Eyes On The Prize - Chapter 6 free porn video

EYES ON THE PRIZE - CHAPTER SIX So how much longer do you think it's going to be then?" "How much longer is what going to be?" "Oh don't be a goose Stacey, you know exactly what I'm talking about! The next round! You know, of the Competition." I took a drink of water, as much as anything to ensure that I didn't express my irritation. If it was one thing I'd learnt from being in this prison, it was to temper my reactions and stay in control. But seriously, how anyone was supposed to put up with this kind of inanity and remain calm was beyond me. It was not that I didn't understand why my fellow inmates were so uptight. We'd been led to understand that our group would be gradually whittled down by a succession of tests. And after the first couple of rounds had quickly reduced our number to just twelve, everyone expected that before too long we'd have to endure further indignities, all designed to establish just how feminine we'd become - and how willing we were to subject ourselves to sexual humiliation. Yet after the dramatic events that had seen the original group more than halved, days had turned into weeks, and then weeks into months - and still no sign of Round 3, nor any explanation for the delay. We'd taken advantage of our new-found freedom of speech to ask questions of anyone we thought could be trusted - our stylists, some of the nurses, the less brutal of the guards. But if any of them knew, they weren't letting on. So the question itself was unsurprising. But there was no point at all in directing it to me. I didn't know the answer and I had no way of guessing. And nor did my opinion matter a damn. Nevertheless, I put my glass down and pretended to give the matter some thought. "I don't know Amber," I responded, as usual keeping my voice high enough to avoid triggering any rebuke from the torc around my neck. "What do you think?" I did my best to convey the idea that I was actually interested in whatever the fuck it was she thought. The tall blonde tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear and squinted at me. She (I had given up trying to think of any of my fellow captives as the men they'd been when they arrived) had only recently stopped wearing thick glasses, having been given laser surgery while she was here to correct her short-sightedness. But old habits apparently died hard. "I don't know," she said slowly, trying to give the impression she was actually using whatever she kept between her ears. "Except I think maybe they're waiting for something?" Yeah, they're waiting for us to go mad waiting, I thought, but didn't say it. "Could be," I allowed, figuring that one good inanity deserved another. I picked up a mouthful of salad with my fork and mechanically crunched and swallowed it, before adding: "Anyway, I don't mind waiting a bit longer." That was partially true at least. From one perspective, I was happy to have the extra time to work on improving my femininity. With other members of the group so clearly ahead of me (except perhaps in deepthoatimg a rubber cock), I needed a chance to bridge the gap. But the very process of learning to walk, talk and act more like a woman was also deeply concerning. I felt that the man I had been when I walked in here was slipping away. It was certainly getting harder and harder to see anything left of that man when I looked in the mirror. A combination of diet, tablets and injections had seen to that. The food we had been given - initially just protein shakes, but more recently a low calorie, high carb mix of salads, vegetables and brown rice - had stripped me of muscle mass. At the same time, my hips had perceptibly widened, my buttocks had expanded, and the only reason I had escaped collagen injections in my lips was that they were already pretty full to begin with. My hair, naturally dark but now almost permanently dyed ash blonde, was nearly down to my shoulders. My pierced ears could accommodate the largest of chandelier earrings - and frequently did. My natural voice, even on the rare occasion that I forgot my training and used it (with the immediate penalty of a jolt of pain from my penile implant), seemed to have gone up a few notes in pitch. And most worrying of all, there was what was concealed beneath the lace or satin underwear that we were routinely expected to wear. My taped down cock was looking more shrivelled than ever, while the testicles that should have hung beneath them increasingly resembled desiccated walnuts, when they weren't tucked away (as they were most of the time) inside my inguinal canal. And on my chest, what were unmistakably breasts were beginning to appear. The bras I wore were still invariably padded, but I suspected it might not be too long before I or some of the others were classified as being A-cups ... In defence of my rapidly disappearing manhood, I'd developed a little mantra that I repeated to myself every morning and night. My name is Mario and I am a man. I fuck women, I don't take orders from them. When I get out of here, I will get my body and voice back. And I will make the cunts who did this to me pay. It was reassuring and it helped counter the evidence my own eyes were supplying to the contrary. At the same time though, I had to be careful not to lose sight of the fact that what would get me out of here was not fighting my feminisation, but - at least temporarily - perfecting it. I had come to accept that my captors were too well organised and held too many weapons for me to force my way out. I would need to win the Competition - or risk being castrated, ejected and sent off to work as a virtual slave. "Stacey?" I became aware that everyone at my lunch table was looking at me. I'd clearly missed something. "Sorry girls," I said, trying to do my very best airhead impression, "I was off with the pixies." "We were just wondering what's the highest heels you've managed to walk in so far," said Madison. She was a cheerful redhead whose biggest challenge often seemed to be finding the right makeup to cover her freckles. "Um, about five inches I think," I responded. "Why?" "Because," said the fourth member of our group, "we were thinking that maybe that'll be one of the tests in the next round. You know, how high can you increase the heels and still walk?" Kaylee's voice was soft and her manner serious. That was pretty much guaranteed - just like the strange mixture of attraction and frustration I invariably felt when she was anywhere near me. The attraction was obvious. Right from the start, she had been the prettiest in female clothes and makeup. And while the rest of us had progressed a long way, to the point where it was hard now to tell that we weren't women, she had progressed even further. Part of it was the natural advantage of her petite build. But there was also something about her facial features that suited the transition. She had gone from being a nondescript man to a heartbreakingly beautiful woman. Only Natasha, who worked so assiduously to be both feminine and sexy, came anywhere close to matching her for looks. And that's where the frustration came in. Kaylee was so obviously going to win the Competition, or at least survive in it longer than me, that I should envy or even hate her. But she was just too damned nice. There didn't seem to be a guileful bone in her body - unlike the scheming Natasha, or indeed me. So even as her presence invariably left me both physically aroused and mentally depressed, I wasn't able to bring myself to think ill of her. That, if I was being honest, pretty much put her in a club of one where I was concerned. But of course I didn't say any of this. I simply feigned a mournful expression and said: "I really, really, really hope you're wrong about that." This got a giggle from Kaylee and the others and the conversation drifted onto other matters, while I was left wondering for perhaps the thousandth time what Kaylee could possibly have done wrong to be brought here ... The afternoon was spent doing some of my least favourite things at the prison. I had my weekly visit to the doctor, during which my genitals were released from their bondage and checked. While it was good to see them dangling again, even if only briefly, any pleasure at this was outweighed by the fact that they were so quickly pushed and taped up again. It simply reinforced both my powerlessness and my sense of emasculation - as of course it was intended to do. This was followed by cleaning duty. I and the rest of my group - the same four who had been assigned to sit together for lunch - were tasked with tidying and cleaning the guards' quarters. To make our job more difficult, we had to do this while dressed as french maids, complete with skimpy black and white costumes, white stockings and heels that were far higher than anyone trying to work (except maybe as a hooker) should sensibly be wearing. And then there were the guards - or at least those not on duty while we cleaned up their common room and sleeping chambers. It had become clear that the qualifications for working at our prison were being big, female and aggressive - plus having a preference for their own sex. They were not generally allowed to hurt us. But that didn't stop them, at least while off duty, from ogling and leering at us, pinching our bottoms whenever we were in reach, taunting us with sexual suggestions and openly rating our appearance and "fuckability." In other words, treating us like a lot of men treated attractive women out in the real world. Now as long as we just put up with this treatment, they wouldn't do anything worse. Indeed I tried my best to take it as a positive that they thought I was worth their attention - and so too did some of the other captives, judging from the conversations I'd heard at mealtimes. But if any of us reacted to our treatment, either physically or verbally, this would be caught by the cameras that were always on us and treated as a punishable offence. If we were very, very unlucky, we'd be handed over to the guards themselves to play with. I'd experienced this after I was deemed to have tricked my way through Round 2 of the Competition, by surreptitiously practising for a deep throat test that I had correctly predicted. It was not something I wanted to endure again, so I was extra careful around the guards. But some of the other "girls" had fallen into the trap and returned from their chastisement feeling every bit as sick and sorry as I had done. It was my bad luck today to find a couple of familiar faces in the common room as I walked in with the stereotypical feather duster. "Hey look Reba, it's Stacey the Piss Princess!" I groaned inside as I recognised the voice of Ilona, the blonde Amazon who'd been the main instigator of my punishment. But I tried my best to keep my head down and concentrate on the dusting. "Oh wow, you're right," said the other occupant, a black-skinned woman with a shaved head. She too had helped abuse me, including by forcing me to let her pee into my mouth and drink it down, "Do you think she's thirsty? Hey slut, do you want me to go and get you a nice glass of hot piss?" "No thank you ma'am," I replied in a meek voice. "Ah, she must have drunk her fill from some of her girlfriends before she started work," laughed Ilona. "Hey, Stacey, I think I dropped my magazine, come over and pick it up for me." Obediently I walked over to the couch where the blonde guard was sitting. There was no sign of any magazine on the floor. "It's behind there," said Ilona, jerking her thumb at the space behind where she was sitting. "You'll have to reach over and get it." As I put one knee on the seat beside her and leaned over to look behind the couch, the guard ran her hand all the way up my stockinged legs, lifted my ruffled lace skirt and fondled my backside. "Mmmm, take a look at that Reba, wouldn't you just love to give her a proper fucking?" "Ooh yeah," answered her colleague, "but you'd have to drag her away from all those cocks she loves sucking. Cucumbers, carrots, anything long and pointed, it's straight down her throat. I'm surprised she hasn't got the handle of that duster in her mouth!" "Yeah," said Ilona, "but that's only cos she's saving It up for later to stick in her ass!" And so it went on. The common room rang with their laughter, and all I could do was to keep working, while my cheeks burned with humiliation and suppressed rage. By the time we were done cleaning, I was almost quivering from the challenge of holding my tongue. My mood was not improved by having to change into the costume I hated the most - the pink ballerina outfit - and head to a dance class. The combination of the ridiculous tutu and the painful stretches we had to endure before, during and at the end of each baller class invariably ruined even the best of days - and this had emphatically not been one of those. As always, I did my best at dinner to put everything behind me and carry on an animated conversation with Kaylee, Madison and Amber. We had each agreed to bring an article to discuss from the women's magazines that were still our only approved reading. Mine was about "The 20 Most Common Makeup Mistakes." We had an enjoyable time figuring out which of us had made the most of these (it turned out to be Amber, though annoyingly I came a close second). At the end of the meal, we were surprised to hear an announcement over the PA system - and even more so to realise that it was the Boss Bitch herself. Her interventions had been few and far between since the completion of Round 2. "Well now. ... ladies," she said, radiating her usual malice, "it's time for you to step up another gear. You've all been getting very good with your fingers on your private, ah, buttons. But from tonight, it will be strictly tongues only." We waited for her to go on, but there was only silence. Apparently that was all the information we were going to get. I looked around the table, but it was clear that the other members of my group were as baffled as I was. "O-kay," said Amber slowly, dragging out the word. "So we know what she meant by fingers on our buttons, right?" We all nodded. That was clearly a reference to the fact that every few nights we were expected to watch a video of one or more transsexuals putting on a sex show and then masturbate until we came. Refusal was not an option, since we would receive a jolt of pain if we looked away from the screen and the video would not stop until we climaxed. With our cocks taped down and drug treatments precluding any erection, masturbation meant using our fingers to rub the tip of our glans - the "button" to which the boss bitch was alluding - until we achieved orgasm. The process was pleasurable but also frustrating, because there was no ejaculation involved, just a humiliating dribble of semen out of the tube inserted into the side of our flaccid members. It was not lost on any of us that we did not have a penis now, so much as a kind of clitoris. "But," Amber continued, "how are we supposed to use our tongues?" "That's right," said Madison, grinning. "I mean, I'm a lot more flexible than I used to be, but that's just ridiculous!" We all laughed. I was on the verge of telling an old joke about having a contortionist girlfriend who kept putting her foot in her mouth, but then decided I didn't want to test the restrictions on our conversation. Although these had been substantially lifted since we first arrived, we were still under strict instructions not to talk about our male pasts - and even a joke about an old girlfriend might be seen as a transgression and bring down some kind of punishment. The mystery of the boss bitch's comment had still not been solved when dinner came to an end and, as usual, we were escorted back to our cells for the evening. There was a surprise waiting when I entered my room. The bed seemed to have grown somewhat, at least in width. It was perhaps now what I thought might be called a "king single" - a little bigger than a standard single bed, but not by much. Now why would they make that change? It was not as if anything here was ever designed for our comfort. The answer took five minutes to arrive. The door to the cell swung open and Madison was ushered in. "What on earth are you doing here?" I asked, as the door was locked behind her. She shrugged. "Don't ask me. All I can tell you is there was a note on my door saying I was sleeping with you tonight. I don't think it's just me though. While I was on my way over, I saw a couple of the other girls being led off in different directions." I stared at her. "So you think they're pairing us all off then?" "Looks that way, doesn't it?" She gave the bed a doubtful look. "Reckon it's going to be a tight squeeze, even with those extra few inches. Unless ..." "Unless what?" She grinned. "Unless you feel like sleeping on the floor?" I snorted. "Not in my own cell, sweetie." I paused. "Hang on, what about all your other stuff? You know toothbrush, makeup remover, nightdress - that kind of thing?" Madison frowned. "Dunno. Have you looked in your cupboards?" I checked them and found that Madison's belongings (such as they were) had indeed been transferred into my cell. Making the best of it, we both changed into the negligees we routinely wore to bed. There was no need for any modesty, given that we invariably showered in pairs. But it still felt a little awkward. We also had to negotiate which videos or tv channels to watch, compromising on a bridal makeover show that it seemed was a guilty pleasure for both of us. We were just about to get ready to turn in, when the message started scrolling across the screen. "STACEY AND MADISON - TIME TO USE YOUR TONGUES," it read in big letters. Then it changed to "The lights will go off when you have finished with each other." I stood up and turned to look at Madison, who had just been on her way to the bathroom. From her expression, I could see she was thinking exactly what I was. "So, no video tonight," I said slowly. "We have to ..." "Yep," answered Madison. "That's exactly what we have to do." We held each other's gaze for a moment, then looked away. The sense of embarrassment was palpable. Madison looked nothing like the rather cocky guy I'd first seen (though never spoken to) in the early days of our stay here. Although not as stunning to look at as Kaylee or Natasha, she cut a fairly attractive figure in her nightwear, the lavender colour contrasting nicely with her pale skin. She hadn't yet taken her face off, so her collagen-enhanced lips still featured the beautiful shade of coral that she tended to favour. And then there were the budding breasts just visible under the thin fabric of her negligee. But - and it was a big but - I knew she was a man. And what I was apparently expected to use my tongue on was nothing less than another man's cock ... The silence drew out and became uncomfortable. Still, we didn't look at one another. "Do you think we -" "I don't suppose we -" Madison smiled and held up her hand in apology. "Sorry babe, you first." I returned the smile. "No problem at all, sweetie." It said something for our training that the terms of endearment came so naturally now. Importantly though, the slight awkwardness associated with talking over another seemed somehow to have broken the ice a little. I took a deep breath. "I was going to ask whether you thought we could get away with, you know, just using our tongues on one another and doing nothing else. Cos I'm not sure we can ..." Madison gave a rueful smile. "Yeah, I don't reckon we can either. I don't know about you, but I need to be turned on before I can, um, make myself cum, you know?" She blushed, and I felt my own cheeks redden as I replied. "Yeah, me too. So that means ... ?" "Well," she said, dropping her eyes, "I guess we need to ... help things along a little." I hesitated. I knew what I had to do, I just didn't want to do it. But then again, what choice did I have? Just imagine she's a woman, I told myself. It's not that hard. As I stepped in close to her, she lifted her head to look at me. She really has very pretty eyes, I thought, as I brought my mouth to hers. For a moment, it was like kissing a lump of stone. But then as I persisted, I felt her lips open slightly, and her arms went around my waist. After a moment, we broke off. "Is that the kind of thing you had in mind?" I asked softly. She gave a shy smile in return. "Not quite," she said, "I was thinking more of something like this." She kissed me again, but this time with passion and urgency, her mouth working against mine. There was something thrilling and unfamiliar about the sensation, until I realised that while I had often tasted lipstick on a girl before, I had never been wearing any of my own while doing it. Her arms once again went round me, only this time she pulled me hard against her. One hand snaked down to grab my backside, which she fondled enthusiastically. For a moment I forgot everything that was wrong about what we were doing and reacted with pure instinct. I was being kissed by an attractive woman who was pressing her body against mine. So I did what I would always have done in that situation. One hand snaked down behind her to grope her ass. The other worked its way up between us to find one of her breasts. It was so tiny that I could comfortably cup it in my palm. But as my fingers located the nipple through the lace, I felt it come to life under my fingers. Madison broke from our kiss and moaned. "Oh god Stacey, yes ..." It was all the encouragement I needed. Slipping the thin straps of the negligee off her shoulder, I pulled it down to expose her proto boobs. There was no teasing or careful exploration. My mouth went straight to the nipple I had fondled. As I kissed and licked it, Madison groaned again, with greater urgency. Her groping hand reached inside the wide split down the front of my halter neck gown - and suddenly I discovered exactly what she was feeling herself. The sensation as she stroked my nipple was incredible. I had resisted any temptation to play with the alien growths on my chest, so I had no idea of how they could feel when stimulated in the right way. That my nipples had become more sensitive was obvious enough from the way they became sore when rubbing too hard against certain types of fabric. But the jolts of pleasure that arced through my abdomen as Madison caressed my tiny breast were something else entirely. The conventional excitement of having a boob in my mouth was compounded by the exotic thrill of having some of my own to tease and manipulate. And when Madison lifted my head away and brought her own mouth to my exposed chest, what had been a tingle in my groin became a burning need. The fact that my cock lay limp and unresponsive between my legs, rather than being rampant and throbbing, still registered as wrong. I was back in the here and now again, and painfully aware that it was not a woman I was making out with - and even if it had been, I would certainly not be fucking her. But somehow that didn't matter, so aroused was I feeling. I knew that the arousal itself was almost certainly artificial, no doubt the product of the drugs we'd been receiving. But I didn't care about that either. With a glance at one another we stripped off our nightdresses, pulled down our panties and stepped out of them, then went over to the bed. "Who goes first?" I asked, the urgency apparent in my tone. Madison's face mirrored my own lust and need. "Me," she said and started to get on the bed, then turned back to me with a confused expression. "Hang on, what do you mean by going first?" What a few months ago would have come out of my mouth as a dirty laugh was now more like a high-pitched giggle. "I meant, who gets licked out first?" She grinned and said: "Well, since I'm here ..." She lay back down on the bed and opened her legs, looking at me expectantly. I got on the bed too and positioned myself on my knees, with my head poised over her groin. I hesitated. I had never touched another man's cock, much less put my tongue on it. But needs must ... I quickly discovered, however, that while the position Madison had taken up would have allowed me ready access to a woman's pussy, her taped down member was another matter. Although her organ was a lot smaller than my own, its tip was too far down between her legs to be easily accessed. "You'll have to put your legs up," I said, "or get on all fours." She chose the former option, tucking her pelvis under and bringing her knees back to her shoulders. "Wow," I said, "wish I was that flexible!" She grinned at me and nodded between her legs. "Less talking and more licking," she instructed. "Yes ma'am," I acknowledged with a mock salute. In her new position, the tip of her cock was easily accessible. Tentatively, I brought my mouth down to find it. One thing I had never liked about eating out a woman was working my way through her pubic hair. But that wasn't a problem here. Like me, Madison was kept completely hairless. The fact too that she had showered before dinner had left her groin clean. Even so, there was a faintly musky odour that was more than a little off-putting. But now was not the time to be squeamish. As I brought my tongue into play and tentatively licked the target area, Madison's reaction was instantaneous. "Hnnnnnn," she cried and gave an enormous shudder, recoiling (as best she could in her position) from the contact. I lifted my head. "Too much?" I asked. "Yes. No. I don't know!" she wailed. "Perhaps a little softer?" I nodded and tried again, more lightly this time. I still elicited a moan, but she didn't flinch away. So I began gently lapping at the exposed purplish head, concentrating on the now unused little slit at the tip. I did my best to suppress the disgust associated with the idea of licking someone else's cock. As I built up a steady rhythm I could feel Madison's body tensing up and hear her exhorting me. For whatever reason, it did not take very long for her to build to a climax. "Oh yeah Stacey, right there, that's it, oh god yeah ... Oh, it feels so good, just a little more ... yes ... yes .... Oh fuuuuuuuuuuck!l" Even with her legs above her, she arched her back and pressed her groin up into my mouth, grinding it into me as she came. As I kept my tongue pressed against her glans, I felt a dribble of fluid gathering on my upper lip. With a jolt I realised what it was: semen leaking from the tube a little further down (or as she presently lay, up) her trapped organ. I opened my mouth in surprise and some of it ran down inside. It was all I could do not to spit it out. As it was, I dismounted the bed in a hurry and went to fetch a tissue. That took care of the cream that had been left on my face, but not the residue in my mouth. It tasted ... not unpleasant as such, but a little salty. "You okay babe?" called Madison, who was still in the position I had left her. "No problem," I said, "just wasn't expecting that little present from your tube. How about you?" "Mmmmm," said Madison appreciatively . "Soooo much better than using my own fingers ... Sorry about the cum though!" "That's okay," I said. Getting back on the bed I leant over and gave her a lingering kiss. "Now you can taste it as well," I said after breaking off. "Bitch," she retorted, but there was no malice in her voice. With a groan she brought her legs down and then levered herself upright. We kissed once again and as our lips met I once again felt her hands on my little tits. What had settled down to a quiet buzz of arousal in my groin instantly became a furnace of desire once again. "My turn," I said, my voice urgent with desire, and assumed a position to be licked. Only instead of being on my back, I knelt down on my hands and knees, facing away from my partner.. Madison, perhaps because she had already climaxed, took much longer than I had to get to my cock. She gently stroked and kissed my buttocks and lower thighs, while occasionally reaching under me to caress my inflamed nipples. By the time she applied her tongue to the tip of my inactive organ, I was fit to burst. Just as she had done before me, the first exploratory touch of her tongue almost sent me leaping off the bed, so intense was the stimulation. But she too quickly managed to find the right pressure and before too long I was experiencing the now familiar build-up of pressure. When the climax came, it dwarfed anything I had previously experienced at the prison. Maybe it was because I was getting used to having orgasms without ejaculation, or perhaps it was the different type of stimulation, or just the fact of having someone else involved, but there was nothing like the frustration associated with my previous masturbation. As we lay in the narrow bed later in the darkness, naked bodies curled up against one another (neither of us had bothered to put our negligees or panties back on), I stroked Madison's hair and kissed her shoulder. "Thank you," I murmured into her ear.. "That was ... very special." Her response was to turn around and face me. There was silence for a moment and then her lips were seeking mine. We exchanged a leisurely kiss. "It was, wasn't it?" she said softly. There was another pause. "Do you think," she eventually said, her finger lightly tracing a line under the gentle but perceptible curve of my breast, "that we'd get into trouble if we did it again?" "I don't know," I said quietly, my hand creeping down her body to reach between her legs, "but we could find out ..." By the time we rose in the morning to the usual alarm, we had each delivered two more orgasms, once using our tongues and the other time with our fingers. Life in the prison all of a sudden seemed a lot more bearable. Even the need to obtain breakfast by giving the phallic feeder its required blowjob couldn't dampen our spirits. After donning the cheerleader uniforms we found hanging in the wardrobe, we headed off to the first class of the day in a positively buoyant mood. And we were not alone in that. All around the Studio, the inmates were clustered in happy looking pairs, although Krystal and Nikki seemed to be a notable exception. That naturally prompted some the other couples to speculate together as to why that might be. The resulting whispers, giggles and amused glances in their direction did nothing to improve their mood. Before those discussions could get very far, however, there was a major announcement from the boss bitch herself. "If you look at the screen," her unseen voice intoned, "you'll see the rankings from last night's test. And yes, it was a test - the first in fact from Round 3 of the Competition." As one, we looked up at the big TV screen on the wall. It listed all twelve of us in order. Given their behaviour, it was no surprise to see Nikki and Krystal at the bottom. Madison and I had finished third and fourth - a pleasing result for something we hadn't even realised was a test! Natasha had come top, so no surprise there, but it was unusual to see Kaylee as low as ninth. Before we could digest any of this, however, the boss bitch was speaking again. "There will be no dance class this morning. Instead, you will shower, then return to your room - your own room - to prepare for the next test. You will have two hours to choose an outfit and do your own makeup. The test will involve an interview, in which you will be scored on how convincingly you act as a woman - and on how sexy you are. You must be both attractive and authentic. That is as much information as you get. Off you go - and until the test is over, there will be no further conversation between any of you." I glanced around to gauge the reaction to all this, and saw some of the others doing the same. But the guards were already moving in to escort us to the showers, so we filed out in silence. I did manage to catch Madison's eye and give her a smile, silently wishing her good luck. She returned the smile, then disappeared. It was only as I was showering that I reflected on the significance of wishing good luck to someone who I would necessarily have to beat to regain my manhood. It was amazing, I thought, how much perspective could disappear after one good night in the sack. Cooperation was clearly a good idea, when needed. It was clear from the scores we had just seen that we had been graded in pairs on last night's oral sexercise. But I had to be careful not to let that become a weakness, or deflect me from my goal - to get out of here intact, and hang everyone else. Back in my room it was time to figure out how to approach the interview. I was reasonably confident of my ability to do a good job with my makeup, even though I would have been happier going to my regular stylist, Emma. But the clothing was the key. I looked through the selection that had mysteriously appeared in my wardrobe while I was out. "Attractive but authentic," the boss bitch had said. That seemed to rule out going in lingerie or some kind of sexy uniform. And besides, despite the modifications to my body, I still wasn't quite the right shape. So covering up might be better ... After some hesitation, I opted for an all black outfit. A padded black lace bra accentuated what little cleavage I had. Over the top I wore a fabulous long-sleeved mesh top, with flared lace sleeves and intricate patterns. It called attention to the bare flesh underneath, while still artfully concealing it. I paired the top with a black leather miniskirt, patterned black hose and, after much deliberation, thigh-high boots with four inch heels - high enough to look sexy, but comfortable enough for me to walk in without tottering. I inspected myself in the mirror. Pretty hot, I thought ... or perhaps hoped. Sitting down to wait, I tried to run through in my mind some of the key dos and don'ts from our deportment classes and training videos. Just remember, I told myself, you have to be Stacey. It would be Stacey, not Mario, who would need to pass this test. Part of me also wanted to think about what would happen if I couldn't channel the woman I was being trained to be. But I ruthlessly suppressed that thought and went back to thinking about how to walk, and sit, and cross my legs ... By the time the guard came to get me, I was feeling fairly calm, all things considered. But that lasted only until I was led, after a short time in a waiting room, to a passage that I knew led onto the stage in the Studio. From behind a curtain, I could hear a hubbub of voices. My stomach twisted as I realised that the test was not, as I had expected, going to be conducted by an unseen observer. I was going to be interviewed in front of a live audience. The guard had a smirk on her face as she looked at her watch, then gave me my instructions. "Okay, when you go in there, you walk down the catwalk, do a twirl, then walk back to the stage and sit down on the couch, got it?" I nodded dumbly, fear churning in my gut. "You'll be asked a number of questions, then rated by the audience. The sexier you are, the higher your marks. But if more than half of them pick that you're not a real woman, you automatically score zero. Any questions?" I shook my head, unable to speak. Before I could process what was happening, or recover my self-control, I was being led onto the stage. In the background I could vaguely hear my name being announced, then a burst of music and applause. But my attention was focused on the men sitting around the tables that were spread across the Studio. The men who were not just looking at me, but staring at me with hungry eyes and ravenous expressions. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I slowly walked out into the den of wolves ... To be continued