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Just a note.... For any first time reader of my stories from across the pond: In the UK the ground floor of a house is the first in the USA, the first floor here is the US second floor etc., and tights are US pantyhose. THE LETTER Donald Hardwick arrived in his office at eight twenty five that morning, a little earlier than his usual time of nine as he knew he would be having a busy day. His secretary Claudia Jones, with her usual efficiency, had anticipated this and had already placed his post on his desk for him to deal with it. She opened all envelopes to deal with routine matters, but left him anything addressed to him personally. He wrote comments on the first three letters he looked at, instructing Miss Jones as to how she should reply or otherwise deal with them. The fourth envelope was rather bulkier and contained half a dozen sheets of very small and rather shaky writing with a small plastic bag pinned to the top. It contained some long strands of hair. With some difficulty he read the contents: Dear Mr Hardwick, I have taken the opportunity to write to you personally as I am anxious that you are able to judge for yourself how to deal with the problem I am about to outline. I fear that otherwise it might be treated as of no consequence or even a hoax by a member of your staff. I am also trusting that you get this letter, I am unable to get to a post box but read somewhere that more than ninety percent of stamped but unposted letters found on the street are placed, by a well meaning person, into the nearest postal collection point and I am depending on it happening to this one. My name is Brian Stone and was born on the twelfth of June twenty five years ago and was married since the day after my twenty first birthday to my wife Mary. For a long time I was sure she was the love of my life although the trustees of my parent's estate insisted that she signed a pre-nuptial agreement before the wedding. Our home addresses are at the bottom of this letter so you can see that I have a substantial estate in the country as well as an apartment in the now exclusive area that used to be London's Dockland. My problems started when my wife spoke to someone from my class in school a few months ago. I need to tell you a little background about this. My parents, while being wealthy, decided that I shouldn't be brought up aloof from the lives of other boys and girls who were less privileged. To that end they sent me to the local comprehensive school, not a shining one of its type, where I was bullied unmercifully. There was little help from the teachers who I think resented my accent when I spoke and the fact that whatever kit I needed, for sports for example, it was the best that money could buy. They also hated that when they raised funds for the school with fetes etc., my parents wouldn't either attend or make a financial contribution, under the ridiculous impression that they didn't want to draw attention to the family's riches and therefore me. I say ridiculous because we employed a live in housekeeper, a maid and two outside cooks to look after our every want. When my parents were killed in a plane crash, the trustees appointed a woman to look after me in my own home called Joyce Bent. To say that she had an unsympathetic nature was an understatement. During a physical education period a gang of my fellow students stole my clothes and left girl's things in their place, a group of them ensured that I dressed myself in those clothes. They even put make up on my face to complete my humiliation. This was in the morning, meaning that I had to go to all the remaining lessons and have lunch, all the while waiting for a teacher to say something. None did, so I had to go home after school in the same clothes. I pleaded with my guardian to complain to the school about my plight, but rather than that, the next morning she dressed me in the same clothes, only giving me a clean pair of panties even frillier than the ones I'd worn the day before. She re-did make up on my face, telling me that the best way to beat bullies was to show I didn't care and that the teachers would eventually get fed up with it and do something. Of course that didn't happen but what did was everyone started calling me Bianca. The first person was one of the girls in my class at registration and it was immediately taken up by my form teacher so after that it quickly became universal. I spent the most humiliating day of my life, jeered at and tormented by everyone and the following day was even worse. Ms Bent had a completely new outfit, a school uniform type of blouse and skirt with black but sheer pantyhose, navy cotton knickers and shoes with a two inch block heel. At registration the teacher, with a big smirk on his face, called out, "Bianca Stone," which I didn't answer to but he marked me present anyway. That sealed my fate at school and for the next two years, until I was eighteen, I wore girl's clothes both for my education and mostly at home as well. Once a gang of boys tried to make me give them blow jobs, but I was sick over the first one, so that was the only time and for the rest of my schooling I was more or less ignored. Of course once I reached the age of eighteen I no longer needed my legal guardian and it was with delight I saw her off, having told her what an evil bitch she was. It was something that I rehearsed by myself many times so I gave it all I'd got both with her and the trustees who appointed her, which did little to make me popular with them. Once Ms Bent left, I moved from one of our smaller bedrooms which she'd even had decorated with a feminine taste, into the master suite of my large house. Once ensconced there I locked up my old room with its closet full of girl's clothes with the idea that I might rub it in the noses of my family trustees should they happen to cross me. I must point out that by that stage I hated them, my ex-guardian, my old school and the clothes they represented, with a venom that is hard to over emphasise. After that I spent most of my time in my city apartment, trying to forget the life I had in our country seat by indulging myself in fine dining and going to stage productions in London, New York, LA and many other centres of entertainment round the world. I met Mary in Melbourne and we had a whirlwind romance, culminating in our wedding back in the small church in the village I'd been brought up in. Once in my main house, Mary soon found the locked room and asked me about it. I simply told her that it held bad memories for me and that I never wanted it unlocked. To myself, I resolved to have everything removed from there and burned, as soon as I had the time and opportunity to do it. The trouble was that we spent the vast majority of our time together and on the few occasions when we weren't I didn't give a thought to that room. In any case it wasn't long before we were off on our travels again, spending months at a time in France, where I bought a chateau, then the States, Australia and winter holidays skiing in Switzerland, Canada and Japan. When we weren't on these trips we passed most of the stays on UK soil at our city apartment so I never did get round to emptying that room. Anyway, that brings me to the point that I mentioned earlier, that my wife approached two of my fellow students from school. She was at the hair dressers when the stylist, Kristi Evans, was reminiscing with her customer and friend Jane Freeman, about the boy who wore girl's clothes to classes. They were referring to 'Bianca' of course and Mary took little notice until one of them mentioned my real name. My wife introduced herself but rather than the annoyance the other women expected, she asked them for the details. Well of course Mary put two and two together about the locked room. Kristi mentioned that if she had then what was available to her now, they could have made the job of making me look like a girl absolutely convincing. She explained that an associate company of the hairdressers dealt with makeovers for men, either with their cooperation or without. I don't know all the details of how they arranged it, I only know that Mary took me out in her car one day a few months ago, telling me that she had a surprise for me. We drove for about twenty minutes then turned into the drive of a large house with the notice: "The Changes Institute." She took my arm as we went to the front door which was opened by a woman in a white coat who welcomed us and showed us in. This woman then steered me away from Mary, telling me that my surprise was 'this way', guiding me into a room with a long padded table in the middle of it. I felt something cold against my neck and I remember nothing else until I woke up back at home in one of the bedrooms that I recognised as being on the top floor of my house, used for accommodating the servants. I seemed to be hurting almost everywhere. I say I recognised the room because it had unique fastenings and handles on the skylight, but otherwise it was completely different. The room had been redecorated in a very feminine manner, pink walls and carpet and furnishings in white or shades of purple. Fluffy toys were scattered around and elaborate dolls were seated on many of the surfaces. As I moved I felt stiff and the pain increased, but I pulled myself to a seated position at which point I was shocked at what I saw. Long blonde hair fell down the sides of my face and I had breasts! Before I could even take in the enormity of what had happened to me, a new maid, a girl called Evelyn I later learned, opened the door and entered. I went to ask her what was going on but as soon as I spoke I received an agonising electric shock each side of my throat. I was wearing a thick 'choker' necklace, which I'd hardly noticed before as I had too many other things to think about. Now I realised that it was somehow voice activated so I couldn't ask the girl a question. Incredible as it was, after all this even worse was to follow when I realised that I could see nothing between my legs. I went into a state of shock as she proceeded to help me dress in a bra and panty set, working sheer tights up my legs, then putting me into a maid's uniform the same as they always wore. She brushed then braided my hair in a long plait that hung down my back. I had difficulty in walking in the three inch heeled shoes down to the kitchen by the back stairs and took a while to register that all the time she was calling me 'Bianca'. We were met there by a woman who introduced herself as the housekeeper, Ms Johnson, someone I'd never seen before and who took me on to her small office. There she told me that I was fitted with a device that wouldn't allow me to leave the house unless it was turned off, then she gave me polish and a cloth and told me, calling me Bianca as well, that I should get on polishing the furnishings in the library and to report to her when I'd finished. I made a signal to her that I wanted to write something down but she told me that if I was ever caught writing something, I would be punished more painfully than anything I'd otherwise experience. I decided that there was nothing for it but to do as I was told, returning to the kitchen when the library was done, only to find that I had to clean the lunch detritus before being offered lunch myself in the staff day room, behind the scullery. I was only able to eat a mouthful before I felt sick and had to give it up. It was then I tried to go off to find Mary. I had barely got to the front hall when Ms Johnson grabbed me by the arm and took me back into the staff day room. She draped me over the end of the long table and laid into me with a wooden paddle. I thought that I would pass out with the pain but just before that she stood me up and gave me a lecture about going off to places I had no right to go. She then showed me how to curtsey, telling me that I should practice by curtseying to all the staff every time I saw one, received an instruction and also when I took my leave of them. I was instructed to knock on any door and only enter a room if I knew it to be empty, otherwise I had to wait for permission. Also I was not allowed on the first floor of the house, where the main bedrooms are, unless I was given specific permission, I could only use the staff stairs that went from the back of the kitchen directly to the servants' rooms on the top floor. All this time I had no idea where Mary was, there seemed have been a lunch service, but to whom I hadn't a clue. I was set to work helping the cook prepare the evening meals, from which I gathered two were to go to the dining room and others for the staff to eat, six altogether. The cook, a Ms Simms, another replacement for the one I knew, gave me a string of jobs like peeling potatoes and cleaning up as she went along. When it came time for service, Evelyn dealt with the dining room, so I was none the wiser about my wife and/or her guest. By nine o'clock I was exhausted so was grateful to be told to go to bed, in spite of all my worries I fell asleep without delay. The trouble was that I was plagued by awful dreams and once I was awake at five was unable to settle again. At six I found clean underwear but dressed in the same uniform, noticing that my make up was still in place after I washed. By half past the hour I was sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, with more brewing, when Ms Johnson came in and helped herself, thanking me for getting on with it. I counted that as my first minor victory in my battle to find a chink in my multiple problems, but in all the months that followed I can't remember another kind word from any of them. Even this was very short lived as the next thing she did was to beat me again with the paddle because I didn't stand up and curtsey to her when she entered. Not content with just that, she told me to report to her after breakfast, of which I was able to eat very little. My concern was proved justifiable when she gave me an enema then fitted me with two more instruments of torture. They consisted of a gag which was locked in my mouth by a harness round my head and was phallus shaped, reaching my throat and at first I thought I would vomit. The second was worse, it was another even larger phallus made of a reinforced latex, which she pushed up my backside, ignoring the pain I was obviously in because I actually screamed, giving me a horrendous shock to my neck, knocking me out. When I recovered consciousness the horrible thing was completely inside me and secured by a female chastity belt round my waist and between my legs. I felt completely stretched down below and could only walk with what Evelyn laughingly described as a waddle when she saw me. As I was stood in the kitchen in front of both cooks and the maid, just thinking it couldn't possibly get any worse, Ms Johnson handed each of them a small plastic fob on a chain. She demonstrated its use by holding down a button on hers. The thing up inside me started to wriggle causing me to start panicking as it gradually got so mobile it was hurting me. It culminated in giving me a shock of its own, at least blessing me with unconsciousness. While all this was going on, Evelyn must have dealt with serving breakfast to Mary, because it was eleven in the morning when I was cleaning the small lounge when I caught a glimpse of her car leaving the property. I couldn't see who was in it, but I think it was several weeks before I was aware she had returned. The problem is that I have few memories of that period, I think I must have been suffering from both shock at my state and a deep depression. I do know that I went through each day with a routine of cleaning, working as cook's assistant and being tormented in these painful and humiliated ways for the amusement of the staff. I wasn't really aware, but they must have been disappointed with my reaction after a while, as I got to the stage where I was past caring. I carried out my tasks quite adequately and did as I was told without hesitation. I know that I had trouble with my nipples itching and subsequently both them, my bust and my behind grew larger every week although my waist became smaller. I don't remember worrying about it, it was just something that was going on and beyond my control or interest. It was no worse than having a daily morning enema followed by the replacement of the phalluses in both my orifices. The cause of me becoming more aware was when I realised that Mary had returned and preparations were made for some sort of celebration. Both cooks had me helping make many different petit fours and other finger food and a large marquee was assembled backing onto the house. I had just finished polishing the silver in the large dining room, making my way back to the kitchen when I caught a glimpse of my wife going up at the top of the stairs. I decided that it was now or never and took the opportunity to follow her into the master bedroom. I obviously couldn't speak so as she sat on the bed to take off her shoes I prostrated myself in front of her, my hands towards her in prayer and tears falling down my cheeks. I saw little reaction from her except that she leaned towards her bedside cabinet and pressed a button. She carried on taking off her shoes and stockings and had just finished when there was a knock on the door. She told Ms Johnson to come in, pointed at me then asked her to 'remove this thing' from her room. The housekeeper took me by the arm and started to drag me out. I had to react automatically and cried 'No!', which of course caused me horrible pain but I noticed that my warder (I'd come to think of her as that) was also shocked so badly that she momentarily had to let me go. She soon regained her grip though, and I was bundled down the stairs for more punishment in the kitchen with the paddle. After that I was taken up to my room and, apart from the choker round my neck, stripped naked by Evelyn, even my phalluses were removed. After a brief bath in heavily perfumed water I was dressed (and I use the term loosely) in a pair of sheer red self supporting stockings, red shoes with a six inch heel that locked on my feet and a frilly but very sheer white 'hostess' apron tied round my by now very slim waist. My make up was still immaculate, but she brushed an additional gloss on my lips to make the red colour shine. She brushed my hair out of its customary single plait, letting it hangs in loose waves down my back and shoulders. She must have known that my by now huge breasts were uncomfortable for me when unsupported, but that was the last thing on anybody's mind and she took me back down to the kitchen in the obscene state of my 'uniform'. I was told to wait as Ms Johnson and Evelyn went backwards and forwards, carrying trays of food and ice buckets with Champagne in them. I knew that something was afoot, otherwise I would be the one fetching and carrying, plus later I could hear music in the distance. Eventually, after waiting until what was becoming the early evening, I was told to take a tray of food out to the marquee. My breasts and backside wobbled as I carefully carried the tray, first to the dining room and then out through the open French windows to an area holding, I guess, around a hundred people, none of whom I recognised. Music was playing and a woman with a good voice was singing. As I walked among the crowd of mainly men they tended to gather round me and I saw other waitresses dressed in the same obscene manner as me, albeit in black hose and heels, contrasting with the guests who were all wearing evening suits or long dresses. My tray was soon emptied and I followed instructions and returned to the kitchen for a refill. I did this several times, working my way further into the tent each time. On my third foray, having my behind slapped and pinched by numerous people, I got as far the far end where I had the shock of my life (incredible after all the indignities I'd suffered). I'd seen that there were tables of varying sizes down the sides of the structure but one was larger than the others and was close to the stage where the singer was performing. At it, sat among a dozen or so others was Mary and while the others were formally dressed, she was wearing a white wedding dress. A man next to her I recognised but it took a moment for me to recall that he owned a number of clubs in several parts of the country. His name was Bill Daniels and I only knew him from a couple of drunken nights when I'd first gained my freedom at eighteen. He had a proprietorial arm round my wife. Above them, hanging on the wall was a banner saying; 'Congratulations Bill and Mary' decorated with silver bells. I think I must have gone into deep shock at that point. I know that I spent the rest of the night in varying degrees of degradation. Guests made free with the many bedrooms in my house and I was taken to various of them perhaps to act as 'fluffer' to get men aroused by sucking their penis to enable another round of sex with their partners, providing oral services to the women or even providing the two services at the same time. This involved using my mouth on both partners organs while they had sex with each other, don't ask me about the mechanics of that, I can barely remember them myself. Worst of all were the women who wanted to be cleaned out by my tongue after they'd had sex and wanted to be fresh for their next man. Many of the women were quite sadistic towards me, but frankly they couldn't compete with the punishments I regularly received from the house staff and on top of that my mind was turning itself off. The following day I assumed that the newlyweds went off on holiday and life for me reverted to that of the previous weeks. However, the staff were less guarded in their comments, presumably because they knew I was broken, and that was the way I found out about the source of my transformation; the friendship of my wife with the former pupils at my school. I also was able to work out that I was dead, or rather my death had been faked, presumably to get round the pre-nup. They obviously didn't intend to tell me these things, but because I was behaving like a zombie I suppose they thought I wasn't listening to their chatter, so they discussed things between them without paying me any attention. They were nearly right anyway. My life had become meaningless, I had no interest in it, I could see no way out all the while I had the collar round my neck. In any case being dead meant that if they killed me for real no one would miss me and there are a hundred places they could hide my body on the estate. My wife and her new husband didn't return to the house for several weeks, but when they did my employment changed. Again over-heard conversations told me that Evelyn had been owed a great deal of time off and Mary apparently agreed to test me to see if I was sufficiently 'tamed' to work in her place. It didn't take a great deal of acting on my part to tell them I was. My wife made deliberately provocative comments to me in order to gauge my reaction. Whatever she said I just curtseyed and accepted it, even to the point of having me dress or undress her for her 'husband' and hang up his clothes as they both got into bed together. I obviously passed these tests because after a month they took me with them to an apartment in London's West End owned by Bill Daniels. Why they used that while my superior place, with a maid service already in place, I don't know. Presumably Daniels felt more comfortable on his own turf, he certainly owned several 'turf accountants' (betting shops) in the vicinity. It was here that I decided I would kill myself, I just couldn't stand being tortured and humiliated any longer and it was the only way I could escape this life where, to use my wife's word I am just a 'thing', having almost the body of a woman but with the desires of a man. This apartment is, I must admit, quite a bit larger than mine and is in Soho, amid the theatres and night life, so I suppose on reflection it wasn't difficult to imagine the attraction it held for my wife. Incidentally I still refer to Mary as my wife because she still is, I'm obviously alive and we haven't been divorced. Well Mr Hardwick, that is my story for you to use because you will be the Coroner at my inquest. The apartment here has a professional gas range in the kitchen so that is my exit of choice, it will be a quick explosion and as the kitchen is at the back of the apartment, overlooking some spaces at the back of buildings that I've not seen anyone in, I am hoping I won't hurt anyone else. I will turn off the electricity first then will turn off the gas once there is enough in the room, I don't want to run the risk of the building catching fire and other apartments being affected. I will set the gas off once there has been a reasonable build up and as I will hopefully blast myself I have enclosed a sample of my hair that I've pulled out by the roots to provide you with a means to identify my body. Also attached is my last will and testament, as you will appreciate, I can't get this witnessed but I have very good lawyers looking after my estate, so provided you can provide evidence of the mutilation of my body, ordered by my wife, I'm depending on them reclaiming my estate from her and distributing it to the charities I've specified. Now I am trusting on the honesty of the public. I am separately dropping two copies of this letter out of a window at the front of the building a couple of hours apart, stamped and addressed, so hopefully you will get at least one of them. (Signed) Bianca (Formerly Brian) Stone Mr Hardwick put the letter to one side and called in his secretary. "Miss Jones, will you get me the file on the Soho explosion yesterday please." Efficient as she always was, within a minute the file was on his desk. He turned the pages slowly, then dialled the number for the West End Central Metropolitan Police station, asking for a Detective Sergeant Lynda Truscott. "Sergeant, that explosion just off Greek Street," he allowed her a moment to recollect the circumstances, "I've an interesting and very relevant letter arrived at my office, would you be so kind as to call over and have a look at it? Tell me, I take it you haven't yet been able to identify the remains?" She took a short minute to pull out her file. "Not yet Mr Hardwick, there wasn't much left of the body but chromosome tests have confirmed it to be male." * * * * * Lynda Truscott was a good detective. She soon had a large number of people in custody on various charges but principally assault, false imprisonment and slavery. They included the four staff from the Stone family house, Brian's old school colleagues, the staff of a very expensive clinic, The Changes Institute, and a number of the people from the 'wedding reception' who committed sexual assaults and/or rape. So thorough was she at bringing the cases to a successful conclusion and so unafraid of the importance of some of those involved, it wasn't long before it resulted in her promotion. Though obviously none of this helped Brian Stone. He had carefully calculated the time it would take to get an ideal explosive mixture of gas and air, he had already gone to the utility room to shut off the electricity and as soon as sufficient gas had escaped he returned to shut that off too, as he had promised. It was about nine thirty in the evening, so was dark and he knocked over the torch that always sat next to the fuse box and meters. It took him a few vital seconds to find it and by that time Mary and her new 'husband' had, unbeknown to Bianca, arrived back at the apartment early. Finding their home in darkness Bill headed for the kitchen where their sissy maid usually was, to find out what was going on. Unfortunately he was smoking..... Mary wasn't far behind him, so was horribly burned and as a result spent several weeks in intensive care. Bianca was injured and concussed but fortunately the device keeping him in the building was destroyed by the blast before he was carried out on a stretcher by the first responders. Of course that still left him with disfigured genitalia and it took months of psychiatric care to get him over the trauma of what he had been through. He eventually was able to have the surgery to reduce the size of his breasts but more importantly he became she, changing her name to Briana as she couldn't stand the name Bianca. She received a great deal of satisfaction when reading of the sentences given out to his torturers and even more when the payments of compensation started to roll in. Mary was left with one asset for his lawyers to get for him, Bill Daniels had a good life insurance policy with her named as beneficiary so every penny of it went either in legal costs or to Briana. She also took satisfaction in the knowledge that after Mary had served her nine years in prison, she would find even smiling a painful experience for her reconstructed lips. Briana sold both her homes, they held too many bad memories, but she found the real love of her life only two years later. She settled down and married another woman, Juliette Simms, and Detective Chief Inspector Lynda Truscott gave her away at the ceremony. With the wealth at her disposal the couple led an idyllic lifestyle, travelling the world and enjoying life. She never did have children, but that was her and her partner's choice, no one forced her into anything she didn't want to do ever again.