Bianca Paragon Part Two
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Bianca Paragon - Part One free porn video
Foreword: Dear Readers, I wrote this story nearly 20 years ago. Now,
thanks to my new French friend Avaro Le Banni, who searched his archive
and forwarded a copy to me, I am pleased to post Bianca Paragon here.
The story has four parts and this is only the first. The rest will be
posted shortly. - Best wishes, Toxis.
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BIANCA PARAGON
A Tale Of Love Perfected
by
TOXIS
ON THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - NORTH OF EL MORO, CALIFORNIA
Oren shifted his seat as best he could. Even with the air conditioning at
full blast, he was sticking to the vinyl seat. Damn, I keep telling
myself to get the Freon checked.
His grey sedan threaded its way up Pacific One, snaking along the cliff
face. Oren looked at his watch. There was time for lunch and to stretch
his legs and still be home for dinner. Maybe the roadside place by Big
Sur. Or should he hold on until he was north of the tourist traps?
The sun bounced off harsh afternoon glare into his eyes. Oren was
prepared for it, he knew the coast run north well. Dark glacier glasses,
and he had long ago lost interest in sightseeing along the way. Traffic
had slowed. Hundreds of feet in the air, a two lane highway over the
ocean, Oren tried to pay attention.
Oren didn't notice the car behind him. Sometimes close. Sometimes far
back. Shiny and cared for. Old, maybe a '61 or a '62 Buick, black, and
looking like it just left the showroom. The man in the Buick kept his
distance. Hair short and neat, a pair of dark framed glasses. Nondescript
man, old car. Following since Los Angeles.
Oren Hartman parked the road-grimy car in front of the food stand. This
was a good place to eat after a long drive. He had been on the road since
Ensenada and 3:30 A.M. He was hungry. Yoti could get a couple of dogs, a
shake and fries, and head into Big Sur park, find a spot with a view and
watch the ocean.
The breakers rolled in and crashed, washed away what didn't belong, left
everything a little more simple. Ocean watching was Oren's secret
pleasure. Erosi0n. Turning mountains to cliffs, cliffs to rocks, rocks to
smooth beach pebbles, and pebbles to sand. It added time to the twelve
hour trip but Oren had always made the effort.
Another pilgrim came out on the point. Oren's annoyance flared. Christ,
didn't this guy get it? Oren had made the small flat top of a cliff,
seated by a wind warped juniper, his vantage place. The place was perfect
because it was too crowded for two, just right for one.
Oren's intruder strolled to the edge, where clean green grass became
chaotic, falling cliff stone. The stranger inspected - the grass, the
cliff, ocean, the forest - studying, watching, what?
Oren stood up. There was twinge in his right leg. Damn, it happens more
and more. He bent a little to stretch, resolved to go to the gym or walk
or something. Small and slim, he never had and he fully planned to break
his promise as soon as he made it. Like always. still bending, working
out the cramp, Oren saw the feet, shiny black lace up shoes, cheap clean
black pants and white socks, of his unwelcome fellow traveler coming
near. Oren looked up.
What an odd looking guy. The shirt was plaid and well pressed, but worn.
The hair was thinning and combed back. You thought you were looking at an
old man but, Oren realized, this person was about the same age as he was.
Kind of like this stranger was pretending. No, impersonating! Being
someone older. Who would want to do that? Despite himself, Oren was
curious.
I wonder what he wants, Oren was going to ask. He didn't see the stun gun
and, after the first shock, didn't feel anything. Not his fall to the
ground, not his rise and fall or the stumbled steps as Oren was carried
back through the woods, nor did he smell the musty cedar aroma of long
and neatly stored blankets as he was gently lowered into the Buick's big
trunk.
Just before midnight, Oren's wife called the Highway Patrol. The car was
spotted by Park Rangers the next day. Oren had disappeared somewhere near
the ocean was all they could conclude. Something loose washed away,
eroded and gone. The police made their reports and opened a Missing
Persons file.
A nice lady from the Police Department who was paid with a federal grant
to hold missing husband's wives' hands and say "There, There" made her
allotted stops to chant her "I'm okay, You're okay!" mantra of cold
comfort.
But absent a body or some other reason to think more than that one more
husband had given himself the right to roam, there would be no search.
And Oren was too old to be a picture on the sides of supermarket milk
cartons.
Mrs. Oren Hartman continued to set his place at the table each night, her
ongoing act of faith, but she stopped buying food for two.
OREN'S STORY
"Please calm yourself, Bianca". The roadside stranger washed the plaster
mix from his hands before it dried.
Oran couldn't move his head to follow the voice, to see the stranger who
had kidnapped him. What did he want? Money? Oren didn't have any. He was
a salesman, for Christ's sake. They were lucky to make the bills. With a
loan on the house and using up all the credit and borrowing what she
could, Joan, his wife, might come up with forty or fifty thousand, he
hoped.
If it was money, why hadn't this nut said so? Do I say anything? This guy
is crazy. I start talking, he might kill me. "Bianca, I want you to stay
quite still until all the casts set."
In a white doctor's coat, a mirrored reflector on his head, stethoscope
around his neck, Oren's captor looked so serious.
Young Dr. Kildare with a few screws loose.
Oren realized that his captor was young, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two.
Oren was thirty. Did that mean something? Would it help or hinder? How
much would a kid know? Oren had been around, spent a lot of time across
the Mexican border, seen some crazy things.
Can I talk my way out of this? Not like this, I can't, Oren quietly
groaned.
Oren was spread eagled on the hospital bed. His arms and legs were casted
and pulled to the corners in traction. A surgical corset compressed and
straightened his torso. A neck collar forced him to stare at the ceiling,
where a big mirror reflected back his situation.
An inflated gag filled his mouth. Why was an IV bag dripping into his
thigh? There was a permanent IV tube inserted and taped in place.
What was going on? This was no hospital, he wasn't hurt and this wacko
was no doctor.
A medication reservoir angled off from the clear IV line. Oren could just
see it if he arched his neck. Dr. Screwloose prepped a hypodermic and
injected a blue liquid into the reservoir. Oren could read the label of
the drug. He read it said and shuddered.
Oren sold medical office supplies, things like desks and stationary and
medical forms, especially forms. He had gotten to know a lot about the
medical business, especially the drugs. He knew what was in the IV. He
was going to receive the strongest female hormones available. The sex
change clinic in San Ysidro used them; Oren had seen the results in the
clinic's waiting room. Busty, soft boys waiting in line to become
surgical girls.
Oren tried to get up. The plaster might still be wet. I've got to try.
His captor noticed and quickly picked up the needle from the examining
table. The cotton ball guarding the needle's tip was removed and a quick
spray purged any bubble of fatal air. It might just be better to die than
this. Oren winced as the needle punctured his arm.
It was warm. More than warm, hot. And fuzzy. Oren couldn't clear his
vision. It was impossible to concentrate on anyone thing. He stared at
the mirror, at himself, making a perfect cross on the bed.
II. LATER
Please drink all the liquid in your feeding pouch, Bianca". He was
"Bianca" now. Dr. Screwloose called him that, and only that. It was
Portuguese, Oren thought. Must mean about the same as "blanca" in
Spanish, "white" I "blank".
Dutifully, Oren sucked on the feeding tube taped into his mouth. The bag
was filled with cheap sucrose IV, laced with megadoses of hormones, some
sedatives, vitamins and gelatin. The doctor mixed the brew up at bedside.
Since Oren's attempt to resist, the Doctor kept him sedated. Oren used to
be able to feel the dosage cumulate. That had been weeks ago. There had
been times when his mind cleared and Oren would try to think of a way
out. But the clear times had gone and the warm haze here all the time
now.
Oren waited while the Doctor poured the rest of his lunch into the
hanging bag. Without being asked, Oren resumed his constant sucking.
Why am I here?
It was the only thought that he could still summon on his own. The Doctor
talked to him all the time, told him so many things. Was any of it true?
What did the doctor want?
How long have I been here? What's happening to me? Why am I here?
III. BEFORE
Oren had been on the bed for five days. That son-of-a-bitch fed him
nothing but drugged pablum, three times a day. It was never enough. He
was always hungry.
Slowly, Oren pulled first his arms, then his legs, up. They couldn't
move, bound in traction to the stainless steel posts at the corners. I'm
not going to waste away lying here. I can fight him. Stay strong. He
pulled against his bindings until his limbs burned with the effort. Pain
was gain.
The door opened and Dr. Screwloose walked in. That was Oren's name for
his captor. The creep had never offered up a name for himself.
Sitting by the bed on a high stool, Oren could see him. Time for bedside
manner and another one of those crazy speeches he gave.
"Good Morning, Bianca".
My name's not Bianca, you creep. Oren. Oren Hartman. Oren wanted to
scream but the thick gag precluded that.
"I wanted to tell you that my tests show that you are responding well to
the medication. Especially the hormone regimen. There is a strong
potential for side effects, if not managed well, but you seem to be doing
just fine."
"And you've lost four pounds already. Isn't that good news!"
What was this loon talking about? Oren tried to shy away as the doctor
injected him with something. The sedative again, he recognized. Always
the sedative and then the talk. Oren tried not to listen any more to what
Dr. Screwloose said. It didn't make any sense and he was crazy anyway.
It was too hard to concentrate and why bother.
"Bianca, do you remember what I told you? Why I brought you here? What's
happening to you?" Oren's eyes were rolled back. Dr.
Screwloose checked his patient's state of unconsciousness and smiled. It
was the first time he had done that since he entered the room.
"Now that I have your attention, let me remind you of what you have
forgotten."
"I brought you here, my darling, because I love you, or that is to say,
what you will become. And you will love me too." His tone precise, maybe
precious, a daddy talking to his little girl, the Doctor evenly continued
his instruction.
"Passionately. Perfectly. You will learn your love for me."
"I picked you because you are not polluted by the false truths of our
society. You have not been taught that the vagina entitles you to lie and
deceive, to be faithless."
"You are small for a man. Many women are bigger than you. I will make you
smaller yet. Slimmer and smaller than you would ever believe. I will give
you soft skin and long silky hair. You will have full breasts and hips
and a tiny waist."
His hand began to caress Oren, his hair and then, his breasts.
"You will become perfect, unspoiled by the lies. Trained and molded and
perfected. I will spare you the distorted teachings that make a trap of
the vagina."
"But you will pay a price too. The hormones will shrink you, make you
impotent, castrate you. You will do this for me as another act of your
love."
"Do you know what love is, Bianca? Your name, Bianca Paragon, the name I
picked for you, do you know what it means? Why it was selected for you?"
Oren made no response as his captor talked, for hours, about the time to
come and Bianca's future. It didn't matter if Oren remembered. He would
find out soon enough.
In the twilight, the Doctor stood, gazing on his becoming effeminate
captive. In the soft golden light, Bianca seemed very young, a child.
She has so much to learn.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pink leather covered book. A
little strap ending in a golden lock held it shut. A darling little
girl's diary. It waited on the night table for Bianca, its owner to
awaken.
IV. AN EXCERPT
Dearest Diary,
My dar1ing Doctor Victor gave you to me to keep all my girlish secrets. I
have to obey the Rules and I want to write them down right away, just the
way my Beloved instructed me.
First, I am a girl. My name is Bianca Paragon.
Second, I can speak only when spoken too.
Third, I must be perfect in everything I do.
Fourth, I must tell you, My Diary, all my inner feelings as I become a
perfect woman and I must tell you in every entry of my love for my
Dearest Doctor Victor.
His name is Victor. It is a strong name and I am so lucky that he wants
to make me his bride. Of course, I must prove myself worthy by striving
to meet his wishes.
I will practice my penmanship in you until I am letter perfect. I wi11
give you to my Love to read so that he can see my innermost secrets.
I belong to him.
Bianca
V. THREE MONTHS
"Bianca."
Oren looked up. The page of his diary was filled with a practiced flowery
script. Bianca Paragon. He was learning to sign his name. Simple things.
"Bianca, it's time to try walking again."
Oren made no resistance to being called Bianca. The name seemed natural
to him. Why was that? Sometimes, he was unsure of his purpose for being
there. The Doctor kept explaining that this was a special hospital and
that he was very lucky.
Bianca put down his pen. There was no blue ink on the little white gloves
he wore. That was good. The Doctor would be pleased that Bianca had been
careful. That was one of the rules. He could be so angry when Bianca was
not perfect, when her gloves were not white.
When will he tell me his full name, Bianca wondered. Bianca slowly stood
up. The casts had come off not long ago. His arms and legs were very
thin, pale and weak as well. Little incisions marked the knees and
elbows, under the arms, tucked back inside the thighs. Certain, tendons
and muscles had been weakened or cut away. Movement was no longer to be
taken for granted.
"Please, Bianca, go to the path and prepare your posture."
Bianca stood, back against the mirror, and slid down until the curve of
his spine flattened on the cold glass. Bianca slowly rose again, his back
keeping to the flatness of the glass. His shoulders fell back stiffly.
"When you walk, Bianca, move your leg from the hip, please. The knee does
not bend." Bianca took a first stiff step. His legs ached with the
strain. And a next, and a next. His hips rotated to allow the legs room
to move.
"Your arms do not move, Bianca. Keep them by your sides and please keep
your hands bent up and away from your body." It wasn't hard to do. Bianca
made the effort to still his upper body, not bothered by the increased
motion in his hips.
"You are doing well, My Sweet One. Let's see how long you can walk at two
miles per hour."
The treadmill started. An easy pace, Bianca could keep up?, even mincing
as he was. Doing well, the doctor was happy. Bianca smiled.
"Bianca, you're smiling. That is not permitted. Give yourself two
demerits."
Bianca swept the smile off his face. Doctor Victor did not like the show
of emotion. It was part of Rule No.3. Bianca always had the same perfect
expression. Neither happy nor sad, just stiff and calm. Why was that the
rule? The Doctor said it was all part of trying to be perfect.
VI.
"Doctor, I'm not a girl."
"You have breasts, don't you?"
"Yes, Doctor, but really I'm not a girl." Bianca sat, his arms across his
chest, covering his developing breasts. In front of him on the vanity
rested a white laced brassiere.
"Only girls need bras, Bianca, for their big breasts. You have breasts
and soon, they will be big. You need a bra to support your growing
breasts." It went unsaid that, bra'd and breasted, Bianca must be a girl.
"Something happened to me. You did something to me. I shouldn't need a
bra", Bianca whined. He made no other attempt to resist.
"Bianca, put on the brassiere the way I taught you and do it now."
Petulantly, Bianca picked up the garment. It was all lace and panels and
wiring. He drew it behind his back and closed the snaps. Drawing the cups
to the front, he delicately pulled the band to just below his breasts and
leaned forward. Carefully, he fitted one then the other breast into its
cup and slipped the straps over each shoulder.
The underwiring and padding made each breast bulge from the low cut lace
cup. The straps helped jut the two breasts forward. Bianca looked very
busty.
"Whose bra are you wearing, Bianca?"
"I'm wearing my bra, Doctor."
"And who are you?"
"My name is Bianca, Doctor."
"Tell me, Dearest, who wears a bra?"
"Bianca wears a bra, my flame."
"Why does Bianca wear a bra?"
"Bianca wears a bra to support his growing breasts." The Doctor smiled at
the idea of "his" breasts. He did not smile often and this was the first
time today.
"If you wear bras, Darling, what else must you wear?"
Bianca looked confused. It was a trick question. The Doctor was always
asking him trick questions. And it was so hard to answer, his mind was
too cloudy.
"I don't know, Honey."
"If girls wear bras, don't they wear panties as well? Put on the panties
that came with your bra, Bianca."
Bianca slid the filmy, lace panties up his slim shaven thighs. A thong
disappeared in the crease of his creamy rear cheeks. In front, the lace
panel barely covered his flaccid penis, showing off his shaved groin.
"And the anklets." Bianca pulled on the little white ankle sock and, when
the Doctor told him, the white high heeled shoes.
"Doctor, please." Bianca's voice was quiet and flat. Like his face, it
held no trace of emotion.
"I'm really not a girl. These are girl's clothes. Please don't dress me
like this."
The Doctor motioned Bianca to stand. Timidly, he did so. There had been
accidents, painful falls, things broken, unless Bianca was very careful.
"Come look at yourself in the mirror, Pretty One."
Bianca could see himself. His growing breasts, his wider hips, his waist
looked small. Bianca's hair was long enough to be tied today with a pink
ribbon. In his heels, he was still several inches shorter that the Doctor
but his legs looked very long and slim.
"Describe for me what Bianca looks like, my dear".
Bianca stammered a little. It was all mixed up and embarrassing. He
shouldn't be dressed like this or look like this. Why was the Doctor
doing this to him?
"Bianca is wearing white lace panties and a matching bra to hold her
breasts. Her hair is tied in a ribbon and she has high heels on."
Bianca's face was very red.
Incomplete, the Doctor thought. Bianca would learn but a good start. I
like that bit especially, Bianca referring to himself as "her". The
Doctor put his hand on Bianca's soft panty-clad rump. Bianca flinched but
did not pull away.
"You must be very embarrassed to be dressed this way."
The Doctor was so right. Bianca was embarrassed nearly to tears by her
bareness.
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable with a nice dress to wear?"
"Doctor", Bianca whined but he didn't say that he was not a girl and
didn't wear dresses.
VII. FIVE MONTHS
"Doctor, do you like my dress?" This was another little ritual of the
day. Whenever Bianca saw the Doctor, he asked if the Doctor liked his
dress. It had been embarrassing to ask, almost as bad as the first time
Bianca had looked at himself in the mirror wearing a short pink trapeze
dress.
"Very sweet, my darling girl."
Doctor Victor always referred to Bianca as a girl now. Bianca didn't
bother to protest any more. The Doctor never seemed to listen.
"Come here, precious, I have a new injection for you."
Bianca pulled down his panties and lay down on the obstetrics examining
table. The Doctor fit his feet to the stirrups and gently massaged
Bianca's limp penis. The needle went into his left cheek. It didn't hurt
much and that was good. Sometimes, they hurt a lot!
"Let me tell you what this shot will do for you, darling."
The romantic talk was part of the rules too. Part of Bianca's love for
Doctor Victor. The Doctor always called Bianca something romantic, like
they were lovers. Bianca would tell him to stop: He would laugh and touch
Bianca in naughty ways. It didn't matter.
"A girl is timid, demure. She would never speak unless spoken to, or
voice an opinion. You used to tell me that you didn't wear dresses,
didn't you?" Bianca sheepishly nodded. He couldn't remember the last time
he hadn't worn a dress.
"That was an opinion and it was wrong. The drug I've given you works on
the mind. It will make you nervous and high strung. You will be anxious
all the time and that will help to make you timid."
"When you make mistakes, people will laugh at you and because you are
high strung, you will cry. Then, people will laugh at your tears. Soon,
you will be very concerned about what people think of you, that they do
not laugh at you. Shy, timid, demure, the beginnings of learning to be a
girl."
Bianca couldn't stop twitching as he listened.
There was nothing to do and Bianca was bored. She sat endlessly,
forbidden to move from her seat. Too drugged to think much, she
vegetated, hoping for something to happen. Her only emotion now was
anxiety and her only outlet was boredom.
Bianca knew where she lived now but it didn't help. She was on the desert
border between Nevada and California. The house was built by a natural
spring that fed the house and a small swimming pool with cold fresh
water. The nearest neighbor was fourteen miles away, across Downey's Wash
and over the mountain pass. Town was 35 miles over the dirt road to the
interstate.
The smell of chemicals boiled to the surface by the relentless sun was a
constant tang in the air. At night, Bianca felt like he lived on the
surface of the moon.
VIII.
Dear Diary,
I measured myself today. I am 35 inches about the chest. Adding five
inches to that measurement and then measuring across my breasts, I can
add over two inches. That makes me a "B" cup. My waist is down to 24
inches and my hips are still too narrow at 36 inches.
I will have to tell my cherished Doctor Victor that I need new bras. I
know that he will be displeased that I still wear the same size panties.
How can I make this up to him?
Oren misses his wife. I know that Oren is gone forever. Doctor Victor was
right to make me burn the picture of Oren's wife. But he misses her so
much. I hope the Doctor will let Oren see her some time.
But I, Bianca, want my Dar1ing to take me into his arms and overwhelm me
with his kisses. I can only wait for the day he makes his.
Bianca
Bianca read her latest entry. At first, the diary seemed a welcome
diversion. Granted, he had been terrified at spilling ink on the pink
pages. Then, there was a relief in being able to express how he really
felt. How Oren felt about the inescapable process of feminization that
was overwhelming him.
Now it had become perhaps the most humiliating part of his captivity.
Every day, Bianca had to fill his diary with the sappiest dreams of
romantic longing. All for man who kept him captive.
I don't want to be taken in anyone's arms. I'm not gay! I'm really a man
inside - whatever happens to me. No one can change that or how I feel
about myself or my wife. Most of the over-heated diary talk came from the
potboiler romances left for Bianca to read. He had become adept in
remembering the steamier passages and filling his diary with them.
His? Her? Sometimes, Bianca found himself thinking like a girl. Thinking
about dresses or saying "herself" when he meant "himself". When the
Doctor spoke to him like Bianca was a girl, it seemed okay but I'm really
a man, after all. It's just that I look like a girl. Saying "her" and
"she" is just a way of speaking, like calling myself Bianca. It was
alright to do, wasn't it? I have to survive until I can escape, don't I?
Someone was coming to dinner. Who could it be? Bianca was so excited.
Company! Bianca would tell his story to whoever it was. Try to get help.
How he had been a man and how the Doctor had kidnapped him and was
turning him into Bianca, a girl, against his will, and could they help
him get free. Or maybe if not, could they tell her the Doctor's name? Who
she really was? And did he like Bianca, maybe he thought think Bianca was
pretty?
A plume of dust came up the wash road. A black Mercedes fishtailed in the
scrabble dirt, tossing a rooster tail of gravel up in back. Bianca waited
patiently for their guest to arrive.' He was so nervous! It was
impossible to stand still. It was the first new person he had seen in
.... in how long? How many months had he been here?
A tall woman - emaciated, Bianca 'thought ~ stepped out of the car. She
saw Bianca and stared, much like someone might look at a display in a
museum. Bianca looked down quickly and waited. It would never do for her
to meet someone's gaze.
Bianca could hear, but not see, Doctor Victor greet their guest and hear
their steps crunch on the gravel as they walked to the porch where he
stood.
"Regina, let me introduce to you my project, Bianca Paragon. Bianca
executed a little curtsey at the mention of his name, his eyes demurely
downcast. "Bianca, Miss Regina is here to teach you to be a proper young
lady. How to dress, how to fix your hair, your face, all the things
you'll need to know to satisfy me."
Bianca looked up timidly and saw the icy cold glare of hate in her new
teacher's eyes. What did they plan for him now?
"When Miss Regina's done with you, you'll be a new person."
Lianne
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Bianca Paragon Conclusion
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Bianca Paragon Part Three
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