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ISLAND PARADISE 2 by Throne The small plane I had chartered landed on a private runway on the island where the resort waited for us. I fidgeted with my dress to try to make it slightly more modest. After all, I planned to watch rather than to be watched. Twyla made a show of giving me an open-mouthed kiss before we got into the town car that was waiting for us. It drove through a scenic tropical landscape for several miles, demonstrating how remote the hotel was. We emerged from a dense section of growth onto a road that paralleled the white sand beach and blue glistening ocean, then rolled up a long circular driveway and stopped at the main entrance. That was when I got an unwelcome shock. There were men there. Plenty of hot women too, but almost everyone I saw was paired off into male/female couples. What kind of lezzie hideaway was this supposed to be? I tried to protest to my wife but the more worked up I got, the higher my voice rose until it was hard to be understood. As her door was opened for her, she told me to calm down. I went to let myself out but a handsome young doorman was already swinging my side open too. He goggled at me and I was about to call him a flaming fag, but then I saw that he was feasting his eyes on what he thought was a complete female. Poor idiot. I had almost eight inches that said different. I slid out and turned my face away from him snobbishly. We entered the lobby, with me whispering irritably to Twyla that I wanted an explanation. Why were there guys all over the place? She went to the front desk, all smiles and relaxed attitude. The clerk checked his computer and explained the our original choice had become overbooked, so we had been relocated here for the week. When she questioned that, he pointed out that this possibility had been covered in the original contract. My wife looked my way because it was ME who had signed that document. In my haste to fulfill my fantasy I had ended us up here. She turned to me and said with philosophical good cheer, "Well, Bunny, we'll just have to make the best of it. After all, this place is extremely nice. And," she said with dramatized confidentiality, "they're even kinkier here than at the place where we thought we were going to stay." My wife pointed with her chin and I turned my head. Coming out of the elevator was a bizarre couple. The woman was tall and commanding, dressed in a white leather skirt and vest, with nothing under the latter. The island was warm but not hot enough to preclude and outfit like that. Alongside her was a short, fat toad of a man, naked except for a black rubber hood which I guessed was NOT comfortable. He had a collar around his pudgy neck and a leash ran from it to her hand. She gave a jerk and he shuffled after her, unable to take full steps because his ankles were hobbled with cuffs and a six inch chain. She laughed, let him get ahead of her, and then raised a riding crop and landed two sharp blows across his plump buttocks. I was repulsed. The idea of a woman dominating a man went against everything I believed. Twyla looked at me and said, "You'd better be careful that you don't wind up on the end of somebody's leash." "What?" I squeaked. "I wouldn't let any woman do that to me." "They way you look, it might not be a woman. I've already noticed a few guys gawking at you and those big coconuts on your chest." I bit my tongue, not wanting to upset her, and because I was getting angry again and knew it would make my voice get cartoonishly shrill. Taking a deep breath, I shifted my attention to a seating area off to the side. But what I saw there was also disturbing. There was a stunning woman who had a bit in her mouth and various straps and equipment which had turned her into a human pony. Her reins were being held by a dapper middle-aged man who was nattily dressed. Through the tall windows behind them I could see outside, where a line of naked figures of both sexes were being herded along by uniformed employees of the resort. All the the undressed ones wore collars and red wrist-cuffs that were attached to a long cable. "What's going on out there?" my wife asked the clerk. "Oh," he said nonchalantly. "Those are all guests who have been designated as slaves. Some of them signed up for that, others were put into that status by their partners, and an unlucky few broke some rule or other and got themselves demoted to slavery." "Really?" she said with interest. "And now what happens to them?" "Basically, if they have that style collar on, any non-slave guest can do anything they want with them." He hit a few keys on the computer and then said, "They're potential victims for anyone else to play with and enjoy." She laughed. "I certainly hope I don't violate any rules and get myself into that lowly position." He consulted his screen. "You're Twyla Skyler? Oh no, Ma'am. We have you listed as the primary guest in your party." I had done that because I was looking forward to her getting all the action and me just watching. Suddenly I was having second thoughts. He went on, "And this is Bunny Smith?" When she said that was who I was, he shook his head. Then he smiled and said, "Your Miss Bunny will have to be VERY cautious. If she makes one slip, or you give her a few demerits, or just about anything goes wrong, well..." He raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid she would have a slave collar on in about three seconds." My wife wanted to know, "And then I would have to ask to have it removed?" "Ah," he explained with a grin, "but that's not how it works. Once someone drops into the ranks of the slaves, that can't be changed for at least 24 hours. Otherwise, it would have no meaning. See what I mean?" She smiled impishly and said, "I certainly do. I'll have to keep an eye on my Miss Bunny. Wouldn't want her big sexy ass to be up for grabs to any pervert who got a look at it." The two of them laughed. I did not. As we entered the elevator I snarled at Twyla -- except that it came out more like a cat yowling -- "Don't you dare do anything that could get me into trouble. Understand?" With complete aplomb she advised me, "Don't YOU do anything to get yourself into trouble. With their rules or with me. I can say one word and get you one of those collars you're so eager to avoid. Now be a good Bunny and don't irritate me." "But..." I piped. "You can't... I mean..." "Bunny," she said more firmly. "You got us into this. I at least want to enjoy myself. Sorry if you won't get to fulfill your lesbian-peeping fantasy. But stop being so pushy and let me have my fun." She gave me a playful swat on my big wobbly butt. It stung. "Or else." I was taken aback. Twyla had never been that assertive before. But I was to blame for things getting so messed up. I should have paid more attention to the fine print. And once my wife settled down, I could still try to stage at least a few of those lezzie get-togethers I wanted to witness. It was going to be all right, I told myself as we got out of the elevator and went to our room. Once there, I wanted to get dressed in something conservative and go out to see the sights -- the kinky ones, that is. But when she opened my luggage, there was nothing like that packed. I fussed at her but she just shrugged and asked me if I would prefer to sit in the room... while she went out and made new friends. I wasn't going to risk having guys flirt with her, not with the independent way she was behaving. So I reluctantly accepted the little bit of nothing she offered me. I was a series of golden strips that it took me a few minutes to figure out how to wear. When it was on me, I wasn't happy. "What's the matter, Bunny?" she wanted to know. That was easy for Twyla to say. She had on a white bikini, lightweight robe, and fashionable sunhat, along with sandals with one inch heels. "It's just..." I began in agitation. "Look at me. This hardly covers anything." She came over and gave a lopsided smile. "You'll fit right in, darling." She adjusted what little I had on. "I'm sure you'll make a lot of people happy when they get an eyeful of you." I checked the mirror, frowning at what I saw. There was a gold band around my neck. From its middle, in front, a second one descended to my breasts, where it joined half-cups that supported and showed off the round pink mounds. There were straps from the sides of the cups that fastened in the back. Dropping down from them in a 'V' were two more bands that merged into one between my buttocks, then ended in a curious contrivance. It was about the size and shape of a sanitary pad but made of gold plastic, and fitted over my bogus pussy. There must have been some kind of spring mechanism inside, because it clutched me down there, preventing itself from coming loose. The front of it was a stylized clam shell which, while it covered the essential spot, also drew attention to it. I pouted my overly full lips and tried not to sniffle. My wife had me step into sandals like hers, but with an added inch on their heels, and gave me a playful slap on the bottom. Instead of my typical reaction, which would have been to tell her off, I hung my head in shame, as if this was all my fault. I mean, it was in a way, but even so... Before I could think further, she snapped her fingers and pointed toward the door. I had to grab her beach bag and towels. With both hands occupied, I was unable to cover myself at all. My boobs jiggled on their cups like they were being displayed to potential buys. The full bottom I had been given wiggled similarly. We got to the elevator and I was glad to be alone in it, but even that small consolation was denied when two other couples called for us to wait. Twyla immediately hit the DOOR OPEN button and the quartet thanked her as they entered. I ended up with them all around me, standing closer than was necessary. One of the men spoke to Twyla -- not to me -- and wanted to know if I was being given 'slave status'. She merrily told him, "I haven't decided yet. But you can keep an eye out for my lovely husband, because if he doesn't stay on the straight and narrow, that's how he'll wind up." The guy said, "That's your HUSBAND? Nice job on the new look. Mind if we give his contours a feel? Just to find out how well they were done?" Twyla chuckled. Instead of refusing, as I hoped, she blithely said, "Be my guests. Get a handful of girl flesh, everybody." I gasped as four strangers suddenly began pawing me, freely exploring all that exposed skin. I squirmed and shifted my feet but there was nowhere to go. At last the elevator doors hissed open and they got off. My wife did too and I went reluctantly, into the wide lobby, with everyone turning to see why the two couples were laughing. They were attractive but not unusual, so all the attention shifted directly onto me. I crossed the room, taking careful steps, my sandals adding a sway to my soft hips. We exited by a side door that put us right onto a paved path that wound its way to a swimming pool, where more people waited to stare appreciatively at me. I asked my wife why she had held the elevator and if I could borrow a towel to cover up with. She told me, "I let them ride with us because I want to blend in. It would have been rude and unsocial to make them wait. And no you can't borrow one of MY towels. How would you look, all wrapped up? In a place like this? No, Bunny, you just be good and do what I say, unless you want to lose what little covering you have and make me turn you into a public slave." I shuddered and gave a timid apology. She selected a lounge chair and stretched out, while I had to find a change purse she told me was in the bag. "Now be a sweet girl and go get me a Mai Tai from that cute bamboo bar on the other side of the pool. If you want, you can flirt with the hunky bartender." I gazed across at the man, tall and smiling, shirtless, his open vest showing off a broad dark chest. As I got closer I noticed his eyes, set in a handsome swarthy face, were tracking me. I got there and managed to order the drink, my voice elevated by nervousness to a high squeak. As I left I was sure his eyes were on my rolling bottom. I kept my attention on the drink in my hand, not wanting to spill any. When I got to my wife and looked up, she wasn't alone. Standing alongside her was Jason, from Gen-2. They were conversing happily. I stood there like a pink statue. At last he noticed me. Sounding desperate, even to myself, I pleaded in a high whisper, "You have to do something. Can't you reverse what you did to me?" "Well, I could," he said amiably. "But then there would be the risk of it not working and the changes becoming permanent. If you want to take the chance..." He let the words hang in the warm scented air. "N... no," I said, barely audible. "But there is one thing I could do for you," he went on. "Would you like me to remove that pussy patch? Set your penis free so it can get some air and --" He looked at my wife meaningfully. "-- you can use it?" "I... You could do that?" My hands went over those mobile boobs, which heaved with every agitated breath. "Yes. Please. Immediately." "Not immediately. But tomorrow. Before I can use the solvent, the glue that's holding it on has to... Well, the explanation would just sound like a bunch of scientific gobbledy gook to you, Bunny. No need for you to fill your pretty head with all that. Instead, why don't you get me a rum and cola? And for yourself, how about a Hard Cock?" "A... what?" My wife offered, "It's a drink, Bunny. You know how they like to give them those suggestive names. And when you order it, make sure you tell the guy it's for you. Like I said, we want to fit in." My skin prickled as I had to make that walk of shame again. The bartender gave me a broad grin and addressed me as 'sweet cheeks'. I asked for the first drink. Then I said, trying to keep it quiet and following my wife's instructions, "And for myself I'd like... a Stiff Cock. No, wait. I want a Hard Penis. I mean..." Too flustered to go on, I stood there blushing all over. He laughed and said, "Sweetness, are you saying you want me to give you a Hard Cock? I created that drink. And now a pretty lady like you wants my Hard Cock. Is that right?" When I nodded mutely, he said, "Then you have to ask for it, the way I just said it." His dark eyes twinkled. Had he been glancing past me to my wife? Was she somehow communicating with him? A slim guy in make-up and a red bikini bottom got onto the nearest stool. As he waited his turn, I said to the server, "I'd like your Hard Cock, please. Sir." The new arrival reached over and gave my arm a squeeze, saying, "You and me both, sissy sister. That dusky stud is perfection, only better." He was looking at me, the bartender was looking at me, and a couple on my other side was doing the same. Everyone was enjoying my discomfort. The server finally began to mix my selection, which came in a tall glass with a rooster graphic and the name of the drink. He put both glasses on a tray and let his hand brush mine when I reached for it. I thanked him meekly and took the tray. Twyla and Jason were waiting, full of questions about my 'little adventure', as they called it. I answered haltingly, my old confidence utterly gone, a new and helpless personality having replaced my familiar self. There was a free chair, but Jason had me take a cushion from it, put it on the ground, and sit on that, in a position where I was well shown off. All I could think of to hang onto was that the next day I would lose that mortifying pussy patch and be able to feel manly again, if only in a limited way. For the rest of the afternoon, they kept finding errands for me to run, and there were other excuses to keep me moving and away from them, like having me go and do some people-watching, so I could report back on all the bizarre types I saw. Each time I returned, my wife and that good looking man from Gen-2 seemed increasingly interested in each other. It was a relief when we finally went back inside. But that was when I got a still greater shock. In front of everyone present, my wife snapped at me to go and stand by the wall. She had a brief chat with the desk clerk and came back with one of those dreaded leather slave collars, which she put over the neck loop my skimpy outfit. There was a short lead, the free end of which she slipped through a hook on a decorative pillar... and locked there. I goggled at the padlock and then watched her put the key, on a slim silver chain, around her neck. "T... Twyla. You can't do this." "You don't think the silver chain goes with my other jewelry? Well, don't worry, I can handle it. And you're doing great. Really fitting in. This will make it that much easier for you to get into those kinky fantasies of yours. Seeing lesbians in action... and participating in some new scenes." Before I could gather my wits and react, she turned away, moving toward the elevators, Jason joining her. I tried to speak at last, but was so upset that my voice wouldn't cooperate. All I could produce was a peeping sound. As the elevator door slid shut with a terrible finality, I turned my head to seek help. What I saw was that I was in front of a floor to ceiling window and everyone passing by could see me. One woman in the lobby, tall and in tropically bright culottes, with a loose matching top, looked at me like I was lost property waiting to be claimed. I said, my voice sounding like a little girl's, "I'm with s... somebody. I'm here with my wife. I'm n... not... available." "You funny thing. Of course you're available. Don't you know what that is around your attractive neck? It's a slave collar. That makes you available to all and everyone." She lightly stroked my breasts, elevating my sexual temperature. My situation was clear, now that my wife had given me the feared slave status. It went on like that for hours, with me feeling like merchandise, being gawked at through the window, and interested parties coming inside to feel me up and ask embarrassing questions. I was thrilled when Twyla at last showed up. There was no longer any trace of anger in me, just a deep gratitude that she hadn't forgotten my circumstances... even though it was her who had put me into them. She smiled and told me, sounding relaxed and sated, that she would have been down sooner, but had fallen asleep. Actually, what she said was that 'we' fell asleep. She unlocked me and, taking the leash, went for a walk. I trailed along, boobs and butt jouncing, while other strollers ogled me. At the same time, I got to see what happened to some of the unlucky visitors who had entered the slave category, identifiable by collars like mine. There was a young man bent over a polished wooden rail, with a slim energetic Asian woman enthusiastically swatting his buns with a bamboo rod. Further along were two guys in full sissy finery (baby doll nighties, stockings, ballet shoes... no panties) rolling around on a blanket, making out but not looking happy about it, while they were watched and instructed by a pair of leering leather-men. We even spotted a naked guy who was hanging from a crossbar, kicking his legs and wailing about how his feet were being roasted over hot coals --except that the only thing under him was a pool with oversized goldfish swimming around in it. Twyla spied something that made her smile. I followed her line of sight and saw that it was two women, standing among some palm trees. One was tall and mannish, the other short and very femme. My imprisoned cock awoke at the sight. With a soft laugh, my wife walked me to an upright post and attached my leash to a ring in its top. I was told, "Stay here and watch. It looks like there's going to be a show that's just the kind you like." She gave my bottom a smarting swat and strolled away, not telling me where she was going or for how long. As I silently observed, the bigger women gave the other orders, first making her strip out of the body-hugging top and slacks she wore. Then she made her strike half a dozen provocative poses, while I got hotter and hotter. That damned chastity device stymied the efforts of my penis to enlarge, but the whole experience let me feel like myself for the moment. I stood there breathing hard, mesmerized by witnessing one of my cherished fantasies being brought to life. That was when someone, who must have approached stealthily from behind, put their arms around me and cupped my tits with their hands. I gasped and threw back my head. Strong fingers caught and rolled my nipples. I sighed and involuntarily pushed back with my rear end, feeling the unseen person's body against mine. Then I felt a disturbing bulge against my bottom and looked down to find that the hands pawing me were large and had hairy knuckles. OMG, it was a man, a big one with dirty games on his mind. My breast flesh squeezed out between his thick digits. I tried to tell him I didn't want his attentions but was too distraught to control my voice. Besides, now that I was designated a slave, I had no say in the matter. His stubble- covered jaw rubbed against the side of my neck and I made a small frightened sound. He chuckled, enjoying my distress. Then his busy hands slid down my body, exploring everywhere. At the same time, I was still aware of the superheated scene going on in front of me. The dominant woman had her partner kissing her feet and looking up at her worshipfully. The top asked her bottom if she was willing to do whatever she was told. "Yes, Mistress Mary. Anything. Just please don't abandon me. Don't make me a slave without a Master. You know what can happen to unattached submissives." That was a wildly exciting idea, except that I was one of those unattended slaves at the moment, discovering just how unpleasant the attention I attracted could be. The anonymous man behind me was rubbing the clamshell over my trapped privates, so that I had to endure stimulation that I didn't want. I become more and more aroused by the visual and physical excitements, loving what I was seeing but hating what was being done to me. With expert skill, my unseen tormentor got me even more sexually agitated. His hot wet tongue probed my ear. In my mind the two currents of arousal were becoming confused and I suddenly wasn't sure that one of them was wrong. I whimpered as I saw the slave girl kissing her way up the dominant woman's legs. Then she tugged at the front of the slacks, stripping off a breakaway panel to reveal the woman's shaved pubes, which she licked fervently. Then the Dom turned around so that her bared ass could be similarly pampered. I was sobbing and thrusting my hips simultaneously. The brute behind me continued his practiced manipulations, driving me up and down intertwined paths of desire and revulsion, getting my mind even more mixed up about what was good or bad. I began to blubber and he licked my other ear. I though he was grinding against my backside but realized, with horror, that it was me dancing my rump against his hardness. What was happening to me? How much worse would it get? For the next hour I viewed the slow ritual interplay between the two women, which was inexhaustibly inventive and maddeningly in tune with my most prized wishes. I started to cry hard and even to beg for those male caresses that had so recently repulsed me. In the end the smaller woman submitted utterly, making rash promises of unending servitude and sealing the deal with plenty of oral attention to the other's ass. I was left exhausted, with my thoughts whirling. To my relief, the guy who had enjoyed manhandling me did nothing further. Apparently, what had transpired was what he needed to fulfill HIS kink. He left as silently as he had arrived and I stood there on shaky legs, grateful that my wife hadn't been privy to my shame. Moments later she approached from a side path, wearing a huge grin, and said, "That was quite a performance. Or two performances, Bunny. The girls were terrific but I have to give first prize to you and that hulking caveman you seduced." "I didn't... I m... mean, did you see...? I thought you went somewhere else and... P... please tell me you didn't see..." "Everything, pretty girl. I saw it all. If you had twerked any harder against that anaconda that was straining to burst out of his pants, he would have raped you where you stood. Or maybe not. Might be that his thing is just frottage and making a girl like you get all creamy between her legs." I was beyond humiliated. My wife unlocked me and we resumed our walk, passing lots of other couples and groups, eventually returning to the hotel. There was an indoor bar, where she stopped for a tall cool drink while I had to kneel by her barstool. On my other side sat Jason, cheerful and interested in hearing all about my latest experience. Even the female bartender, who must have been very jaded from working there, was interested in the bizarre account. Fresh waves of mortification washed over me. I reminded myself that at least, the next day, I would have my cock free. Maybe then I could get my wife into bed. If I had sex with her it would prove to me that I really was a man and not... something less. They lingered over their drinks before we went upstairs. The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. Twyla and Jason joked about how they had tired themselves out earlier, while I was a living window display. They didn't provide any details about how they had spent that time. We went to the hotel's kinky club and they enjoyed a show which consisted of guests acting out scenes with each other and with some of the staff. I found it all stressful, worrying that they might get the idea to put me up there as part of the weird entertainment. The thought of being exposed in yet another way chilled me. And I was still trying to erase the earlier humiliation from my time leashed to that post. At last the show was over and we all retired to the room. I heard Jason thank my wife for letting him share it with her. She told him, "No problem. In fact, now that Bunny is a slave, she can spend a while in the spare closet. That's what it's for. It even has certain... special features... to make her time in there less comfortable." When I opened my mouth to protest, Jason was prepared. He popped a gag between my lips and twisted some mechanism that made it expand. All at once my jaws were stretched wide and I was tasting plastic. The device was hollow, so I would have no trouble breathing, but the only sounds I could make were reduced to a vocabulary of grunts, moans and wordless pleas. My wife gave me an air kiss, several inches away from my stretched open mouth. She even flicked her tongue to give me a French air kiss. The two of them pushed me toward the closet and backed me inside. There were cuffs set into the side walls and they immediately locked my wrists into them. I was helpless. There was also a corset attached to the back wall, which Jason pulled around my midsection. He fastened it with hooks behind me but there were also laces there. "Hope you don't mind if I tighten these," he said affably, as if this were some normal situation. "But they need to be really snug and I wouldn't want Twyla to overtax herself doing them." "Right," she agreed. "I'm saving my strength for something else." They shared an intimate look and then, right in front of me, kissed deeply, running their hands all over each other. I tried to protest but all that came out was a rising and falling sound of distress. That made them laugh and then Jason got to work on those laces. He had to reach around me, which put our bodies in close proximity. My big soft breasts were flattened against his broad manly chest. Each time he yanked on the laces it drove his body against mine. I couldn't help associating it with that strange incident among the palm trees, when I was being touched from behind. The same unwanted sense of stimulation came over me, in part I guess as a sense memory, and my trapped penis tried to grow hard in its confinement. That gave me nothing but discomfort, at the same time that my waist was being compressed beyond its natural limits. There was a knock on the door and my wife went to answer. I heard her talking to someone... a male voice... and then she came back. "Jason, darling, it's a nice gentleman. He saw Bunny outside and is VERY interested in her. Would you mind if he came in and got a better look at our sweet captive?" "Not at all," Jason said, flashing me a smile. "And I'm sure she'd like to get to know him, too." I shook my head and made more unhappy noises but that did me no good. Seconds later a well dressed, neatly groomed man appeared. He ran his eyes hungrily over me and I shuddered. To the others he introduced himself as Rich Richman. Turned out he was a major stockholder in this island resort. With Jason's permission he stepped in to finish tightening my corset and tying off the laces, taking plenty of time. Then he asked if they would mind him using the posture collar -- also attached to the back wall by a short cable -- on me. They encouraged him to do that and anything else he wished. Rich fastened the stiff device around my neck, over my slave collar, so that I had to keep my chin high, which added to my feeling of vulnerability. By instinct I pulled away from the back wall of the closet, but the corset and collar were firmly connected there. I tested the cuffs as well and, of course, they were similarly unyielding. Then Twyla knelt down, got me out of my sandals, and slipped my feet into low boots with long stiletto heels. As soon as they were on I could tell two things. They were too tight and they put a strain on my legs. My calf muscles began to protest at once. Rich said, "Doesn't she look lovely, all trussed up like that? Just waiting to be... enjoyed. Maybe I could come back later and, oh, I don't know, take her for a moonlight stroll." He said that last with a leering expression on his handsome face. "But right now I get the sense that you two would like some time alone." "Well, yes," admitted my wife. "Bunny is still learning her place in the scheme of things, and it will all be clearer to her if she's in there listening while Jason and I... relax." My eyes went wide. Were they going to do THAT? While I was stuck where I was? I strained at my bonds but to no avail. With a nod, Rich said, "Spirited little filly, isn't she? Just waiting to be broken." They all said their goodbyes and Twyla suggested that he come back in two hours. That was fine with him. I felt like my insides were vibrating. After Rich left, the happy couple came over and my wife made a show of slowly starting to close the closet door on my frantic face. She paused to reach in and give my nipples each a tweak, which smarted but also sent my libido skyrocketing. At the last moment she blew me a kiss and then I was in darkness. Very soon I heard a cork pop and them clinking glasses and sipping what must be champagne. They were celebrating their new relationship. I was less worried about that than about getting back my male physique and psyche. Once more I reminded myself that the false pussy would soon be coming off and I would begin my return to my old life of wealth, comfort and independence. Right then, however, I was distracted by the unmistakable sounds of two bodies getting onto the bed, foreplay taking place, and lovemaking commencing. They were loud and spirited. When she was with me, I had never heard Twyla be so enthused. It went on longer than sex ever had with us, I noticed. She praised his performance and then her words were transformed into cries of ecstasy. I slumped in my bonds, at least as far as they allowed, and stayed like that while more champagne was consumed and soft words were murmured. At last the closet was opened and I saw two very sated and content lovers. My wife smiled and said, "Too bad, Bunny, but with you looking like that I can't really think of you as a man. Or a husband." Even though it appeared like I wasn't going to get to bed my own wife, I tried to indicate that they should remove my faux female mound. When I at last got the message through, Jason cheerily said that he had the solvent with him, but reminded me that I had to wait until morning. Besides, he added, I still had my 'get acquainted' walk with Rich ahead of me. That was the last thing I wanted. But all I could do was to accept his terms. I took a deep breath through my gag and was aware of how dramatically my big breasts rose and fell. Soon Rich was there, carrying a leash, which he attached to my posture collar. Twyla and Jason, wearing short belted robes provided by the hotel, watched with amusement as he detached me from the closet walls but didn't remove the cuffs, collar or corset. They held hands as he walked me out the door. Rich beamed with pride when we strolled through the lobby, me struggling in those awful boots, with everyone seeing how my boobs and bottom wiggled with every difficult step. He led me around the grounds, looking at the same time like both a practiced pervert and a kid with a new toy to show off. We stopped several times so people could ask about me, admire my curves, and even touch me. Rich had a very proprietary attitude and kept patting my rump. After more than an hour we went back to the hotel. My legs were burning from the strain of that uncomfortable footwear. He took me back to our room, where my wife and her new lover were happily resting up after their earlier exertions. They chatted for a bit and then said goodnight all around. My gag was finally removed. I was allowed to curl up at the foot of the bed on an oval rug and had a spare blanket draped over me. Jason used my leash to attach my collar to the leg of the bed, using the padlock from before, to which my wife still wore the key. I lay there trying to think my way out of this fix. The only thing I had going for me was the upcoming removal of that hated pseudo-vagina. I drifted off into restless sleep. Rich showed up the next morning and they went to breakfast with him. He got to hold my leash -- again -- and remarked how much he liked doing it. He talked with them about me, hinting that he would like to know me on a long term basis. Instead of telling him that was impossible, they let him talk, showing interest in how wealthy he was and how he said he could be a 'good provider' for me. I had to listen in concerned silence, accepting the meager table scraps they fed me. At last we all returned to the room. Jason wanted to know what I thought about Rich's attraction to me. Instead of answering his question, I told him, "It's time to get me out of this terrible fake pussy. Please. Use the solvent." He shrugged good-naturedly, and took a bottle off the dresser. When he unscrewed the lid and lifted it, there was a brush attached. He asked Rich if he would like to help with 'the big reveal'. I didn't understand what he meant by that term, and I wasn't at all happy to have a man who showed so much unnatural interest in me working at my crotch, but the need to have my personal access to my genitals restored overrode every other consideration. With Jason coaching him, Rich got busy brushing the solvent around the edges of my false pudenda and gradually peeling it away. It took about a quarter hour and then, with a flourish, he removed it completely. The mesh bag took a few extra seconds to remove. Jason grinned. Twyla put her hands over her mouth and gasped. Rich looked astonished and then delighted. The wealthy man said, "I didn't know our sexy Bunny was going to have THIS feature as well." All I could think of was that he was happy, in his kinky way, to see how well hung I was. I couldn't check myself because that damned posture collar prevented me from seeing the area in question. But then Rich took me by the arm and, with his other hand on my back, steered me over to the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the main closet's door. I couldn't believe what I saw. There were still the big round breasts and extra padding on the hips, the hairless pink body and feminine looking face. But between my legs, instead of a proud cock, was a comical little nubbin. And I couldn't see my balls at all. I had to feel for them and discovered only something that could have been a pair of marbles. "I figured this would happen, with the particular cocktail of substances that we injected into Bunny. But the degree of shrinkage is even more than I anticipated. That funny little thing could never be mistaken for a prick." Rich wanted to know if he could touch it. Jason chortled and said, "Please. In fact, you should try to get it worked up. Play with her tits or whatever you want. There's a secondary effect that, if it occurred, will be even more interesting than the miniaturization." Not knowing what he was talking about and definitely not wanting Rich to touch me in those places, I was too stunned to object. My dick had been reduced to the size of... what?... a peanut? A cocktail wiener? My thumb? No, it wasn't even as big as my thumb, I decided, gaping at the reflection of my ruined manhood. Rich reached down and gave it a diddle. Currents of sexual electricity coursed through my body but the tiny bump didn't respond. He took my nipples between his fingers and teased them spiritedly. I nearly fainted from overstimulation but, again, that useless bump didn't grow at all. With a laugh Jason concluded, "That's it. Bunny is highly receptive to sexual stimuli but the poor baby can't get it up... or get off. She won't be able to find any relief from her case of permanent horniness. Not unless..." He glanced pointedly at Rich. "... some helpful guy makes a special effort to give her deep stimulation, in the prostate area, which would be the only way to give her what she needs. And I'm sure that after enough teasing, she would be begging for the right guy to do exactly that for her, because otherwise her frustration would become unbearable. Once she got her satisfaction, sadly for her, the whole cycle would just begin again." "Wow," Rich said, wetting his fingers and using them to make my nipples even harder and a deeper pink. "That would be so exciting. You really think Bunny would beg for... deep penetration?" "Beg and plead and offer to do anything she could to earn the joy of release." He chuckled. "Which would really be something to see and hear." "Really," Rich Richman agreed. "And there is a psychoactive drug we're working on, that's ready for trials. She could be our test subject. It would create extreme shame in her mind over being naked, getting touched, having those desires, being allowed to orgasm... just about anything. So there would be a constant conflict inside Bunny between wanting it so bad she couldn't stand not to get it, and everything associated with sex. Imagine what that would be like for her." By the end of the week, I was ready to believe those claims, which had seemed so exaggerated when I first heard them. All I could think about was getting relief. My wife had been making me her sex toy and that got me excited. Jason used his fingers to set my nerve endings tingling and that got me excited. Rich kept taking me out for strolls, rhapsodizing about how he would love to take me home and have me play the part of an adoring housewife... and sex kitten. Even that had the same effect. It was horrifying to be so under the thrall of my own yearnings. And Jason kept mentioning that new drug and tormenting me with the details of how I would react to it. On the last day of our vacation, Twyla had another new outfit for me. It was similar to that one I'd worn previously that was made up of golden strips. This one was a series of silver chains. There was one that fastened around my chest and held two tiny jeweled discs that barely covered my nipples. A second chain went around my hips and supported a small container, like an oversized thimble, that held my miniaturized genitals. Twyla and Jason looked at me dressed that way and laughed wildly. My wife said, "I can't believe that his boy parts fit into that itty bitty cup. Look how SMALL it is. It's almost like he doesn't have any three- piece set at all." Jason caught his breath from all the hilarity and managed to tell her, "We should hang a magnifying glass around Bunny's neck, between those bouncy boobs, so she could use it to find her little diddle." "Maybe we can do that once we get to my house, Jason." Twyla looked at me and said, "And it IS mine, along with everything else you used to own. Some of those papers you signed before Jason changed you started the legal process and the ones you signed late yesterday, in exchange for us letting those two lesbians suck on your nipples, will complete the job. But hey, at least you got to be part of a lesbian fantasy scene. And that's what got you into all this to start with. You just couldn't say no to all those kinky dreams. And now you're the stuff of dreams for other people, including Jason and me, and Rich, and half the guests at this resort. And you'll be penniless. Utterly dependent on the kindness of others. Or the kinkiness of others. But we want to be fair, Bunny, so when Rich gets here in a few minutes, you can play Pick Your Own Fate. Kind of like one of those books where, at the end of each chapter, you decide where you're going to next. Won't that be entertaining?" I was dizzy with confusion. She had shown me enough of the paperwork to convince me that I really would soon be without any of my wealth or property. I would have to count on her for everything. Or her and Jason. Or...? Why was Rich coming to the room and what decision did I have to make? Soon enough I found out. "It's this simple," Twyla told me after Rich arrived. "You can return to MY house and be a maid and all around serving girl for myself and Jason. And I do mean 'all around'. Or we can leave you here at the resort where you can be a full-time worker, though I'm afraid you'd never rise above the rank of slave. And your third choice is to accept a proposal of marriage from Rich. The two of you would be wed in a state where same- sex unions are legal, and you would be his wife. Remember how he described how you could be his loving spouse and then turn into his nympho sex partner whenever he wanted? Time to decide, Bunny. What's it going to be?" I stood there in that revealing outfit, shamefully aware of how it showed off the reduced dimensions of my male equipment. What was I going to do? Did I want to be a slave to my wife and her lover? A household slave AND a sex slave. Or have our marriage dissolved and find myself wed to a guy who expected me to stay in the role of his wife 24/7? Or else be a prisoner at this resort where I would become a plaything for a never- ending succession of sexual deviants? That last option was unacceptable. Who knew what kinds of crazy encounters it could lead to? And living with Twyla would be a constant reminder of my fall from wealth and power, and of how I had been outsmarted and cuckolded. Tying the knot with Rich wasn't much better, but at least I would be making some kind of new start. And he really did seem to care for me, both as a partner and object of desire. Plus, he could take care of those needs which were coming to override every other thought. I mean, I still saw myself as straight and was revolted by being touched by any guy but, in my new body, with those outrageous curves and a laughably tiny penis, I could never recapture my lost identity. It was a torturous decision but I picked the lesser of three poor options. "I'll... go with Rich," I said in my weak girlish voice. "That's fine," Jason assured me with easy acceptance. "Though it would be nice if Twyla and I could borrow you to serve our guests at parties." "No problem," said Rich. "So long as I'm invited. Heck, you can even have her a few days ahead so she can wear a hot maid's uniform and clean the entire place." "Thanks so much," Twyla told him. "And maybe we could all get together here at the resort from time to time." "Absolutely," Rich agreed. "In fact, I was thinking of giving my Bunny a working vacation here for a full month, several times a year. To keep the marriage fresh and full of surprises." "So we'll all get to share her," Jason enthused. "And if you'd like, I can take her to Gen-2 twice a year for, let's call them, tune-ups. We're always creating new processes to modify lovelies like her. Some temporary ones, others quite permanent. If you wanted her to have really big pouty lips, pillow lips, for a month or so -- or always -- we could do that. Tell us what you want, physical OR psychological, and we'll do our best to deliver." He let that sink in with me before adding, "And that 'shame' drug will be our honeymoon gift to you two." "We all win," my wife said with a grin. "Except Bunny there. Although I'm sure she'll be so caught up in trying to earn an occasional orgasm, that everything else will be secondary. Isn't that true, Bunny love?" I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but already my need was driving everything else out of my thoughts. My eyes went to her body and then, against my will, to Rich's. Speaking barely above a whisper, I conceded, "Yes, dear. I just want to get satisfied. I need it so bad. I'll do anything if one of you will just help me to have an orgasm. Please." "Well," said Rich, "it might take a month or three of experimenting, to find out what works best for you, but I can keep at it every day and at some point I'm sure you'll get what you want. And after that you can have it whenever you please... so long as it averages out to about four times a year." Oh no. Quarterly climaxes and that's all? I would be longing for it, bargaining for it, practically drooling for it, endlessly. Which was just what they wanted. Rich said, "So why don't you and I go to my room and get started, Bunny? I hope you approve of pre-marital sex." He chortled. "With lots of foreplay to keep you primed for action at a moment's notice." How else could I respond? I said, "Yes, Rich. Whatever you say, dear." I knew I would be telling him that a lot from then on. *********