Sissy Farm Chapter Twenty One
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Sissy Farm - Chapter Twenty-Eight free porn video
Sissy Farm - Chapter Twenty-Eight - By: Beverly Taff
List of Characters.
Me, Michelle: A Natural transvestite sissy;
Janice: My Younger sister;
Aunty Bev: Janice and My mother's Sister;
Mistress Janet: Headmistress of the young lady's academy;
Doctor Shirley Williams: My endocrinologist;
Miranda: A very effeminate Sissy sales assistant;
Miss Stern: Miranda's mistress who owns the shop;
Peregrine, AKA. Uncle Penny: My transvestite uncle. (Aunty Bev's brother.);
James, AKA. Auntie Jamie: Peregrine's Partner. (Soon to inherit
his/her fathers earldom.);
Victoria: An older RG friend of mine;
Jemima: Victoria's sissy brother;
Portia: Victoria's mummy;
Julia: My dining companion and mentor at
Mistress Janet's Academy;
Sophia and Angelica: Victoria and Jemima's friends;
Delilah & Nancy: My ex Attackers;
Davinia: Sissified Gypsy boy once called David;
John (Joanna) and Simone: Davinia's older gypsy brother and sister;
Isobel and Sally: The two youngest gypsy sisters;
Morag & William Bandy: The gypsy parents;
Uncle Arnold: Earl Weston's youner brother;
Cousin William: Arnold's son and Auntie Jamie's first cousin;
Elain: William's wife;
Jeanette: William's daughter (who fancies Julia
like crazy.);
Josephine & Persephone: Jenette's younger twin sisters;
Andre: Hair Stylist in New York;
Dawn Robbins: Singer and Actress;
Shirley and Jasmine: Friends from New York.
Sissy Farm - Chapter Twenty-Eight
We spent two weeks at my childhood haunts and as adults we even swam in
the little pool in the forest for the August sun had proved to be
unusually warm and enduring. Nearly all of our family of my generation
were down home for their various summer vacations. Shirley and Jasmine
were enchanted to go skinny dipping especially as adults and wondered
how it could be considered legal. We explained that the pool was
actually on our land and despite there being public rights of way
through the woods, none of them passed within sight of the pool. To get
to the pool without permission from our families, an intruder would have
to have committed trespass. Furthermore since the advent of the newer
housing estates around the village, Earl Weston had been forced to erect
secure fences to keep urban idiots out of the private parts of the woods
and to protect its precious antiquity. The County had managed to get it
declared as a site of Special Scientific Interest and that gave power to
our elbow in erecting fences to prevent uncontrolled access to the
stream and the secret pool.
Thus on hot sunny days the whole of my generation could be found
laughing and squealing like little kids as we indulged in our childhood
memories. Often not without a reflective tear as we recollected our
childhoods in the crystal waters of the pool.
Shirley laughingly wondered if the pool was a magic pool with unknown
transgendered properties. We all laughed but it was a sobering thought
that everybody in the pool that hot afternoon had some degree of
deviancy or transgenderism. Thus I recharged my batteries after three
years of academic rigour in New York.
During that brief holiday, Shirley and Jasmine had learned of Auntie
Jamie and Uncle Penny's business interests in London and they were
curious to stay in the city. I had some old family stuff to sort out
with Auntie Beverly and Squire Weston so Simone, Shirley and Jasmine
went up to town on the Monday whilst Janice and I agreed to follow them
up on the Tuesday. Janice was driving whilst I was checking over some
papers relating to our parent's estate now that Janice was twenty one
and the inheritance had reached its maturity. The final monies had been
released by the estate executors and we had to visit the bank. We never
noticed the pair of vehicles following us up the motorway until we
pulled into a service area. Janice went to get some coffees as I
annotated the notes. I suddenly found myself grabbed by strong muscular
hands and thrown into the back of a transit van. I tried to resist of
course, but I was a sissy and sissies had virtually no physical
strength. My kidnapper would have had more trouble kidnapping a kitten!
I recognised him straight away and my blood froze. Uncle William, my
Great Uncle Arnold's son! Because of my total lack of physical strength
he hardly had to use any force. That plus my naturally submissive
conditioning made it unbelievably easy for him. He simply grabbed my
slender shoulder with a seemingly iron vice-like grip and flung me
through the sliding side door into the transit that had parked right
alongside Janice's car. It was all over in seconds.
"In there you little bitch and no noise or that slender neck of yours
will be snapped like a carrot."
"What d'you want with me. Let me go!" I whimpered.
"Not likely you little bitch. You owe me and dad big time."
I sensed now, this had everything to do with his father Uncle Arnold
having raped me. Somewhere, not far in the background, Great Uncle
Arnold lay waiting.
William took the van onto the motorway again and drove at a sedate rate
to avoid drawing attention. White transit vans were probably the most
anonymous vehicles in Britain and certainly the best vehicle to avoid
any unwanted interest. I knew my situation was desperate. He stopped
briefly in a lay by where he handcuffed me and placed a thick sack over
my head; I would have no idea where I was being taken. Within a
couple of hours I was locked away in the cellar of a remote farmhouse
and hidden from the world. I could only wonder what the hell they had
planned for me. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn't going to be good.
The cellar was equipped with a double bed and all the accoutrements of a
whore's boudoir so there was no doubt what they had in mind. It wasn't
long before my fears were confirmed. The lock turned and my disgusting
great uncle Arnold entered with a revolting expression of lust clouding
his obscenely wrinkled features. He was in his eighties now but still
driven by a perverted lust for young flesh, my flesh! And of course,
skulking in the background was his equally obnoxious son William,
waiting his turn like some second rate hyena loitering at the kill until
the alphas of the clan had finished their pleasure. I knew what was
coming and braced for the violence. With loathsome creatures like these
two it was invariably preceded with violence. Usually enough to ensure
submission and with me that wasn't much. My mind set was all about
survival. I would offer no resistance, resistance and struggle was
something that accelerated their predatory instincts bringing them
greater pleasure and their victims worse violence.
Arnold advanced almost slavering with anticipation as I stood frozen and
unresponsive. He grabbed my slender waist and dragged me tight to him as
his other hand worked feverishly to remove my clothes.
"What's the matter you little bitch? No fight in you now is there?"
I said nothing. My survival plan was to turn myself into an unresponsive
slab of meat and hope that nothing I did or said would invite something
worse than what was already happening. I noticed that he was not ripping
the clothes off me, but slowly removing each item, carefully undoing
each button of my blouse then slowly sliding the back zipper of my
pencil skirt until I was standing there with just my bra and panties and
my wasp-waisted shaper.
Arnold knew what he was getting and he was savouring his dish with all
the sick, perverted anticipation of some ghoulish gourmet. He didn't
fling me onto the bed but invited me to lie on it. He knew I would obey,
I had no option but he was now twisting my 'co-operation' to his own
ends. Inside that perverted brain he seemed to think that my co-
operation was consent; that I somehow, was looking forward to his brutal
attentions.
With a sigh I flopped onto the bed and twisted on my stomach. Memories
of his last assault reminded me that he must have had some sort of male-
homosexual kink for he obviously preferred to take his victims from the
rear. Maybe there was some sort of guilt thing about looking his victims
in the face or whatever. I didn't know and didn't care. All I knew was
that if you were face down you stood less chance of having your face
smashed and you couldn't see the blows coming if you were going to get a
beating. It was also easier to curl up into the foetal position from a
kneeling or face down position. Once you were curled up it was difficult
for an attacker to prise your vulnerable parts apart.
I knelt on the floor and lay face down across the bed thus presenting my
sissy hole for the inevitable assault; it wasn't long coming and I felt
my sphincter burning and ripping as he drove cruelly into my soft,
vulnerable, unresisting body. All the time the words, 'survive this,
survive this, live to bear witness, survive at all costs!' were pounding
through my terrified brain.
To survive such repeated brutal experiences, those who have been there,
(and readers, I am one!) slowly learn to try and get themselves 'outside
their own bodies'; to somehow escape from the body and therefore escape
from the immediate pain. The hurt then comes later when you are, (that
is if your still alive,) recovering. The immediate advantage during the
beating is that your body somehow becomes apparently inured to the pain
and you don't scream or squeal as your attacker would normally expect.
By the same criterion, rape either vaginal or anal becomes immediately
less traumatic even though the after-effects can be just as destructive,
or more correctly ARE just as destructive!
Suffice to say first Arnold took me then his odious son followed suit
then they left me bleeding and battered on the floor with dire warnings
not to use the bed until I had stopped bleeding and cleaned myself up. I
couldn't understand this because the bed already had my blood stains
smeared all over the sheets and pillows. But logic and common sense
obviously counted for nothing in the minds of these brutal psychopaths.
Unable to stand, I crawled into the tiny en-suite bathroom and showered
for what seemed hours.
When I emerged, to my immense surprise, the sheets had been changed on
the bed, some food had been left on the table and to my shock there was
a milking machine. I had no idea how or where they had obtained it but
it served a vital purpose for now my boobs were aching to lactate.
Urgently I evacuated my breasts and sat wondering what to do with the
milk. In the end, I left it on the table for I had no idea what their
intentions where.
I looked around again hopefully but there was no change of clothes.
However my original clothes had been folded and placed by the pillow.
This apparent concern left me confused and very suspicious so I took the
only reasonable course for mental survival and concluded that they were
playing mind games. I checked out my cuts and bruises in the dressing
table mirror then concluded that I had more or less stopped bleeding. I
also concluded that my face was un-marked and wondered what ulterior
motive they had for leaving me thus un-blemished.
There was nowhere else comfortable to lie or sit so I was forced to lie
on the bed. I took the only remaining dry bath towel and laid it on the
bed to absorb any residual blood marks. Once I had gently lowered my
bruised and battered body onto the towel I simply lay still and endured
the pain. Not knowing when the next assault was coming I could only
guess at the physical healing process.
There were no windows in the cellar so I had no idea of time passing.
When I awoke the milk had gone and a clean bottle left; I presumed to be
replenished. I did this wondering what they were doing with my milk.
And I continued with the routine until I was removed some time later.
I still had no idea of time but I was served several meals and then a
foreigner was brought down to the cellar by Uncle William. Naturally he
raped me then I was trussed up, and with my head covered again I was
taken to some other place. I could tell I was entering a city because
the noises were familiar to me. At one stage I heard an electric train
and recognised it for the distinctive metallic whine of a London tube
train. Nobody can live in London for long and not learn to recognise the
distinctive motor whine of the Metro-Cammel rolling stock. Once that
identified itself to me I quickly recognised other sounds like the
diesel rattle of the black cabs that by their sheer frequency, identify
the London streets. So I was in London!
It was dark when they moved me from the van to another bedroom somewhere
in London and I was flung onto a bed where I was gratuitously raped
again. Then there was the prick of a needle and I remembered nothing
after that.
I woke much later with my boobs screaming to be milked and I howled in
pain until one of my kidnappers burst angrily into the room. He was
about to batter me but saw the milk spurting from my swollen tits and he
gasped angrily before bellowing down to his crony. They jabbered away in
some foreign language then I heard the man who had brought me screaming
down the phone to somebody else demanding to know why they hadn't been
told I had milk and where was the fucking baby.
I didn't hear the reply but about two hours later another car pulled up
outside the house and Uncle Arnold arrived in a furious mood. He seemed
to think that I was responsible for not bringing the milking machine
with me and once again I had to curl up into a ball until he had vented
his ire. The foreigner stood looking impassively then casually told my
uncle to stop or I'd be no good for business with my body all bruised
and battered. Uncle Arnold reluctantly stopped then stormed out of the
room and left me to the foreigner. He explained bluntly what I was there
for. Their enterprise needed a bit of variety to cater to different
needs. I was to serve as a transvestite prostitute. Then he left and I
was left to carefully place the milking machine on my agonised nipples.
It was almost an hour and I had to empty the bottle load down the
lavatory once before I finally evacuated all my excess milk. I left the
almost full second bottle on the boarded up windowsill unsure of what
they wanted to do with it.
I presumed it was morning when I awoke. I could not see out of the
boards but light filtered through and I knew it was daylight. Then the
door opened and one of my captors came in with some food. He looked at
the milk I had left on the windowsill, grinned then tasted it. His smile
widened and he drank a pile before calling down to his mates. I don't
know what was said but it was obviously something about my milk because
they all tasted it and grinned like the pigs they were.
After breakfast the guard arrived and watched as I attended to my
milking. He leered and made mooing sounds as he held his hands to his
head and stuck his fingers out to represent horns. I did not smile but
he snatched the first bottle off me then grinned greedily as he watched
the second bottle filling up. Then he snatched the bottles off me, drank
one and took the other down to his cronies.
I did not smile but I felt a visceral thrill tingling through my aching
body as I realised the idiots were drinking my milk.
'Right you bastards' I thought. 'Let's see how long before you become
addicted and before you sprout tits?'
It wasn't long.
Despite my being subjected to a constant stream of clients every day, my
milk continued to flow and my guards became progressively more addicted.
So much so that they started fighting amongst themselves for the main
share. Just like heroin addicts fighting for the last hit.
I tried to explain to them that I would need more high protein food to
increase production but the language barrier proved insurmountable and
by the end of what seemed to be a week the guards were at each other's
throats.
Eventually some guy was brought to me to try and understand what I was
saying. I explained that without the proper diet my milk flow would
decrease not improve and he explained this to the guards. I also lied
and told them I would have to go to the chemist with a prescription to
collect the necessary additives and high protein supplements. The
biggest lie was that I had to present in person at the chemists to
confirm the dosages and frequencies.
Had I been just an ordinary whore, they would probably have snuffed me
out and thrown me into the Thames but by now, the guards bodies were
screaming for my milk. Adults exposed to my milk after the onset of
puberty reacted furiously to the hormones in my milk. When they brought
me that last meal before settling for the night before the visit to the
pharmacists, I noticed both guards were constantly scratching their
tits, a sure sign that their bodies were also reacting to other stimuli.
That night was the first time I slept a little easier.
During my time at the brothel, I had occasionally met other girls from
foreign countries who were also imprisoned there. I could tell they were
foreign but because we were not allowed to speak I had no idea of their
various nationalities.
In my bed that night, I pricked my arm with my nail and wrote a message
on my petticoat in blood. Somehow I would get it to the pharmacist while
she appeared to be filling my prescription.
That is exactly how I arranged it.
The next morning I managed to extract a considerable amount of milk
before the guards came to rouse me and I poured it down the pan. Then
after breakfast my tits did not produce much milk, just enough to
tantalise the guard's cravings.
By crude signs I explained that my tits were dry because I needed the
hormones and protein supplements to resume normal production.
Angrily the guards conceded my argument but throughout the trip to the
pharmacists, they were tetchy and on edge, mainly through an
insufficient dose of my sissy milk.
When we arrived at the pharmacy they were so distracted that I managed
to slip my petticoat off and fling it across the counter before they
realised what I had done. Then I whispered urgently to the bemused
pharmacist.
"Get the police to look at that petty coat and tell them it's urgent."
With that my guard came over to see what the delay was but the
pharmacists had only started filling the prescription. She handed me the
boxes and I passed them to my guard to help me carry them out. I knew he
was armed and that he would probably use the gun, (most likely on me,)
if I tried to somehow escape. The only safe strategy was to pretend I
had 'Stockholm Syndrome' and appear to be co-operating with the thugs.
We returned to the house in West London and I was dumped back into my
cell. That afternoon I had to entertain several clients before I finally
heard the commotion down stairs. Shots were fired and screams followed
but I had already jammed my bed and table and chair against the door. I
could not protect the other girls but I would sure as hell do what I
could to protect myself. Eventually the crashing and banging subsided
and there was a knock on my door.
"Midge! Is that you? Are you in there? It's okay, it's over!
"I recognised Simone's voice and finally found the strength to cry as I
struggled to un jamb the furniture from behind the door. Then the door
burst open and a huge armed copper crashed into the room.
"You all right love?" he shouted as Simone dashed in behind him and
flung herself at me., wailing with relief.
I glanced tearfully over Simone's shoulder and nodded as he checked out
the room and smiled.
"I'll take that as a yes then"
End of Chaper 28 - To Be Continued
Comments are appreciated !!
Maddy
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