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After The Rain free porn video
AFTER THE RAIN: A short story by Tamsyn
The story is familiar... A young man abducted and forced into a life of
feminine servitude and sexual abuse, his body altered and changed. But
what happens when liberation comes? Does the sun always shine after the
rain?
"We've found your son. He's alive."
Miriam Welch sat anxiously in the simple yet pleasantly furnished
relatives' room, her mind a whirl of emotion.
It was barely thirty-six hours since she had received the phone call
from Detective Chief Inspector Akenzua. The elation at the news the
police officer had for her, the shock at even the minimal details she
related, and then the journey down to the west country yesterday,
alongside her divorced husband in his car. They had been silent for
most of the journey, lost in thought as the rain hammered against the
windscreen, the wipers barely keeping up.
Miriam had barely slept overnight. It had been uncomfortably warm in
her room at the Premier Inn, but it was not that which had kept her
awake. She didn't think Stephen had enjoyed much sleep either, judging
by the bags under his eyes at breakfast this morning. He hadn't said
anything, but hers were no better.
And now here they were, sitting in the relatives' room in the secluded
rehabilitation hospital, a lovely view of the Somerset countryside
across to the Mendip Hills on the other side of the glass. The sky was
blue after yesterday's rain, the sun shining brightly down, and
everything was sharp and clear, but Miriam barely noticed it.
She felt bad at herself for not feeling overjoyed. She was happy, of
course she was; seven years of mystery and grief, of unanswered
questions, of a life lived in limbo, had finally come to an end. But it
had been replaced by something else... different questions, uncertainty
about the future... a whole new normal to adjust to. She always knew
that when the day came, it would not be a case of picking up exactly
where it had left off. It couldn't be; too much would have happened in
the intervening time. And she was anxious about what she would learn
about those years.
Seven years ago, Miriam's life had effectively come to an end, her
world being overturned. She and Stephen had seen off their eighteen-
year-old son, Jack, from the family home in Telford as he left to
return to university in Exeter after the Christmas holiday. He was
driving down to Devon in his car, promising to phone her to let her
know he had arrived.
He never did.
In fact, they never heard from him again. Calls to his mobile went
unanswered. The following day they called all his friends, contacted
the halls of residence at the university, checked the news for reports
of road accidents, phoned the hospitals. Eventually, with no answers,
Miriam and Stephen fearfully contacted the police to report his
disappearance.
Traffic camera footage allowed the police to trace his car down the M5
to Junction 25, the exit for Taunton. He had left the motorway here,
possibly in the direction of Ilminster, as they lost track around
there. An intensive search of the area was mounted, the police
helicopter being called in to help.
Appeals for help from members of the public were made, details of his
vehicle were released, his image was circulated, and the media featured
the story widely for week or so until the next political scandal took
its place. It mystified everybody; the police found no skeletons in the
cupboard. Jack was a well-balanced young man, enjoying his life at
university. He had a good social circle, was popular, never in trouble
and seemingly without any cares in the world. There was simply no
reason for him to go missing, and despite the police's best efforts no
trace of him could be found.
Jack Welch had simply disappeared off the face of the planet.
Miriam did her best to keep Jack in the spotlight. His image appeared
everywhere from the side of milk cartons to bus stop advertising and a
'Find Jack' Facebook page was kept up by a couple of his friends.
Periodically, the local news media contacted her, there would be a
fresh appeal, but over time they yielded less and less. With no answers
the police eventually closed the file, archiving it, and the world
moved on.
Miriam, however, did not. Could not.
Seven years on from Jack's disappearance, she had become much more
careworn in her appearance, her hair greyer than it should be for a
woman in her early forties. She was thin, her worries leading to an
eating disorder that had caused her to lose a lot of weight.
Antidepressants and tranquilisers were now a constant feature of her
life. She kept a shrine to Jack at home; a framed photograph of him
taken on his eighteenth birthday, the same as that used on the missing
person campaign, hung over what could only be described as an altar. A
candle was kept burning and a number of his smaller belongings sat
alongside; a small teddy bear from his childhood, a set of keys, a
tennis ball signed by Roger Federer. Several yellow ribbons were
attached to the photo, replaced as they began to fade. His bedroom
remained untouched, left exactly as it was on that last morning, even
down to the muddy trainers left in the corner.
For Miriam and Stephen's twenty-year marriage, Jack's disappearance
marked the beginning of the end. Despite its longevity their union had
never been particularly strong; Jack was their only child, and with his
vanishing their one true link to each other had gone. Against a
tumultuous backdrop of fading hope, punctuated by the occasional false
lead, it was probably inevitable that their marriage broke down and by
the autumn Stephen had moved out. Divorce proceedings did not take long
to follow.
Stephen Welch, while not a man who could be described as having moved
on, had certainly come to terms with his son's disappearance. Though he
hoped fervently he was wrong, he had long come to believe that he would
not see him alive again. He had photos of Jack in his flat, would talk
about him to anyone who asked, but felt that his absence was permanent.
If Jack was still alive, he would have turned up long ago. His belief
had increased the size of the wedge that had been driven between Miriam
and him, turning it into a gaping chasm. They had barely spoken since
the divorce.
They both looked up now as D.C.I. Akenzua returned to the relatives'
room. A smartly dressed young, dark skinned woman with an air of
professional efficiency about her, she had met them at the entrance to
the hospital. After accompanying them to the ward, she had left them
with the nurses and sought out the man who now followed her into the
room. He was older than the Welches, hair greying, wearing a shirt and
loosely knotted tie. They stood as he came over to them, hand stretched
out to take theirs'.
"Mrs. Welch, Mr. Welch," he said in a voice betraying his Lancashire
origins. "My name's Doctor Steward. Paul Steward. I'm the consultant
looking after your, ah, son."
They all sat down.
"I believe D.C.I. Akenzua has told you some of what has happened?" he
continued in a questioning tone.
"We know some of it," Stephen replied. "Not much, though. To be honest
we're quite confused about a lot of it."
"We just want to see him," Miriam added.
Steward nodded. "Of course. Well, we've carried out a number of tests
and checks, and we're happy to say he's as healthy as he can be. We
also needed to make sure that the DNA test matches the samples you gave
when he disappeared."
"Why did you need to do the test?" Miriam asked mystified. "Has he
changed so much?"
Steward was silent for a moment as he formulated his response.
"This is going to be difficult to hear, Mrs. Welch, but we'll tell you
what we do know. Jack has given me his consent to tell you all of this
before you see him. It will help when you do. Inspector, if you could
tell us where it started?"
Akenzua cleared her throat. "Jack was abducted after stopping to help
somebody with a flat tyre. It appears he was invited back to this man's
home and while there he was drugged..."
+ + +
Jack Welch lay on the bed in the side room he had been allocated,
wearing a hospital gown. The sun streamed in through the window and his
head was turned towards it as he looked out at the blue sky and the
fields below. He was still trying to gather his thoughts from the
events of the last few days, and since being admitted to the hospital
he had undergone a whole range of tests. He had lost count of the
number of times the nurses had relieved him of yet more blood, and he
had been told that they were testing for everything from STDs to his
blood count to hormone levels to many other things he had never heard
of before. He had received a full medical examination, recordings and
measurements being taken of just about everything that could be
imagined. His heart rate and blood pressure were normal, he had been
told, so that was good news.
A dietician had undertaken an evaluation of his nutrition, giving him
supplements and protein drinks to build him up. He had not eaten well
during the last seven years, his diet lacking, and it reflected in his
frame -though the poor nutrition was not the only reason for that. A
physiotherapist had also seen him, testing the strength in his limbs
and joints to judge any muscular impairment. He had done quite well on
that one, the physio not reporting any concerns.
Those were what you might call run-of-the-mill tests. After that came
the others; an endocrinologist to examine how his hormones had been
totally screwed up after seven years of being force fed God-knows-what,
a sexual health consultant to investigate whether the abuse had caused
long term physical damage, a gender dysphoria specialist, and of course
the psychiatric team. He knew that he would be spending a lot of time
with them in the coming months.
Long term captivity following abduction was not new, and neither were
the problems that resulted from suddenly being freed from it. That was
the easy thing for the medics to deal with. The likes of Joseph Fritzl
and Ariel Castro -among others- had supplied the profession with a lot
of grounding for treating those who had undergone such events.
But Jack's case was somewhat unique, and he knew the psych team were
already scratching their heads.
+ + +
"The farm he was incarcerated in is not far from Yeovil. It's owned by
three brothers, named Dunney," Akenzua continued. "It was the eldest of
the three, Bill Dunney, that drugged Jack, but all took part in what
happened. He was kept and used basically as a slave. He had to cook and
clean for them, and do their bidding."
"Why?" Stephen asked.
"It seems that their mother had died, and they needed somebody to
replace her."
"So why didn't he run away?" he asked.
"Threats," the detective replied. "They told him that if he tried to
escape, they would find you, Mrs. Welch, and kill you. They had your
address from his mobile. Apparently, a few weeks after they'd
imprisoned him, he tried to escape. They showed him photographs they'd
taken of you. One of them had travelled to Telford and followed you for
a day."
"Oh God," Miriam said. feeling a shiver run down her spine.
Akenzua was silent for a moment.
"That... was only part of it," she said carefully. "And I apologise,
but this won't be easy for either of you to hear. It seems they also
used him for sexual activities."
Miriam went cold.
"He was repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped by the Dunney brothers,
Mrs. Welch," she added softly.
Miriam and Stephen sat as if frozen, struck with horror at her words.
Tears brimmed in Miriam's eyes as the words reverberated through her
brain. It was the worst thing she could have expected.
Akenzua cleared her throat. "That in itself is bad enough, but it is
even worse."
Worse? Dear God!
"I also have to tell you that Jack has been administered large amounts
of oestrogen and antiandrogens on a daily basis since he was abducted."
Stephen was the first to speak.
"What- what does that mean? What's happened to him?"
It was Doctor Steward who answered.
"Those are the hormones and treatments that a male transitioning to a
female would have to take, Mr. Welch. To put it plainly, they
effectively turned Jack into a woman."
+ + +
Jack let the hospital gown slip off his body and stepped into the
shower in the small bathroom. He turned on the faucet and allowed the
hot water to stream over him.
Bliss.
It was still a novelty; Bellringer Farm had been a dirty, grubby
shithole, no matter how much he had been forced to clean it. A wash in
the sink was all that he had most days, a bath once a week. The feeling
of the water running all down his body was heavenly.
Grabbing the soap, he worked up a good lather and began to wash
himself. His hands ran over his small but perfectly formed female
breasts, with the familiar tingle from his sensitive nipples. Working
his way downwards his fingers found his tiny penis, shrunken by years
of female hormones, and the space where his testicles once were. They
had long ago disappeared, being affected in the same way by the
hormones and eventually being removed by fitting a tight metal band
around his scrotum, impairing the blood supply until they had fallen
away. Simple, but effective. And, he knew now, exceedingly dangerous as
well. He had been incredibly lucky not to contract sepsis.
He washed his long auburn hair. It hung well past his shoulders,
tumbling almost to his waist. Now that it had received some
conditioning, it had become shiny and wavy, and it was the source of
much envy from some of the nurses looking after him. Idly, he wondered
how long it would grow if he did not have it cut.
+ + +
"But why?" Stephen asked when he'd eventually rediscovered his voice,
his disbelief evident. "In God's name, why did they do it?"
Miriam couldn't speak. She felt sick at what Doctor Steward had said,
the words not making sense, and wondered if she would faint.
Akenzua shook her head. "I don't know, Mr. Welch. It doesn't make any
sense to me. The cooking and cleaning I can understand. As I said, the
brothers' mother had recently died, and they set out to get somebody to
replace her. The sexual activity is... well, I'll say understandable to
an extent. But the enforced hormones? I simply don't know."
Steward chipped in. "I've never come across anything like it either. I
can't even begin to ascribe a reason for it. All I can think is that
somehow the Dunneys thought Jack would be easier to keep under control.
And that's guesswork."
"So, you're saying he's a woman now?" Stephen asked, his features
creasing as he tried to assimilate what he had been told.
"I'm saying Jack is what would be described in medical terms as a pre-
operative transsexual woman. His body physically resembles that of a
woman in most ways, but he still has male sex organs."
"Can he be made back into a man?" Miriam asked, finding her voice
again.
"It's not my area of expertise, Mrs. Welch, but after talking with the
gender specialists who came to see Jack, my understanding is that some
of the physical changes are too far gone to be reversed. And he has
been living as a woman for the last seven years, albeit under the worst
conditions; it may be an easier prospect for him to continue as one and
concentrate instead on the other issues this will have left him with."
He leaned forward.
"I want you to know that Jack will have as much support as we can give
him. I suspect it will be a long haul for him to come to terms with all
of this, and on top of it all he will have to make a decision about his
gender assignment."
"He can still be a boy?" Miriam asked, sounding like somebody clutching
at straws. As indeed she was.
"Mrs. Welch, legally there is nothing stopping anybody to identify as
any gender they wish these days. Jack may decide he is still male, but
honestly? The physical characteristics may not be so easy to resolve."
+ + +
If only the mental dirt was as easy to get rid of as the physical dirt,
Jack reflected.
He had slept in old Mrs. Dunney's bedroom, and that was where the
brothers would usually force themselves on him. Sometimes it was just
one, other times all of them, raping him on the double bed, his ass in
the air, face pushed into the faded candlewick bedspread.
They were all different. Bill was matter-of-fact about it, while John
could be quite considerate at times. Dan, the youngest brother, was
just sadistic, and used to enjoy hurting Jack as much as possible when
he was fucking him, twisting his arm up behind his back or grabbing a
handful of hair and yanking his head back.
His daily routine rarely changed; he would be up early, cooking a fried
breakfast for the brothers -none for him, though; he had to put up with
cornflakes- before, in the early days, spending much of the day locked
in the cellar while they were out and about the farm or further. One of
the brothers would let him out in the afternoon to get some work done
around the house and cook tea. Although, as the years passed, the
cellar featured less, at all times he was banned from answering the
door.
After the washing up was done it was usually an evening in front of the
telly, sometimes with all of the brothers present, sometimes with one
or none if they were out at the pub, him waiting silently for the point
of the evening when one of the brothers would look at him.
"Come on, Jackie girl," they'd say. "Time for us to warm your pretty
ass up." The hungry leers on their faces were almost as bad as what
came after.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked Bill one day, after he realised that
he was growing breasts. "Why not get a real woman?"
"'Cos you won't get pregnant," was the answer.
He had learned a lot, though. He spent a lot of time sewing and
darning. There was an ancient sowing machine in the house that had
originally belonged to the Dunneys' grandmother, and he had taught
himself how to use it quite skilfully. Cooking had become another
skill, surprisingly so as, prior to his abduction, the extent of his
culinary skills had been heating a jacket potato in the microwave. Like
many students, takeaways and easy meals featured heavily in his diet.
It was not always as bad. Christmas Day could be endurable, though he
did of course have to cook turkey and all the trimmings. He usually
received a present as well, a necklace or something small. And an item
of sexy lingerie. In return he had to show his gratitude in the usual
manner, sucking one of them off as another fucked his ass.
He'd considered getting away many times. The thought of putting rat
poison in their food was a favourite one, or perhaps grabbing a shotgun
and blasting all of them. His only true attempt to escape, back in the
early days of his time at the farm, had resulted in them chasing him
across the fields in the Land Rover and a severe beating -and a threat
that they'd cut his mother's head off and present it to him if he tried
it again. That -and the photos they'd shown him of his mum out
shopping- had been enough to keep him where he was.
+ + +
The more Miriam and Stephen were told the more horrified they became.
It was evident that Jack had been subjected to some of the worst
deprivation that men could do to others.
"How did he get free?" Stephen asked.
"Luck," Akenzua told them. "The Dunneys keep some livestock. There had
been a complaint of animal cruelty after some of their sheep got free,
not the first time apparently. An RSPCA inspector went up there with a
couple of our officers in support. One of them saw Jack's car. It had
been put in a barn and covered over, but he got a bit nosey and called
for a PNC check on the registration. Once it came through with a
notification on it the duty inspector sent a tactical team to the farm.
They arrested the brothers and found Jack locked in the cellar. If
anybody came to the farm that was where they usually put him.
"I can say," she continued. "That all three brothers have been charged
with a number of counts of assault, sexual assault, abduction and false
imprisonment. And that, I think, is just for starters. They won't be
seeing the outside of a jail cell for a long time, believe me. No
bail's been granted either. It was refused outright. At the moment
they're saying nothing, which on the one hand will guarantee them a
longer sentence, but-"
"-means Jack will have to testify," Miriam said, her fists clenching,
more tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry. Hopefully their lawyer will persuade them. But I do wonder
if this goes beyond them."
"What do you mean?" Stephen asked.
She smiled. "Sorry, I've said too much. But I would like to know
exactly how the Dunneys were able to get regular supplies of female
hormones and the other drugs. I think there's more going on than we
know about."
+ + +
Jack dried himself off, sprayed on some deodorant and knelt down beside
the locker. The staff had obtained some clothing for him, the clothes
he had arrived in being totally unsuitable. At the farm he had never
worn anything that had not belonged to the brothers' dead mother for
the first few years- apart from the skimpy lingerie that occasionally
appeared at Christmas. That included her underwear and hosiery, much of
which dated from the 1960 and 1970s and often featured unmentionable
stains in the crotch. Most of her clothing was long skirts and jumpers
or cardigans, and also some of those old-fashioned gingham-checked
nylon tabards and overalls that you sometimes saw housewives wearing in
old photos. He wore them also, as well as her shoes, which amazingly
fitted. They mostly dated from fifty years ago as well.
He had no choice. His own clothes, along with his other belongings, had
all been burned in a bonfire. Dan had taken great pleasure in that.
"There's plenty of clothes in that fucking wardrobe," he snarled at
Jack. "We ain't buying any more."
Mrs. Dunney had owned some smarter clothes which hadn't been worn for
years; a bottle green wool coat which he wore when outside in the
winter, and her wedding dress. Bill, the eldest brother, particularly
liked Jack to wear that when he fucked him, veil as well. "Jus' like
being on honeymoon," he would laugh.
As the underwear had worn out, the brothers had begrudgingly bought
some replacements, usually from a nearby indoor market. They were
nothing special either, but at least they hadn't been worn by anyone
else.
The only time it was different was when he was occasionally -three or
four times a year- taken away from the farm to a large house somewhere.
It was big and expensive, and there he would bath properly and get
dolled up, as John described it, with cosmetics and wearing what could
kindly be described as clubwear. He would be pawed over and groped,
plied with alcohol and cannabis, ending up in the bed of a man,
sometimes several -God knows who, it was never the same person twice.
They weren't farmers, that was evident with their expensive suits and
gold watches, but they would treat him the same as the Dunneys. He
would not be the only boy like him present; there were normally half a
dozen others, and not always the same ones. He had no doubt that the
Dunneys received money for taking him there.
When the day came that he was freed, it had been a normal morning until
John came back to the house and bundled him hurriedly into the cellar
with the usual warning about keeping quiet. After a while he had heard
the brothers' voices, and others as well. Then there was the sound of
people in the house, the rattling of a key at the lock and a policeman
came down the stairs, looking around him cautiously.
Jack was cowering against the far wall, terrified.
"Are you alright, love?" the policeman asked, obviously assuming he was
a woman.
The officer knelt down beside him and after looking at him in
concentration for a moment, asked him if he was Jack Welch. Jack had
broken down at that, the officer speaking into his radio and calling
for an ambulance.
A couple of the nurses had bought him some new clothing from funds held
by the ward. He'd had his chest measured so they could buy the right
size bras, buying a couple along with a number of comfortable panties
and some t-shirts and light trousers. They'd also bought him a bright
yellow and white summer dress and a pair of sandals to wear with it. It
was this he put on today, after awkwardly fastening his bra. He was
unused to it, not having worn a bra during his captivity. Once he
realised his breasts were growing, a search of Mrs. Dunney's clothing
had only found garments far too big. She'd been quite well endowed.
He dried his hair and brushed it out, before finding Leanne, one of the
nurses. She had promised to paint his nails, and happily did so with a
metallic gold finish. His presence on the ward was a novelty for the
staff; most of their patients were over seventy, hence why he'd had to
have clothes bought for him -nothing that was available in the hospital
was in the slightest bit suitable.
With that he was ready for his parents. Though it had been almost a
week since he was freed, it had been decided that they would not tell
his parents until they were absolutely sure he was ready. And now, he
was ready. Nervous, scared, and very anxious about what they would
think when they saw him, but ready.
+ + +
D.C.I. Akenzua left Miriam and Stephen to head back to the station,
where she had plenty of work on the ongoing investigation to oversee.
She shook their hands, wished them well and promised them again that
the brothers would be sent to prison for a lengthy spell, and left them
with Doctor Steward. He walked them to Jack's side room, being joined
by the nurse looking after their son.
"He's looking forward to seeing you," she told them. "Though he is
nervous about it."
As the door opened, they looked in expectantly. A young woman wearing a
bright summer dress, long auburn hair tumbling down her back, stood at
the window, looking out at the countryside. She turned to face them as
they entered.
Miriam could see that she was quite pale, her limbs skinny, and there
was the pain of years writ large on her thin face. Momentarily she
thought they'd come to the wrong room. This couldn't possibly be Jack.
They were wrong, they hadn't found him at all!
But then she looked into the girl's eyes, and knew.
For what seemed like an eternity they looked at each other, Miriam with
her hands held to her face with the shock of the recognition of her
son. She wasn't sure which of them made the first move towards each
other, but with a cry of "Mum!" the girl -Jack- suddenly hurried around
the bed, arms outstretched.
They embraced, both crying as the years of frustration and pain began
the long, long process of washing out of them. Then, as Doctor Steward
and the nurse discretely left the room, Stephen was there with his arms
around them both, and he was crying also.
Tears swimming in her eyes, Miriam felt the feminine frame her son now
possessed as she hugged him tightly, and realised she didn't care.
After the campaigning, the anxiety, the physical toll it had taken, he
-or she, if that was what Jack wanted- was back, was home, and that was
all that mattered.
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