. Worse, was to prepare him to enjoy the experience. He took of his shoes, Slowly took his panties down. Never had he felt so reluctant to remove his panties. From being emblems of femininity they had become friends and allies offering protection against intruders. And he himself was removing them. He rucked his dress up round his waist. Then his slip. His stocking legs tapered delicately into his shoes. God did he really need to do this? He unrolled a hygienic sheath down over the plug. It was practically indistinguishable from a condom and indeed the container carried the information that its use encouraged the user to acquire a safe sex routine when indulging in anal penetration with a partner. He found the lubricant and reluctantly opened the tube top and squeezed a little maggot of the substance onto the tapered end of the plug from where it ran down in several thick strands sliding over his fingers holding it. He lifted one leg up onto the chair and bending forward felt with the end of the plug for his arsehole. He felt the cold and slippery end slide between his bum cheeks and nestle there. Ready for entry. He couldn't .... just couldn't bring himself to do it. Ten minutes had passed. Another ten to go. And if he didn't? Then at very least the 'surgical intervention' with which Grace de Messembry had threatened him. And beyond that there lurked the shadowy unnameable fear of Rehabilitation. And losing David. Losing all that was himself. But if he accepted to do this? Accepted to actively violate his own body with this thing? Would he accept later, accept when it was not just a question of a butt plug nudging there? Accept when he was only in a passive r?le? But it may never come to that the calm voice said. And you are going to escape. You must live each day. And it won't hurt. Only a little anyway. It is the smallest and everyone else has to do it. Some want to do it. Mmmmmm .... try it. Twelve minutes gone. He applied pressure to the thing. Felt it slide, insinuate itself into his secret cavity. Just a little, perhaps a half inch. More pressure and it slid suddenly another inch. He felt it there insistent, invasive, propelled by his own hand. He tried to quell the panic rising within him. More pressure and this time there was greater resistance. Its diameter expanded him. Half inch by half inch. Slow progress. It hurt a little and still he had only started. He paused breathing hard. With horror he realised his penis was reacting. Subconsciously aware of the sexual connotation of the activity. Reacting to him becoming a penetratee? The last thing a penetratee needed was a rampant penis. And the inner voice took up the theme. A rampant penis is for penetrating. If his future lay elsewhere, any penis, let alone a rampant one, was merely an encumbrance. He pushed harder. Fourteen minutes gone. And now it did hurt. He wondered if it would help if he sat on it suddenly. His cocked bobbed in front of him and he felt sweat on his brow. The inner voice urged him to try again. One more push, one more and it would be over, The pain would be over. He thrust hard up into himself and gave a cry as the plug seem to come alive in his hand, sliding in the last bit independent of his fingers, his sphincter muscles seeking eagerly the narrow indentation before the plug swelled out again at its retaining base. Almost automatically he let the arm swing back to nestle between his legs. Relief spilled over him. At least it was in. The pain had gone. He had not thought that he would celebrate it sliding home but he did. Better that than its journey in. His fingers tentatively explored the base. It was nestled almost flush between his cheeks, the handle he now realised was sculptured to conform to his body contours, the butt plug itself solid and seemingly immovable. He felt the slippery residue of the lubricant which he wiped off before standing and pulling up his panties. His prick was semi-rigid and he had a problem with tucking it to achieve the requisite smooth front. Must hurry, he was going to be late. Letting his slip and dress fall back into place he moved to his dressing table to check his make up. The act of sitting moved the plug inside him. Pressing it further in and further forward. It felt full and heavy, filling him. A careful repair of lipstick. A touch of blush and eyeshadow and his face looked composed again. The plug moved within him, caressing him, as he rose. The very act of walking seemed to move it heavily within him. The lever pressed it forward and the plug itself seemed to be like a large sleepy animal within him. Moving slightly when he moved. Adjusting itself to his own movement with a movement of its own. He clattered on his heels down the corridor towards the salon. He was more than ever aware of the swivelling of his hips, of the slight jolt that walking in heels gave at every stride. The little animal down there was warm inside him now. Its body burrowing sleepily inside his. His own penis turgid, unable to sleep alongside its new neighbour. Alongside its new competitor? Throughout the rest of the afternoon David's consciousness was dominated by the feeling of the plug inside him. Even during his comparative immobility whilst his hair was being styled, he was aware of its minute compensations to changes to his own body posture. And when finally he arrived for his Deportment class with Veronica, Laura was proved right. "Sophie dear! Where did you get that new sexy walk from darling?" She winked broadly at him. "Don't need to tell me if you don't want darling! A girl is entitled to her intimate secrets. Not that anything that gives your bottom a wiggle like that can really be a secret!" She giggled. At the end of her lesson David felt exhausted. The plug nestled deep and warm inside him, filling him. The narrow neck of the plug was not so narrow that it did not distend him and there was a constant slight ache. His hips tried to compensate for its presence, hence the wiggle he supposed, but that in turn seemed to use new muscles. There was no respite to the awareness of the plugs presence and David wondered if there would ever be. Probably as with his breast forms he would eventually become reconciled to it and it would become accordingly less intrusive. And then he remembered that it was the smallest of the set of six and Laura had spoken of monitoring his progress. And then .... on his way to his appointment with Coralie, at exactly 6 o'clock, suddenly, without warning, it came to life. Gently at first, almost a warming rather than a vibration, but then, quite distinctly a thrumming becoming a regular pulsating beat. David's stride faltered. He stopped and rested against the wall, his back slightly arched. His hips twitched. Something, someone, had triggered the bullet. Unless it was programmed? Unless, unless it was the transmitter. At the back of mind there was something about it doubling as a staging point for signals. His cock was responding. It must be his prostrate. Dear God how long would it last? Please let it not be permanent. His cock was hard, making a slight bulge under his skirt. He held hid purse in front of it, hiding it. He checked his hips as they stated to move to the rhythm. He could not stay here in the corridor. It was already past six. Perhaps if he ignored it, occupied his mind elsewhere? He gathered all his reserves and restarted his walk towards the library. Through the door and there at the far end was Janet and Coralie at a table at the far end. If Janet saw anything, sensed anything, already knew anything, she gave no sign. She rose to greet him. "How kind of you to join us hun, Coralie has been so looking forward to having a heart to heart with you. It is all so new to her and the poor dear needs all the reassurance she can get." Coralie herself summoned up a greeting as she also stood in welcome. David kissed first Janet's cheeks and then turning kissed Coralie in what for him was now an automatic gesture. Coralie did not return the gesture but this time she stood her ground and only David sensed that she flinched. David sat down with them, noticing that Coralie had at least now acquired the habit of smoothing her skirt underneath her and that there was the beginning of grace in her movements. The plug continued to pulsate and as it was driven deeper by the chair seat, David found himself fidgeting Trying to will his own penis to slacken, his own hips to be still. It was difficult to concentrate. He came back to the conversation with an understanding that Janet had another appointment. "So many loose ends to tidy up before tomorrow darlings" and was leaving them to have a girl-to-girl chat. "See you both on the roof garden in half an hour," she smiled. "Bye for now." And then it stopped. Thank Christ! As suddenly as it has started the plug stopped vibrating. Reverted to being a small burrowing animal nestling within him. He glanced at his watch. It had lasted five minutes. Janet sashayed out leaving them looking at each other over the table. "Coralie dear ...." David felt he must say something and the mode of address was now ingrained in him .... "I do so hope we can be friends. Anything I can do to help. The other girls were so kind to me when I arrived." Christ it sounded so trite, unreal, unsuitable. 'The other girls' was the last phrase either of them wanted to hear. He ploughed on feeling desperate. At least his arse no longer buzzed. "I mean I know it is hard. I myself have been through it, am going through it, but it gets better .... once ...." Coralie just looked at him. He ran his words through his own head again 'Gets better?' Christ! "Once you settle in. Once the inspection is over. And the other girls are so supportive. You really will like it ...." God this was awful. He was really playing the Judas goat. Coralie continued to regard him At least there was now some life in her eyes. She had emerged from death. Then "I don't want to be here. I am not a girl. I am not going to be a girl. Bugger the other girls. Bugger you." spoken in a dead pan voice. David thought of the cameras watching, of the listening devices. If he was to defy them then it should be on his own behalf, not tamely in support of others. And yet he had to give something to convince Coralie to temper her attitude with a little discretion for her own good. "I understand", he said. "I understand only too well, but for the moment you have to play their game. Outright hostility will not help your cause. And you need all the help you can get from us." David hesitated. "The best of the other options is a return to Reception. And there are far, far worse possibilities. More probable ones in all likelihood." "They have no right to do this. No right. It is criminal .... I am not going to act girlish just to please them. And how long do they expect this charade to last? The bastards, the fucking bastards!" David felt that to explain that 'acting girlish' was perhaps an understatement, and that the 'charade' had an unpleasant air of permanence, would do little to assuage Coralie's anger. "You haven't any rights here Coralie," he said gently. "Here they are the law. Here they are in a position to enforce what they want. How they want you to behave. You have to face facts. Think what they have done already." "I can see what they have done to you!" Coralie spat back. "They've turned you into a mincing, primping girl. A fairy faggot who probably deserves all she got. Who probably was never a real man, a proper man, in the first place! Pervert!" The insults washed over David, seeping into his soul, hurting. He wanted desperately to explain, to justify but knew it would be of no avail. That now at least was not the time. And he had to remember that he too was being watched, was being judged. He shook his head resignedly. "Perhaps," he said and summoned up all his resources to manage a smile. "But your mirror will tell you that you too have already had to conform to some extent. All I am trying to do is to help you to understand that for the moment at least you do have to go along with them, accept that you have to display some feminine attributes and behaviour." " And that we others are here to help you Coralie ...." "I am not fucking Coralie! My name is Martin .... Martin you understand! My name is Martin! "Yes, but I cannot call you that. You must understand that I cannot, dare not, call you that. Here you must be Coralie." "Martin, My name is Martin ...." Coralie's hands, carefully manicured with dusky pink nails, clenched and unclenched on the table between them. Her hands were shaking. A shaking that spread up to her shoulders until her whole body seemed to catch the infection. David realised that she was crying. Deep racking dry sobs. She herself had her gaze fixed down on her own hands but as David watched her eyes lifted and met his own; and David saw naked fear in them. Fear that welled over into tears that ran down her carefully made up face. "My name is .... is .... is Martin" came out, muffled and choked by sobs, of dusky pink lipsticked lips. "I know." David said and reached out his own hands to clasp hers. The was an answering pressure. A fierce pressure as of someone who could feel the quicksands tugging at their body. They stayed like that for some time. Until the trembling quietened. The silence deep between them. "Look", David said finally, his voice soft and low with sympathy, with fellow feeling, "I can't change anything. You need to accept that here you are Coralie and a girl to all outward appearances. That is a battle you cannot win. We can only help you to survive that. Friendship is not something that can be offered, it grows mutually of its own accord. But we can offer help and support, accept it or not, it is there." His eyes sought her's but they were fixedly studying her hands. "Listen," he continued, "you need to get through the inspection. They have told you about Rehabilitation?" Coralie nodded, her eyes still downcast. "Janet keeps on about it. I think she is just trying to scare me, to get me to do what she wants. Nothing could be that obscene." David's initial thought was to tell her to talk to Anne, but he knew he had not that right. Anne had suffered enough without being asked to relive it again for another. Least of all by his initiative. Instead he just said. "Believe me, it is only too real. Ask Janet to tell you about Olive." "You cannot afford to cross Grace de Messembry Coralie. If you believe nothing else, believe that, I implore you!" This time Coralie's eyes lifted to meet his own. "Janet speaks of her too", she said. "But she too seems just designed to frighten one into submission. I have never met her. Who is she?" "Did you have an interview before you came here? After Reception?" David asked and immediately saw the pain mingled with humiliation darken her eyes. She nodded. "Then you have probably already met her. Chestnut hair, green eyes, with, with authority and ..." He needed to go no further. The breath was expelled from Coralie's lungs in a single. "Her!" "Yes," David said simply. "Her." David looked at his watch sparkling on his wrist. "We have had our half hour. We need to rejoin Janet on the roof garden." He stood up "Come Coralie." His hands still held hers as he pulled her to her feet. "Let's go and find the others." And have a drink, he thought. God he needed a drink. He himself was trembling slightly. The episode with Coralie had drained him. He shared too many things with her. He was her in so many ways. And yet it had also brought home to him sharply how great a gap had opened up in the two weeks that separated them in this place. He dare not stay here longer. He must get out. Must escape before .... before .... But first he needed that drink. He looked across at her as they made their way in silence. She was his height, delicately boned, blonde with blue eyes under her newly arched brows. Grace de Messembry, or her agents, had again chosen well. She would make a passable girl, pretty even although, as with the, Anne and himself, her shoulders and hips would never be quite right. Still presentation was all and with intensive beauty and deportment training that would be amply compensated for. David wondered if he should mention to Coralie that she should re-touch her make up which had been ravaged by her tears. He dreaded her reaction though and, feeling that discretion was the better part of valour, decided to leave it for Janet Saggren to sort out. At least Coralie seemed calmer. David knew he had not solved, could not solve, anything, but her outburst had almost certainly been cathartic and may have been of some short term assistance. On the roof garden Janet, with many thanks, took Coralie back in her charge whilst David found sanctuary back with Laura, Emma, and Anne. And solace in a very large Plymouth gin & tonic. It was when he went up to prepare the second round of drinks, that he saw it. The knife for cutting up the limes and lemons. With a thin pointed four inch blade, flexible, only slightly serrated but, judging by the way it sliced through the lime, very sharp. Previously the one used had been a fairly blunt serrated fruit knife. Someone must have replaced it. Someone had made a mistake. He looked back at the others. They were in animated conversation, not looking at him but must be aware of him, of his movements. And his purse was on the table. Even if he had it with him it was too small. It would have to be later. He took his drink, with the rest of the round, back to the others. The conversation was animated. Perhaps because they were all conscious of, nervous of, the inspection on the morrow. David tried to join in, was in fact constantly dragged in with reassurances that he had made so much progress that Grace de Messembry was bound to be delighted with him, with them all indeed. Perhaps there would even be another party? And if there was, would the same boys be there? Emma's Michael perhaps? And Tommy too, if he was still available? Not that dreadful Nigel surely? But he was unlikely to be walking again yet. Running under the general conversation, silent but powerful in David's mind, was the question of escape. His talk with poor Coralie had underlined the imperative for immediate action. The sight of the knife had given him fresh food for thought. He had considered stealing such before from the dining room but he had noticed that they were always counted and checked. Besides he was never alone there. But this one was different. Someone must have been careless. Moreover he could visit the roof garden alone. That is what he would have to do. It would be easy during the weekend when they were largely left to their own devices. Indeed if he were to escape then a weekend was the time to do it. And if a weekend then this weekend. And once he had it? Once he had it, it could serve to open doors. The blade was long and flexible. He had read that the criminal classes habitually used credit cards for that purpose but surely a knife could to all that a card could, and much better? And he could use it as a weapon. Once out of the Holding Wing he could threaten anyone how tried to stop him. Use it even. Even here if Laura or Janet discovered him and tried to stop him. Just to threaten. He could not really face the thought of sliding the blade into their flesh, of spilling Laura's or Janet's blood. But certainly to threaten. He must get the knife. But if it was a mistake, carelessness, then he needed to get it now before it was noticed and the mistake rectified. He opened his purse and freshened his lipstick. He saw Laura smiling approval at his action. He smiled back and palmed the lipstick as he pretended to return it to his purse. As she turned away he wedged it in a crevice of the table. Almost simultaneous with hiding the lipstick it started again. The thing embedded inside him. The sudden warmth that presaged its awakening. The first intimations of its stirring. The at first gentle, but ever more insistent, ever growing vibration. His mouth must have gaped slightly as he instinctively resettled in his chair. He saw Anne's was watching him. Saw her eyes also had widened slightly and that her smile was complicit, understanding. It must be happening to her as well. Of course it must. It was a standard procedure. He was nothing special! Again it lasted five minutes and then ceased. Five minutes on the hour, every hour, seemed to be an established routine. And during the night as well? The group's infectious nervous excitement lasted over dinner. David's earlier depression lifted as his brain ran through various escape scenarios. His adrenalin surged at the thought of doing something positive. The others too seemed infected in that strange way that make the best parties. A sort of communal forgetting of care, of enjoying the moment. The laughter rang across at Janet's table too. Even Coralie seemed a little more relaxed. The ball before the battle of Waterloo on a small scale David thought and inwardly grinned. They had been large gins and he was additionally benefiting from a very passable claret. Not for the first time he wondered at the quality of the wine offered. He had asked Laura once about it and she had just smiled and said that a knowledge of wine was an essential accomplishment that all correctly brought up young ladies should aspire to. And she had added that the additional cost of such over cheap plonk was infinitesimal in the general order of things. As the coffee was finishing and Laura made initial movements that signalled the end of the meal, David opened his purse, and after a quick ferret around inside, gave a little cry of annoyance. "My lipstick, I seem to have lost my lipstick!" Anne volunteered that he had had it with him on the roof garden , and David with a hurried, "Oh yes of course. I must have dropped it. Be back in a moment", rose and scurried out. Once there he found the knife and was wondering how he could conceal it about his person when the realisation came that he daren't risk it. Not now. Not the day before the inspection when the bar would be tidied and made immaculate for the morning's visit of Grace de Messembry. Its absence would be noticed. And yet the mistake would also be probably noticed then too and the old fruit knife substituted. As he hesitated he heard footsteps starting to ascend the stairs. He had no time to run through all the options. If he put it somewhere that looked accidental as if it had fallen, and yet out of sight, so it would not be visible, he might get away with it. If its loss was remarked on and a search was made it would look like an accident. It could not be attributed to him. And with any luck it's disappearance would not be noticed, or if it were it would not be considered significant, and he could pick it up later, during the weekend when the heat was off. Turning, as if looking on the ground, he drove the knife blade down into an ornamental earthenware pot in which grew some flowers, so that its dark handle was shielded by leaves. Still with the pretence of searching, acutely aware of the approaching footsteps, he located his lipstick and stood up, showing it to the intruder. "Found it!" It was Coralie. She was regarding him curiously. "I lost my lipstick", he said lamely. "Janet sent me to wait here for her", was the response. "She said she wanted a heart to heart before tomorrow." And indeed other footsteps could now be heard on the steps. "I had better run", David said, "the others will be wondering what is has happened to me." The others had indeed all left the dining room, all except Laura and Emma who where still deep in conversation. They broke off on David's arrival. Emma hurrying away with protestations that she had so much still to do in preparation for the morning. "And you too Sophie dear", Laura purred. "So much progress darling, you need to have no real worries about tomorrow, so you can sleep soundly. I shall drop in first thing to help you get ready, help you gild the lily as it were. And you can count on Mrs. Townsend's last minute ministrations too. Just one thing. In the bathroom you will find some lotion, I think it is called 'Breast Adhesive Remover', or some such. Just apply a little round your boobs this evening before bed. We need to give you new ones tomorrow morning. You will find some profiles in the brochure in the bookcase. If you have any preferences, give me a ring." She walked back with him along the corridor to his room, Laura keeping up a running commentary of tips and encouragement. Outside his door they paused. "I won't come in Sophie dear. Last minute arrangements to attend to myself. Oh and now that you have found that you can indeed live with a little inner stimulation without the world coming to an end, you need to try the fellatio experience this evening. The OGTA you know. Just in case Grace de Messembry asks. Not that any more evidence of your commitment to femininity is really needed, your appearance amply endorses that. It doesn't hurt to be on the safe side though does it?" She winked at him roguishly. "Sweet dreams poppet, See you bright and early in the morning." With that she swayed down to her towards her own room. David watched her. His hands turning his own door handle, opening his own door slowly, very slowly. Sick at the thought of the cock sucking exercise that he must undertake, yet knowing he had to watch her, had to see .... Laura reached her own door and turned the handle and entered as David himself finally ducked into his own room. No key, no lock, no pressure plate. Nothing. Laura had just turned the handle and entered her room. Odd but he had to believe his own eyes. Back in his room he opened the box containing the Oral Gratification Training Aid. Inside was a perfect, if in his experience decidedly over large, replica penis complete with a scrotum and balls. Realistic to the smallest detail. It was covered with a soft skin which could be moved over the firm body of the penis which itself which, although threateningly erect and correspondingly hard, had an underlying softness of flesh. There was a small booklet labelled 'User's Guide', a cursory examination of which led David to insert one of the Type VF19 cartridges, which was rather like an extended 35mm film capsule, into the OGTA's base. That done he sat looking at it. Turning it in his hands, feeling the skin like outer covering move over it. God it was disgustingly realistic! He tried to cut out all feeling. Tried to become an automaton. There was a DVD in the box also which was, he understood from the user's manual, an essential accompaniment but he could not bring himself to play it. To do so seemed like a greater participation. He touched it to his lips. Felt it warm and dry resting there. Inanimate. Neutral. If he was to suck it then it must be through his own volition. It was not going to help him, not going to force him. It was his decision, his alone. His tongue flicked out. And again. Moistening the very tip of the penis. His decision. But a decision that had already been made for him. By others. His lips felt dry. Dryer than the penis tip. He opened his lips and salivated on its end. Wetting it. Making it acceptable. Making the unacceptable acceptable. Open. Open wider. Feel the obtrusive knob on the inside of his lips, in his mouth even. Wet now from his mouth. Soft and firm and wet. Easier to accept. 'Accept', the inner voice said. 'It is only a plastic tube. Accept. Resistance is not worth the effort.' And his own voice. 'Think about escape. This is only temporary. It does not matter. Think about escape.' 'Accept' the voices said. His mouth closed over it. His hand pressed it in deeper. Deeper until it filled his mouth. Filled and dominated his mouth. Wet and moist and slippery now he moved it to and fro. Back and forth. He felt the soft outer skin slide over the hardness of the cock. In and out, back and forth. Over its erect hard core. And he sucked. And sucked. Moved it in and out. His lips firm against the outer skin, moving it over the inner hardness, and he sucked. Mechanically he moved it in and out, mechanically he sucked. Until his jaws ached. Nothing happened. He stopped. He had got so far. Put it in his mouth. Sucked on it. Wasted effort, wasted humiliation if he stopped now. Maybe it was faulty? Three or four minutes passed before he slid the DVD into its slot and pressed the 'play' button. It led him through it. Step by step. Lick by lick. Tongue caress by tongue caress. Suck by suck, All the variations of intensity. All the manipulations of the ball sack. Graphically shown in close ups. The voice over cajoling, instructing, encouraging. The butt plug awoke and squirmed into life as the penis kicked in his hand. And then spasmed and a warm glutinous stringy thick salty-sweet, creamy viscosity surged into his mouth, swirled round his teeth and gums. Spurt upon spurt, filling, over filling, until his cheeks bulged like a well fed hamster's before escaping in long stringy threads from the corners of his mouth. Desperately he swallowed lest it burst forth and cover his entire front. Lest it run down his chest and into the declivity that marked his new tits. Swallowed the thick glutinous substance. And the creature inside him, down there, thrummed and seemed to swell in sympathy with the fake orgasm. Chapter 24. The taste remained in his mouth. Swallowing still left strands coiled in his mouth. Persistent smooth strands that wrapped themselves around his teeth. The small cartouche of imitation semen had self ejected and now lay in his right hand. The OGTA itself, the artificial penis, was in his left, a strand of its discharge still running, uncoiling slowly down its length and over his fingers. He had hit a new low. He tried to think of escape. To use the experience, the humiliation to steel his resolve. This could not continue. Something had to give. He went to the bathroom and washed his mouth out. Over and over he washed his mouth out, trying to eliminate not only the taste but the memory of the taste. And his own cock hardened as the thing thrummed inside him still. It drove him on to clean his mouth and the thought of what it had been privy to. He undressed whilst running the bath. His body cried out for complete cleansing. Down to panties and bra and the thing inside him stopped vibrating. Stooping he swung the lever into its downward position and tried to extract it. To pull it out .... This time no gradual introduction of the thickly tapered end but the harsh abrupt shoulder. It hurt. But he had already been stretched once and this time it was easier. And the pain was sudden, if intense, and after the shoulder it slid out easily, expelling itself, leaving the orifice gaping, empty. He flushed the soiled sheath down the loo. Cleansed the hated plug with a disinfectant solution that he found in the bathroom cabinet. Washed his hands. Removed bra and panties and stepped into the bath. Lay there and let the hot perfumed water seep into his body. Lay there until the water was lukewarm. Trying to plan his escape. Going over various permutations of what could or could not happen. Blocking out all thoughts other than those of escape. Especially all thoughts of the penis that had been in his mouth, of the plug that had been in his arse. That were destined to return. Out of the bath he dried himself slowly. Rubbed the anti adhesive cream around his breasts. With a fit of rebellion he consigned the butt plug back to its box. He had had enough for one day Tomorrow perhaps he would have to. But no more today. It was only a small useless gesture, but he had had enough. And then he remembered. Remembered his last small gesture, the last time he had stuck a metaphorical two fingers up to authority. Remembered his not sitting to pee, his sleeping without wearing a nightie. The trouble that had brought in its train. He couldn't risk a repetition of that. Not when he was set on escaping and needed to avoid doing anything that might prejudice his plans. Reluctantly, slowly he repeated the routine of inserting the butt plug. The sheath, the anal lubricant, all the deeply embarrassing rigmarole. The pain was less this time thank God. Perhaps because he was already slightly stretched. Perhaps because he was already lubricated inside to some extent. Perhaps because his thrust was less tentative. Whatever the reason the moment when his sphincter muscles closed over the shoulder and embedded the plug inside him was more easily achieved. Only eight thirty. Too early for sleep. David redressed and went to sit before the TV, whose anodyne programmes he watched until it was bed time. Watched without seeing, his mind haunted by the possibilities that existed beyond the Holding Wing, once through the doors of Janet or Laura. And once out could he resume his life outside? Would his flat still be there in his name? Would it be safe to return there? 11 o'clock and the plug left him in peace. Hope formed inside him that he could at least get a night's undisturbed sleep. He had half expected it. They had nothing to gain by him dropping with fatigue. He undressed again. Cleaned his teeth. Cleansed himself of make-up. Applied moisturising cream. A little more of the breast adhesive softener, just for luck. Donned the gossamer silk baby-doll. Checked himself in the cheval glass and heard his inner voice murmur in approval that he really was rather dishy. Escape. Concentrate on escape. Sleep came quickly. As did the dreams. Unremarkable dreams. Not at all disturbing, they troubled not his sleep. Unleashed no demons. Provoked no nightmares, no waking covered in sweat. Perhaps he would have been happier if they had done. They differed in one aspect, one aspect only from the dreams to which he was accustomed. In them he was female. Sexy, attractive and, above all, enjoyably female. He had indeed escaped but to a feminine world. Wakening brought him a consciousness centred on a spreading warmth which even as he surfaced into the reality of the morning, became an insistent, and now familiar vibration. It was 7 o'clock and another day, an inspection day, had begun. Initially he just lay there, the vibration bringing back the awareness of his plight. His penis stirred, became hard. His body responding in spite of himself. With an effort he tumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. There he extracted the still moving plug, consigned the sheath to the loo and, flushing it away in a preliminary act of distaste, sat there himself to empty both his body and his mind of waste. Easier for his body than for his mind. He had to concentrate. Whatever the day brought he had to hold on terrier fashion to the need to escape. Everything else was of no importance. Whatever hoops he had to jump through he would, and with every appearance of doing so willingly, enthusiastically. Whatever Grace de Messembry ordained, whatever humiliation she had in store, he must welcome, smile and welcome. His dress and behaviour must be beyond reproach. And if she found reproach in what was beyond reproach, that too he must smilingly accept. He carefully applied a generous layer of the Venumar Depilatory cream to his body and legs, waited five minutes and showered it off. A hot perfumed bath followed, in which bliss he luxuriated in spite of himself. He lingered, languished, in the hot water. Five minutes passed. Then ten. He moved reluctantly to get out . And was aware that his breasts were half unattached. They peeled off almost with their own weight as he sat upright. He placed them on the bath side. His skin underneath was pale, almost greyish but still firm and seemingly healthy. Then the careful shaving of his face and the application of the creams and unguents that had become come almost second nature to him. Then the re-insertion of the cursed plug. Re-sheathed, re-lubricated. Still painful, excruciatingly so, as he pushed, paused, pushed, praying for that moment of relief when his sphincter muscles closed over its shoulder, settling it deep inside him. Settling the hateful intruder deep inside him. Back in his room he donned a girdle as he had worn on that first Friday. And searched his wardrobe for sheer stockings to roll up his legs and fasten to its tabs. Then his cock tucked decisively between his leg, he stepped into, and pulled the satiny, lace edged panties in the attractive deep champagne colour, up over his thighs and smoothed it over the girdle. And his inner voice approved. Laura found him seated before the dressing table carefully applying eye shadow. She was fulsome in her praise. "Such progress darling!" She brought with her new breast forms. "Just a mite perkier darling! I thought that the dress would benefit from a fractional uplift." Her fingers traced circles over the flat surface of his chest. "Mmmm such a pity that they don't allow hormonal treatment in the Holding Wing Sophie darling. Your skin does need a rest. Perhaps we will have to go back to loose breast forms for a few days next week." She placed a finger on David's lips. "Don't say a word dear. I know it is a disappointment, but we have to do what is best for you, and your skin does need a rest. Any way that is for the future. We must have you looking your best today and a little longer will do no harm. Just hold it there .... and .... and .... the new breasts were placed on his chest, held there for what seemed an age, then released as Laura's fingers smoothed the edges, blending them in to his skin. "Love your choice of panties sweetie, and the matching bra will look a dream with these new blouse bunnies." So saying she left his side to forage in his wardrobe, returning to slip the bra in question over his shoulders, fastening it behind his back. "There darling, don't you look scrumptious!" She gave him a little cheek-to-cheek hug. She giggled gently. Do you remember your first bra Sophie dear, such a shy protesting girl you were then. Janet and I had almost to trick you into it. And I bet you can't imagine life now without it? So very sexy!" In the mirror David saw his upper half, curvaceous with his pretty deep champagne bra caressing the breasts that indeed looked to now be a natural part of him. If he were a girl, he thought, he would indubitably be pleased with what he saw. And the inner voice smiled and whispered 'If only he were a girl.' No not that. Don't listen. Concentrate on getting through today. What happened today didn't matter. Go with the flow. Get through the day. He forced himself to compartmentalise his mind. He must please Grace de Messembry. He must escape. The second might depend on the first. But don't mix them up. Christ! The warmth, the vibration was starting again, his body almost welcoming in its response. Laura was still talking. " .... Must drop in on Anne and Emma Sophie dear. Continue the good work. Mrs. Townsend will be here in twenty minutes just to apply the finishing touches and then we can all meet for breakfast at about a quarter past nine." Another hug and she was moving to the door. "Such progress Sophie. I am sure Grace de Messembry will be delighted. Just think confidence!" By the time he joined the others he was in band box condition. He had sprayed his throat specially and his voice was an attractive husky contralto. Anne, Emma and himself. Three delightful girls at ease with themselves and each other. If they were at all apprehensive, it only showed in an increased animation, an increased self-awareness which was perhaps reflected in bearing and hand movements. Laura presiding as usual, but no exhortation now. Just friendly chat. All the preparatory work done. Perfection attained. At the adjoining table Christine and Alice were huddled in deep conversation. Also immaculate in preparation but seemingly a little on edge. No sign of Janet Saggren nor of Coralie. Their unease communicated itself to Laura. She smiled at her own brood as she rose from the table. "I will just pop and see if Janet could do with a hand darlings. Perhaps Coralie is having last minute nerves, the poor dear. Emma, would you make sure you are all on the roof garden well before ten. Including Alice and Christine of course" She rummaged in her bag and produced a mobile phone which she gave to Emma. "I will give you a ring dear when I know what is happening." When she had gone they stayed sipping their coffee and theorising on possible problems with Coralie until, at twenty to ten, Emma shepherded them all to the roof garden. It was laid out as the last time. The same table for drinks and canap?s. Beyond the summerhouse apart from the usual tables and chairs there was the larger wooden table with the additional green leather easy chairs. The girls stood around chatting, a little lost without their two guiding lights. As usual Christine and Alice had drifted a little apart from Laura's brood. At a quarter to ten Emma's phone rang. She listened, nodded, and placing it back in her purse and, raising her voice so that Christine and Alice were included, said. "Nothing to worry about, but poor Coralie is proving a little recalcitrant apparently. Laura didn't elaborate. Just rang to assure us that there is nothing to worry about, but that if they, Janet, Coralie and she, don't make it before Grace de Messembry and Helen Vanbrugh arrive, I am to welcome them, assure them that they are on the way, present their excuses, and generally hold the fort as it were." A few more minutes and then the clatter of heels on the approach stairs. They all turned to see Grace De Messembry heading towards them, a half pace ahead of Helen. Emma glided forward, conscious of her new duties and the need for composure. She stopped and the others could hear her greeting and explanation, her excuses, as she turned, accompanying them in their progress to the other waiting girls. David as always was struck by the sheer force of Grace de Messembry's personality. The moment that she appeared the atmosphere radically changed. All were constantly aware of her. She radiated power. Beauty too of course, but other women were also beautiful. Helen Vanbrugh could lay almost equal claim to that. What Grace de Messembry had was a radiant commanding confidence. It was impossible to describe. Impossible to analyse, to explain. But one felt it. One could not help feeling it. It was a physical, almost tangible, force. A sort of horizontal gravity. As they drew near Helen veered off to join Christine and Alice. Grace de Messembry with Emma in tow greeted Anne and Sophie with that amused glint in her eye that David had so come to dread. "Anne and Sophie, two of my very favourite girls! What a delight to see you looking so absolutely lovely." Her calm, perfectly formed smile embraced them both. Anne and David both inclined their heads in respect as they murmured their greetings. The gesture was not lost on Grace de Messembry. "My how polite everyone is this morning! Quite the young ladies. Maybe I should have you taught how to curtsey?" Her laugh cut across Anne's deferential, "As you please Miss de Messembry." "My dear Anne of course I have no intention of indulging in outmoded practices such as that. Victorian reverences are quite out off place here. I like to think of us all as equals, mutually contributing to our little society. Each adding what they can to the achievement of the desired goal. Anyway we can provide enough melodrama of our own. What do you think Sophie dear?" As usual in her presence, David had to search for words, fearful that they might be misinterpreted, or that they might not be sufficient, feeling that she probably had already second guessed his answer. To add to his difficulties he was, as usual, unsure as to the question or its implication. He chose non-committal banality. Sheltering behind his friend. "I agree with Anne, Miss de Messembry. We rely on your guidance and of course we all want to please you, to do the best we can to .... to fulfil our r?le here." The green eyes turned on him, sparkling with amusement. "Dear girl you can do better than that! You disappoint me. I thought we were becoming such friends, and you still treat me like a stranger. Worse like an elderly headmistress. You must shake off this nervousness and confide in me without reserve. Treat me just as you would a darling elder sister." Her gaze rested on the other two. "Mustn't she Emma? Anne? I as I hope you all do!" The perfection that was a right eyebrow lifted inquisitorially. "Anyway that is not what I meant. The mutuality of our ambition here is something which I am sure I can confidently take for granted. I meant the Victorian melodrama aspect Sophie dear. Your virginal response to Nigel's advances for example. I did so enjoy that little show of spirit." Her lips twitched at the corners. "I am led to understand that you have become perhaps slightly less virginal in the last fortnight Sophie dear, so perhaps in future you will be less antagonistic to young men's natural urges?" The right eyebrow edged even higher. David was mortified, Felt the colour rise to his cheeks. The bloody woman knew everything! "I am sorry if you think I over reacted Miss de Messembry." "Don't be silly Sophie dear. As I said at the time, I wouldn't have missed it for the worlds. I was just teasing you. It is so worthwhile, you blush so divinely. There are natural gifts a girl has, that no art nor training can instil. And with you it is that natural colour rising so spontaneously to your cheeks. Quite delicious." She directed her attention to the others "What do I need to say to get you to blush so prettily Anne? Or are you a more hardened sophisticate?" As her spotlight switched away from him, David tried to regroup his mental energies. Emma had remained silent throughout the exchange and from her vantage point slightly behind and to one side of Grace de Messembry she smiled and winked at him in sympathy. It was with relief that David heard heels clicking on the stairs presaging the arrival of Laura, Janet and Coralie. Grace de Messembry was already turning back to him, poised to inflict further humiliation. "So looking forward to our little chat about your progress Sophie dear. Helen and I have a few ideas we would like to run past you ...." Laura was in the lead, hurrying towards them, full of apologies. "Miss de Messembry, Helen, We're so dreadfully sorry, Janet and I, and of course Coralie. A few last minute hitches. Quite our fault I am afraid. Poor Coralie had an attack of nerves. Poor darling, a bit overawed by the occasion I am afraid. I was just helping Janet and ...." Grace de Messembry was all forgiveness. "Dear Laura, Janet, please don't give it a moment's thought. Emma is a real jewel and she has been an absolute marvel in your absence. And you know I always adore having the chance to have a little informal friendly chat with the girls. Bonding isn't it called?" David looked beyond her to Janet and Coralie. The latter was doll like, blonde hair cascading down, rose petal lips, eyes highlighted by the blue of her eye shadow, complexion flawless. Pretty as a picture, albeit slightly unsteady on her 3" heels. As alive as a picture. Face dead. Only her eyes glittered in the mask. She was slightly ahead of Janet who seemed to be positioned to prevent any change of mind she might have. Any last minute escape from her ordeal. Laura and Grace de Messembry were still vying with each other in the game of compliments as Coralie, far from showing reluctance to join them, increased her pace, leaving Janet behind. As she passed the summerhouse she seemed to stumble and nearly fell, her hand reaching out and steadying herself on a flower bedecked urn. Then she broke into a tottering trot towards them. Tears were now streaming down her face channelling her make up so painstakingly applied. She roughly barged aside Emma, who had turned to her in greeting, sending her sprawling. Anne gave a little cry and moved to help Emma who had fallen half on the path, half on the lawn. And then David saw the knife. The blade a long glint of silver in the morning sun. High above Coralie's head, high in her right hand as she lunged towards them. David had been the First XV's scrum half at school, and the First XI's wicket keeper and had had a trial for his county Under 18s in both positions. Automatically, without thought, he reacted, pivoting and sweeping in low in a tackle, his near arm moving upwards to deflect Coralie's knife arm, as she launched herself at Grace de Messembry. But his rugby and cricket had never been played wearing 3" heels. Nor had he ever played in a skirt reaching to mid-calf. Nor then contended with the shifting weight of breasts. Nor with a vibration deep inside him that now arrived on cue to mark the coming of the hour. He stumbled off balance. The tackle turned into a sort of clumsy body block. And his half turned body was unprotected from the downward sweep of the knife which sliced into his left breast and down beyond. David felt the cold burning sting and saw the knife half raise again. He grappled with Coralie, his right arm holding her left, and took another knife blow from her right. Staggering backwards, still frantically clasping Coralie, the back of his knees encountered Emma rising from all fours and he somersaulted backwards over her body. Falling he saw a red peony blossom on his chest, the petals drooping down, darkening as they stained the material of his dress. His head hit the stone edging of the path and a diamond light exploded against a purple backdrop in his skull. Exploded into blinding bright scintillas, splintering into a myriad dagger fragments. Bright fragments that died and were absorbed into the deep purple blackness Infinite blackness. And then ... Nothing.