Who's That Girl - Side A free porn video

Who's That Girl - Side A by Kelly Newman It was September 1986 and Martin Taylor's life was an empty shell. At 21 years old all he had in life was a university degree, a boring bank job that he had started just after graduating in the summer that year and a flat he rented in a non-descript part of London. Martin had acquaintances rather than friends - and these were all work colleagues - and certainly no girlfriend. At school in Liverpool he had been something of a loner, especially after his father had walked out on Martin and his mother when Martin was six years old. Martin's mother had been very special to Martin but she had died when Martin was at university and he had never been the same since. Martin's passions in life were running and wearing women's clothes. As an only 5'7'' tall, slightly built guy, Martin made a pretty-ish girl. He knew this because on three occasions now he had visited Pamela, a prostitute who, amongst other things, specialised in dressing men up as girls. Pamela had dressed Martin in a selection of outfits as his alter ego, Martina - tart, school girl, blushing bride, whatever took Martina's fancy. But always it ended with Pamela shoving a dildo up Martina's bottom and masturbating her till she came. The dressing up was a release for Martin/Martina and also allowed her to indulge an interest in acting that she had had a keen talent for in school. All of this could have carried on as usual until that fateful night when Pamela phoned Martin and invited him round. Martin thought this a little odd to say the least but hoping for a freebie and because he actually liked Pamela, a fellow Liverpudlian, he gladly accepted. When Martin arrived at Pamela's Bayswater flat, the door was answered by a somewhat fierce looking black woman wearing a black business suit. She told Martin to come straight in and ushered Martin through to the kitchen. There sat Pamela in all her glory - big, backcombed blonde hairdo, fully made up with her striking blue eyes and dressed in a red business suit she was every inch the power dressed middle aged woman. Or dominatrix. Only the fact that Pamela was on the large side spoiled the effect - like a plus-sized Krystle Carrington. Seated next to her, holding her hand was a very well dressed and quite distinguished looking gentleman in his late 40s with silver hair - Blake Carrington to Pamela's plus-sized Krystle. Pamela spoke first: "Hello, Martin," she said in her unmistakeable Liverpudlian accent, "how are ya, luv?" "I'm fine thanks, Pam," said Martin. "Allow me to introduce everyone: Martin you've met my friend Linda, Linda this is Martin," with that Linda said a brusque "Hello" and Martin returned the gesture. Pamela continued: "And this is Geoffrey - Mr Whitehouse to you - he's my fianc?" "Congratulations - is that why you asked me over? Are we having a party?" "Less of your cheek, sonny," said Mr Whitehouse, "I think you'd better take a seat." "Alright, old man, hold your horses." "Geoffrey, please!" and with that Pamela gave Geoffrey - Mr Whitehouse - a playful scowl before turning back to Martin: "Sorry about him he can be such a gruff old bear. Anyway, let's get to it, eh? Have a seat - you too, Linda - and let's have a little wine, eh?" With that Pamela poured out two glasses of wine from the bottle of wine on the table and Martin and Linda both took seats at the table next to each other. "Now, Martin, luv, or should I say, Martina? Don't worry you're amongst friends here. I know how unhappy you are and I think you know deep down you really want to be a woman." "We-ell," began Martin. "Shush, luv, just here me out. Y'see you make such a good girly when you're all dressed up and I want - Well," Pamela looked up at the ceiling as if summoning strength and when she looked down again at Martin with those piercing blue eyes, Martin could see there were tears in them. "You remember I once told you about my daughter, Lorraine? How she died from a drug overdose when she was only just 14 when I lived up in Liverpool?" "Yes, it's so sad." "Well, I haven't told you the full story. Lorraine was my world. In them days I was a drug addict and a common prostitute - not the, ahem, 'specialist' I am these days. Lorraine used to look after us both to be honest. Her father had left shortly after she was born so she never knew him. We were forever moving around and she was hardly ever in school but she always took care of her old mam. One day, I shall never forgive myself, Lorraine got hold of me drugs and tried them. She overdosed and died. But I could not bring myself to admit she was dead. I gave a false name to the authorities. No one cared about some druggy whore's daughter anyway. "Anyroad, the other day, I got this," and with that Pamela produced a National Insurance card in the name of Lorraine Lovell. "This means my daughter is still official. When Geoffrey asked me to marry him, to take me away from the life I've been living I said yes, I'd love to, but I want to be in a proper family with my daughter back. And I want you, Martin, to be my daughter." "You can't be serious!" said Martin. "Never been more serious in me life. Look, please consider it. It's a fresh start for all of us. Geoffrey's wife died years ago in childbirth. He's a successful surgeon who wants a wife and a family. I'm 36 years old (this surprised Martin - he'd have put Pamela's age as 46), I'm sick of me life and this is my chance to get out. And you can be a part of that, as a girl. This girl." With that Pamela produced a picture of a smiling bright chubby blonde teenage girl of about 14 years old. "B-but how? How could it be done?" Martin's question was a dead giveaway, he was already drawn in and everyone else in the room knew it. "Well, I can't promise it will be easy." said Mr Whitehouse, "but I am a plastic surgeon with expertise in sex change surgery. I'm also privy to some techniques that are not so, how can I put it, ethical. But I'm confident I can make you physically resemble that girl. In every way." "In every way?" said Martin, trembling now, "Even her size - she's rather large." "I know that luv," said Pamela, now reaching across the table to take Martin's hand, "but you have to be her in every way, even down to her size. It's mostly puppy fat, anyway. She'd be 15 now - 16 next January. And besides you'll have lovely jubbly jugs, just like me. I know how much you like big boobs, luvvie." The erection that had been growing in Martin's pants could not be ignored. By Martin nor by Linda who had been quietly watching him seated at his side. In a flash her hand went to his crotch. "Looks like this batty bwoy really wants to be a girl. You want it don'tcha, batty bwoy!" "N-no, please stop!" wailed Martin. "Strip!" commanded Mr Whitehouse, "Do it now or I think Linda's going to hurt you." Martin stripped naked and stood before the man and the two women. "Excellent," said Mr Whitehouse, "You really are not much to write home about and with that small cock of yours." Whitehouse virtually licked his lips. He took off his jacket, took out a pair of surgeon's rubber gloves, put them on, got up from his seat and walked behind Martin. "Bend over!" said Whitehouse, softer now but still with a hint of menace. Martin did as Whitehouse ordered. Pamela reached across the table and took both of Martin's hands in hers, "Shush, luv, we're going to be one happy family, you'll see. Geoffrey can be a little rough - he actually likes to be dominated when he's with me - but you'll learn to love him as a father once you're a girl. And I'll be your mummy." Martin could feel Mr Whitehouse's fingers probe his cock, balls and anus expertly. He could also hear Whitehouse's breathing get shallower. He heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone and knew what was coming next. Martin glimpsed quickly over his shoulder to see Linda put a condom on Whitehouse's large, erect cock. Martin turned back and looking Pamela in the eyes, he suddenly regained his composure and said: "Let's do this. Fuck Martin right out of me. I wanna be Lorraine." With that Mr Whitehouse buggered Martin. The rest of the evening flew by as the four hatched the plan that would turn Martin from a 21 year old, skinny bloke to a 15 year old, chubby teenage schoolgirl. It was worked out to the finest detail and every one of them had a part to play, especially if Mr and Mrs Whitehouse and their daughter, Lorraine, were to convince the world they were one big happy family by Christmas. The next day, Monday 29 September 1986, Martin put the first part of the plan into action. At work he handed in his resignation with effect from 30 October 1986 claiming he wanted to go travelling. No one really cared. In fact, with the leave Martin had accrued and never taken his last day at work would be 24 October 1986. At lunchtime, Martin went to the letting agents to give notice to terminate the tenancy of his flat with effect from 30 October 1986. He then went to the bank and withdrew all his life savings, ?2,000.00, and closed the account. That evening after work began a pattern that was to last for the next three weeks. Martin went round to Pamela's flat where he had dinner with Pamela, Mr Whitehouse and Linda, having first handed over his life savings to Whitehouse. Martin's food was served separately - the portions were double the size of everyone else's and contained a cocktail of female hormones and a chemical designed to slow Martin's metabolic rate. Martin would then go to the guest bedroom, strip, change into a surgical gown and lie on the bed before Mr Whitehouse would inject his testicles with female hormones taken, this time, from Pamela. This was extremely painful but necessary as the aim was to convert Martin's testicles from sperm/testosterone factories to producers of female hormones. In effect, Martin would have ovaries, although they would never produce eggs. It would also prepare Martin's body for later changes. It was one of Whitehouse's more radical methods and had only been tried a few times previously. Once Martin had recovered sufficiently, Mr Whitehouse would leave and Martin's 'lessons' would start. Pamela and Linda would get to work teaching Martin how to be a girl. Every night there was something different: makeup, clothes, fashion, deportment (sometimes this included ballet lessons - prior to becoming a 'fallen woman' Pamela had been a dancer) and voice coaching. Linda really came into her own here - as a former prostitute who now owned a beauty salon her expertise began where Pamela's ended and she had the equipment too. Martin was also at this time given the diary Lorraine had kept from the age of 12 and encouraged to read it to help practise Lorraine's voice - indeed to learn to think like her. It often left Martin in tears such was the awful life the poor girl had lived, although Martin was aware that the cocktail of drugs and hormones he was taking often reduced him to an emotional wreck. Martin also had to learn to write like Lorraine, her handwriting and style. The first weekend, Martin disposed of his few possessions and clothes leaving only a set of casual clothes and work clothes. He then spent the rest of the weekend at Pamela's Bayswater flat where the eating, medication and lessons would intensify. By now, Pamela had limited her work with clients to daytimes in the week so they would not be disturbed. Linda also closed her salon on Saturdays so they could use it to work on Martin. Every night, Mr Whitehouse would come over and hook Martin up to a drip before he went to bed. The drip contained the same cocktail of female hormones and chemicals to slow Martin's metabolic rate. By Martin's last day at work, his thick mousy hair, generally shoulder length anyway, had really grown out and Martin's physique had softened. No longer did Martin have the toned legs of a runner. He had flabby thighs and calves, his previous six-pack had disappeared, he had the beginnings of boobs and no discernible muscle in his arms. He also had a slightly more rounded face with no facial hair, although he still had a masculine jaw, a masculine Adam's apple and a rather large nose. That was what his colleagues could see, which they just put down to "that loner going to seed as he was 'dropping out' or something". What they could not see was Martin's hairless body underneath his clothes (the result of waxing, electrolysis and hormones), his painted toenails and his cock that resembled a boy's and could not become erect if Martin tried. Martin was careful not to use his 'Lorraine' voice at work but there was no mistaking how camp he seemed, particularly once he'd had his ears pierced by Linda. Again no one cared at work. The most anyone said was when one colleague described Martin to another colleague as "that little poof, Martin." Friday 24 October 1986, the last day at work. Martin got a card from his work colleagues and no leaving present. It was pretty cheap but that didn't stop Martin from bursting into tears, which embarrassed everyone. Martin couldn't help himself but he also knew it would help with the next stage of the plan. That night, Mr Whitehouse drove Pamela, Linda and Martin to Beachy Head. Once there, the four of them walked onto the beach, checking no one was about. "Right, luv," said Pamela, "this is it. It's time for Martin to die." "Yes, Pamela," said Martin and with that he quickly handed over his wallet to Pamela and stripped. Martin then walked calmly but quickly towards the water whilst the others chucked his shoes, clothes and wallet around the beach. Martin dived in and let the waters close in over him. This part was not really necessary but they had all agreed it was symbolic if nothing else. After a minute, Martin came out of the water. "Jesus, it's fuckin' freezing!" he exclaimed. Instantly, Whitehouse slapped Martin in the face: "What have we told you about your voice! Never speak like that again!" "I'm sorry, Mr Whitehouse," replied Martin in his Lorraine voice, "but it's soo cold." "There, there, luv, it's done now," soothed Pamela as she put a blanket around his shoulders, "Martin's gone now. You're Martina now. And soon, my luv, you'll be Lorraine." All four of them then drove to Mr Whitehouse's Knightsbridge town house. A grand Georgian building, fit for a Harley Street surgeon. And his new wife and stepdaughter. Mr Whitehouse showed them all in with business-like efficiency. No matter, for once Whitehouse's manner was welcome. That day had been a busy one and everyone was keen to get to bed. The next day would be crucial. Over the past few weeks, Whitehouse had had the house prepared and decorated for Pamela to move in (generally at Pamela's direction) and that day the last of Pamela's things had been moved in by removal men. Pamela's bondage gear had already been moved in by Mr Whitehouse himself and set up in the locked room Whitehouse called his 'second study' even to his housekeeper, Mrs Smith (to whom he did not give a key). But the biggest change (and a surprise to Martina who had never been to Whitehouse's home before) was 'Lorraine's room'. This was a bedroom decorated just right for a teenage girl. Hormonally pink with pictures of pop stars on the wall and fluffy animals on the bed. This was to be Martina's room from here on in. Martin was dead - the Beachy Head trip plus the suicide note left in Martin's flat would see to that - and no one would care anyway, not for a depressed, repressed queer who had given it all up to travel the world but decided to end it all instead. So bedtime it was. The end of phase 1 of the plan. Phase 2 would commence the very next day. Saturday 25 October 1986. The first day of phase 2. Everyone was up at the crack of dawn. Once Mr Whitehouse had removed the drip from Martina, he and Pamela left for Whitehouse's surgery. Martina and Linda, who had stayed the night in the guest bedroom, had a swift breakfast (extra large portion for Martina) before getting ready. They had a lot to do, for today Martina was to become the house maid, nurse maid and general skivvy for the next week (Mrs Smith had been, reluctantly, sent away by Whitehouse on an all expenses paid three week holiday with Mr Smith to the Canary Islands the day before). And Linda was to be Martina's stylist, makeup artist, supervisor and all-round boss. She had already dressed the part in a tight, high-necked but low cut black ruffled dress that reached just below her knees before flaring, killer black stiletto heels, straightened black hair scooped back into a bun, large dangly earrings and lots of makeup. First Martina showered and washed and conditioned her hair under Linda's watchful eye. When she took too long, Linda yanked open the shower door and shouted: "Come on, girl, ya haven't got all day!" to which (as in all things that day) Martina replied: "Yes, Mistress Linda," Next, with a towel wrapped round her midriff, covering her boobs, and a towel wrapped round her head, turban-style, Martina left the bathroom and went into the guest bedroom, which Linda had set up like a salon, complete with hairdresser's chair, hair dryer, mirror and all the necessary accoutrements. Linda ordered Martina to sit down in the chair, which she did. Then over the next few hours Linda went to work. She dyed, cut, styled and permed Martina's hair so that it resembled Lorraine's blonde curly 1980s 'do. She sculpted Martina's eyebrows into cute feminine arches. She made Martina's face up so that she resembled a member of Bananarama. She painted Martina's fingernails and toenails a bright pink. She put huge, dangly earrings in Martina's ears. Lunch consisted of pork pie and ice cream for Martina, which she ate whilst Linda worked. Linda forewent lunch. Lastly Linda made Martina stand naked before her to admire her work. "Yes, batty, you really comin' along now. Shame about that little cock of yours," and with that Linda flicked Martina's penis. "You don't like men, do you, Linda," said Martina softly. That touched a nerve. "Shut up, bitch! You wanna be a woman, huh!" Then just as suddenly Linda's anger seemed to pass and she cracked one of her rare smiles, "Mmm, very good and very teenage girl. Y'know, I always thought you were a clever one, Martina. Yeah, you're right I don't like men much - after what they've put me through it should be no surprise. C'mon, let's get you dressed." With that Linda helped Martina into a full length corset that also held Martina's small, firm breasts, fishnet stockings, a maid's outfit complete with hat and 4'' black patent stilettos. Once dressed Linda said: "There, who's the slutty maid, then," and both Linda and Martina giggled. Linda then said: "I like you, Martina, I can't understand why you'd wanna be a woman but it suits ya, I'll admit. An' you know you could be onto a good ting here. Just watch out though, girl. I've known Pamela for years - back to when we were both on the game in Liverpool - and she can be a mad bitch. As for that pervert, Whitehouse... Well, let's just say watch out for the rich - they can be kinky bastards." "Yeah, well, you'll protect me won't you, Auntie Linda," and with that Linda and Martina dissolved into a fit of giggles. Martina then tidied up and cleaned 'the salon' before joining Linda in the kitchen where the two of them prepared dinner. Whitehouse returned in time for dinner. He had left Pamela at his surgery where she was recovering from her operations performed that day. Martina couldn't help but notice Whitehouse seemed rather interested in her. Whitehouse couldn't bring himself even to compliment her on her looks but he didn't need to - his eyes and the fact he licked his lips from time to time gave him away. After dinner, it was bedtime. Martina changed out of her maid's outfit into the usual surgical gown. Whitehouse entered without knocking as usual. "Right, up on the bed and lift the gown - you know the procedure," he commanded again as per usual - but his hands were trembling slightly. Martina did as ordered but slowly. She was enjoying this. Despite the slight cracks in his professional demeanour, Whitehouse examined Martina as deftly as ever. He then took out two syringes and using one per testicle this time drew fluid out of Martina's testicles and injected these into separate vials. Martina was by now used to the needles and gazed at the ceiling with a studiedly nonchalant, almost dumb expression. When Whitehouse had finished and pocketed the vials Martina slowly but with the grace of a stripper drew the gown back down. Now was her chance. Whitehouse was still close. Martina raised herself from a prone to a sitting position and in her girliest voice said: "Ooh, Mr Whitehouse, you seem ever so flustered. Is there anything your maid can do for you?" "What, eh, I..." said Whitehouse but the growing bulge in his trousers was the signal Martina had been waiting for. "Here, let's loosen you up," said Martina and with that she swiftly unbuckled and unzipped Whitehouse's trousers and yanked them down. "Ooh, what's this? Someone's very pleased to see me," said Martina and she reached out to Whitehouse's underpants, where his cock strained against the fabric, and yanked those down to. Whitehouse's member stood proudly to attention - typically of Whitehouse. Through gritted teeth Whitehouse said: "Suck it, suck it, you little Scouse tart!" "Gladly, sir," said Martina (though she dearly wanted to whack the old fool in his bollocks). With that, Martina took Whitehouse's erect cock in her mouth and sucked him off, swallowing on completion. Once done, without a word Whitehouse hurriedly pulled up his Y-fronts and trousers and gracelessly left Martina's bedroom. Martina had to shove her head into her pillow to keep from laughing out loud. The next day Whitehouse went to his surgery and returned with Pamela. Her face was heavily bandaged and she had to walk with a stick. Despite the fact Linda and Martina were well aware of the operations Pamela had undergone they were both shocked by Pamela's appearance. Realising he was unlikely to get help from 'the staff' Whitehouse took Pamela to bed. Over dinner, Whitehouse announced to Linda and Martina that the results of his tests on the material he had taken from Martina's testicles the night before revealed a complete success (and Martina had to stifle a giggle when she thought that the material she'd taken from Whitehouse's testicles the night before also revealed a complete success). Martina had been effectively chemically castrated. She no longer had testicles but ovaries that would produce female hormones, without producing eggs, for years to come, perhaps even for life. There would now be no further need for he, Whitehouse, to inject Martina's testicles, sorry ovaries, and she would no longer need to ingest hormones. However, Whitehouse announced with a slight cough he would still need to check Martina over every night - just to be sure (again, Martina had to stifle a giggle at the sheer nervous cheek of the man). Over the next week, Martina acted as housemaid, nursemaid and general skivvy of the house under Linda's direction during the day, wearing her maid's uniform. This included tending to Pamela. After a couple of days Pamela's bandages were removed and the results of Whitehouse's handiwork began to become clear. There was no doubting Whitehouse's skill. Even this early it was clear he had done a fantastic job on Pamela's face. He had given her a facelift and removed all lines, including crow's feet and the lines round Pamela's mouth from smoking; he had given Pamela a nose job; he had injected Pamela's lips with collagen so that they were like two kissable pillows; he had given Pamela cheek implants and re-pointed her chin. Even more amazing was Pamela's size and shape. Whitehouse had enhanced Pamela's already large but sagging size D breasts up to a firm pair of watermelon F cups. Whitehouse had also 'lyposucked' Pamela's whole body to within an inch of her life and, more importantly, to within an inch of a size 10. She looked like a 30 year old Barbie girl. Truly, Pamela was every inch a Harley Street surgeon's trophy wife. At night, Whitehouse would visit Martina to "check up on her". Whitehouse would come to see Martina when she had just gone to bed but before she had changed out of her maid's uniform and taken off her makeup. Martina would suck Whitehouse off and sometimes he'd play with her boobs. Martina liked this last part - she found that her nipples had grown although her breasts remained only A cup size and they had become sensitive as a result. The cock sucking Martina found a chore - Whitehouse really was not her type. But at least Martina could close her eyes and fantasise that it was George Michael's cock in her mouth. And Whitehouse always came quickly. It was the after part that Martina wanted, when she helped Whitehouse get himself together but also when she would quietly say to him: "You will remember this, won't you, darling? You like your she-male Martina, don't you? You want to make her beautiful? You're not going to make her into a fat girl, are you, darling?" Whitehouse would be like putty in Martina's hands only saying: "Yes, yes, but of course, but we must remember Pamela." And Martina would simply shush him and repeat herself. This last part actually aroused Martina. Once Whitehouse had left her room she would frig her small cock whilst fondling her boobs and fantasise about sex. As Martin, she had been largely attracted to women, although Martin had only had the one girlfriend - a girl at university to whom Martin lost his virginity and then the relationship just fizzled out. However, as Martina she was attracted to both men and women. She particularly liked to fantasise about sex with George Michael but in this fantasy she was all woman, not a she-male. George would never go for such a creature, she was sure. Whatever the fantasy, Martina found she was able to experience distinctly female orgasms - sometimes multiple orgasms - just by frigging her cock and fondling her boobs. She was less and less interested in taking anything up her bum. On the evening of Friday 31 October 1986 - Halloween - it was Martina's turn to be taken by Whitehouse to his surgery. Once there she was prepared for surgery and sedated. It was going to be a long day the next day. "Martina, Martina, luv," a voice at first distant became more and more insistent to Martina. Blearily she came to. "Wha - where am I?" "You're in hospital, dear. The operations were a success. And someone's here to see you," with that the Thai nurse left the room. Martina turned slowly to see Pamela sitting in a chair. She looked like she had been there for a while. She was staring at Martina with a look of quiet intensity that Martina could not place. No matter, what concerned Martina most was she could hardly move. It was more than just grogginess, she felt bloated. She lifted her arm and gasped in shock. Her arm, her wrist, even her hand were all fatter. Even her fingers looked like short fat sausages. As quickly as she could she shook her head and glanced down her body. Her breasts were huge - Martina estimated she had gone from an A to a DD cup - and they jutted off her chest like too large, firm torpedoes. She had a feminine waist of sorts and then a pot belly below that. Her hips were wide and she realised the pillow she thought she was lying on was her huge bottom. She had thunder thighs, calves of jelly and cute, but chubby feet. Before Martina could say anything, Pamela said: "Ooh, and how are we, Martina, luv? Hasn't it all gone smashingly! We've filled you up with all my fat, like we promised! All of it. Look at you. My you are a big girl! Just like me when I was your age. Here we mustn't forget the most important thing, eh?" And with that Pamela grabbed Martina's gown and yanked it up. "Look, no more little willy and balls for you, my luv. You've got a lovely girly slit." Indeed Martina had. Amazingly, her shock at the rest of her body had distracted Martina from the fact that she now had a vagina, perhaps because Martina had already grown used to thinking of her equipment as female, just external rather than internal. Before Martina could say a word though, Pamela was gushing again: "Ooh, you do remember what you're supposed to do, don't you, Martina? You seem to have forgotten - let me help you. I got this for you especially," in Pamela's hand suddenly there was a silver coloured dildo. "I like to call this Geoffrey. C'mon let's get ya dilated!" "Wha-what are you doing, Pamela! No, stop!" protested Martina but she was too sluggish from the anaesthetic, the surgery and the shock. With one hand Pamela pushed Martina back down on the bed; with the other she shoved the dildo into Martina's brand new pussy. Then kept pushing. In and out. "That's it! This is what it feels like to be a girl! Take it all, you bitch!" said Pamela. Martina could only cry out meekly. "I know what you did, yer bitch. I know it all - you think that prick Whitehouse could keep it from me," continued Pamela her voice now a vindictive whisper. "He's even more submissive now he's made me into his perfect wife. And I tell ya, you ain't gonna mess this up. I'm gonna be the respectable, glamorous housewife to a rich surgeon. And you're gonna be our frumpy teenage daughter!" she hissed. Pamela pulled the dildo out of Martina and dropped it on the bed. She then leaned in to Martina and, hugging her, she said in a voice that managed to be both soothing and menacing: "There, there, my luv, don't cry. We're gonna be one big happy family until we marry ya off to some rich, posh, chinless wonder. You'll never be able to have kids but the dowry we put up'll shut anyone up. And rich couples never have problems adopting, do they?" With her arm still round Martina, Pamela then said: "Oh, I forgot one thing, dear. Remember the work on you isn't finished yet. Here look," said Pamela as with her other hand she brought a mirror up to Martina's face, or to be precise, Martin's face. Without makeup staring back at Martina was the face of a boy. A face without facial hair, with feminine eyebrows, no Adam's apple to speak of and a double chin, for sure, but a distinctly masculine face. Pamela angled the mirror so it reflected her face and Martina's face - a devastating comparison - and with newly fixed and bleached teeth, Pamela sneered: "Look at that, you've still got Martin's face, haven't you, luv. You're a man's head on a teenage girl's body. You're a fucking freak! If you fuck about again we might just cut ya loose. Who'd want ya then? What would you do then? Probably go on the game, I s'pose. Or join the circus. Either way I wouldn't give a fuck!" Pamela threw down the mirror, got up and sauntered out of the room. Martina wept tears of pain, fear, anger and humiliation before falling into a fitful sleep. When Martina finally awoke, there was Linda sitting by her bedside. "How are you, kid?" said Linda "Not good, Linda, I mean, look what they've done to me!" wailed Martina. "I did warn you Martina, honey. They's rough! Thank God ya never told me what you were getting up to with Whitehouse!" Martina burst into tears. "There, there, silly girl. Come now," said Linda and she hugged Martina. After a pause Linda said softly: "Y'know ya can't let the bastards get you down, Martina." "But I'm fucked, Linda, fucked!" said Martina, "I look like a beached whale - with a boy's head! And if I don't go along with the whole deal, they'll fix me no mistake! I don't even know what else they did when they operated!" "Come now, I can tell you. They did what they said they'd do and you agreed to. Your balls are now ovaries and inside you, you've got a pussy, you've got a curvy figure and from what I can tell you've got the firm skin of a peachy young girl." "But I don't want this and I'm stuck! And what's more my metabolism's been slowed so I can never get rid of this fat!" At this Linda let out a sigh: "Martina, Martina, for one so bright how can you be so dumb? First, not every woman is built like Twiggy - and some men rather like the fuller figure, I can tell ya. Second, did you really believe they gave you a chemical to slow your metabolism?" Now Martina was really listening. "Yeah, that's right. There's no such ting. I didn't know myself until I overheard Whitehouse telling Pamela the other night - they had a good laugh about that one, I can tell ya. The whole point was to encourage you to think that Whitehouse is your all-powerful Doctor and none of the changes made to you can be reversed. Well, I tell ya, Martina, I think you've come a long way - there ain't no way you're a man now - but deep down they can't change your spirit." "Oh, Linda, what would I do without you," said Martina, forcing a smile. "Well, you're gonna have to do a lot, kid. I can't help ya anymore. We've had a falling out me and Pamela and Whitehouse. They are so into each other and suspect me of helping ya. Besides they treat me as some servant. That Pamela really tink she lady muck now! Anyway, remember what I said. I'm going back to my salon - my sister's been looking after it - probably made a mess of tings. Oh, and check out the Wham! Video in your room - I left you a present." "Oh, Linda, I'll never forget you," said Martina. The two embraced again then without another word Linda left. Shortly after Linda had left, Whitehouse entered. "Ah, she's awake," "Fuck you, Whitehouse! You tricked me. You've filled me full of fat and Linda told me the drug to slow my metabolism isn't real. How can I be sure about any of what you've done to me?!" Whitehouse strode purposefully across the room and slapped Martina across the face once, then twice. Martina screamed and tried to fight back but Whitehouse was too powerful for her. He simply grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. "So that black bitch told you about the placebo, did she? Well, she's gone and you're all ours. And let me tell you, there'll be none of your lip!" with that Whitehouse threw Martina back on the bed. Martina dissolved into tears. "I'll tell you what's been done, to you, Martina. You've had the finest sex reassignment surgery available. Your testicles are ovaries, you've got a clitoris fashioned from parts of your penis, your prostate and seminal vesicle have been removed, your breasts, hips and belly have been enhanced with fat from Pamela. More than that you may have noticed, your body, your skin has been rejuvenated. You have the body of a teenage girl, a plump teenage girl, but a teenage girl nonetheless." "And I'm supposed to be grateful!" "Yes, Martina, yes you are. This is what you wanted. You wanted to be a girl. I know you wanted to be stick thin but we don't all get what we want in this life. I want, I need a family. I love Pamela - she is to be my wife. And you are to be our daughter. In every way. And you're going to want it soo much, no one, not even you, Martina, will ever think it was possible you were a man. We are going to completely re-make you. You'll find if you go with us we can be very kind, loving even. If you go against us, we shall break you. Now get up!" Martina did as she was ordered. She had no choice. Whitehouse then lifted Martina's surgical gown and examined her - prodding and groping Martina's breasts, belly, hips, bottom and thighs before, finally, he inserted a finger into Martina's new vagina. All the time, Martina hung her head in shame. When he'd finished, Whitehouse said: "There's a good girl. Much more like it. And, if I must say so myself, I've done a very fine job on you indeed. Now step on the scales there." Martina shuffled to the scales and stepped on them. Whitehouse read out the reading: "182 lbs, or 13 stone." "My, my, someone's a heavy one," it was Pamela. She had entered the room. In a blue and silver shoulder padded sheath dress showing off her new figure she looked amazing. "Didn't you used to be 9 stone, Martina? You've been stuffing the pies down ya, haven't you? Come on over here, let's get your measurements." With her head bowed, Martina shuffled across to where Pamela stood. At 5'9" in her stockings alone and in killer high heels Pamela towered over Martina. Pamela had once been a size 18. She was now a size 10 and all her fat was now Martina's. "Take off the gown, fatty," sneered Pamela. Martina took off the robe and Pamela took a tape measure and expertly measured Martina's vital statistics. "38-32-42 with DD cup breasts. Hmm, I'd say that makes ya a size 16. You're a right tub of lard, ain'tcha? Say it!" she hissed. "I'm a right tub of lard," said Martina in a monotone. Pamela slapped Martina across the face: "You call me mistress, when you talk to me, fatty!" "Sorry, mistress." "That's quite enough," interjected Whitehouse. "Martina, it's time for you to visit Carstairs." Carstairs was a dentist who worked with Whitehouse. He had done the work on Pamela's teeth and he was now to work on Martina's teeth. Before the next surgery, Martina would need to have some teeth extracted, including her wisdom teeth. Carstairs was the man for the job. As a long-serving colleague and fellow member of Whitehouse's club he could be trusted to do a good job and keep his mouth shut. As a former client of Pamela's who had been photographed dressed up as a PVC maid being spanked by an unknown man in a gimp mask his silence was absolutely guaranteed. Besides, he rather enjoyed his work. Setting about Martina without giving her anaesthetic was particularly satisfying. The braces he added to her teeth were a special request from Pamela. When Pamela saw Martina after the surgery she clapped her hands in delight and said: "You won't be sucking any more cocks with a mouth like that, fatty!" TO BE CONTINUED.... Copyright 2011 Kelly Newman