It may have been the first time Martin had seen his wife in over three months, but as she turned to face him he did not run to her. Partly because he had never seen her look at him in that way – her stare distant, an unnerving edge to her expression – but mainly because he thought the burly men twisting his arms behind his back might snap them clean off if he did.
His wife was naked and cuffed by her wrists and ankles to a free-standing wooden wall. Her skin was smoother than he had ever seen it, and she was slick with sweat. She panted breathlessly, as though she had just finished a marathon, and despite her extended absence he had never seen her look better: she was well-groomed, clean, her nails carefully manicured, her eyebrows sharp, her hair pulled back in a ponytail behind her. She smelled faintly of some floral soap, he noted. Her hands cuffed to the board beside her head, her chest arched out as though she were pushing herself towards something, held away from the wall by a soft, round cushion in her back, and her legs bent back at the knee so that her feet were cuffed level with her hips.
The two men marched him over to a similar wall opposite his wife. Though she said nothing, her unsettling stare followed him across the room. He could not quite decide what she held in those eyes. Rage? Passion? Carnal lust? All three and more besides? The ambiguity of it was what unnerved him the most, and he found he could not hold her stare for more than a few moments.
The men suddenly began to tear his clothes away, and though he initially struggled, a sharp punch to the gut sufficed to disable him long enough for the men to strip him completely and heave him up onto the wall. Twisting his legs up behind him and cuffing his arms and legs to the boards, he was soon suspended in the same manner as his wife; the unnatural position of his legs was especially painful, and he found that the ball pushing against the base of his spine was not-cushioned like the one for his wife, instead fashioned of tough, painful plastic.
The men stepped aside, and shortly after a tall, athletic man with greying hair and an immaculate business suit strode through the same door Martin had entered by. He took a moment to delicately stroke the woman’s face, drawing a satisfied murmur from her lips. Then, as though noticing Martin for the first time, he analysed the naked man from head to toe. He seemed displeased, his lip curling in disgust, though a smirk played on his lips as he caught sight of Martin’s manhood. Martin had never thought of himself as especially small, yet the businessman seemed amused by what he saw.
‘Mr Hughes, I assume,’ he said, the disgust returning to his face, ‘I can see why your wife came to us.’
Martin found that his naked vulnerability had robbed him of his words, but now he found them again.
‘Screw you, you bastard. You stole her from me. Is this where she has been for the past three months? Locked up by some smug prick and his two goons?’
The businessman tutted disapprovingly. ‘Now, now, you say locked up as though it is a bad thing. Of course, as you see her she is currently restrained, but that is only for her own safety. It’s rare, but some initiates can react violently to the sensory stimuli. This method of restraint is perfectly comfortable for her, I assure you. Cushioned back support, padded cuffs. Even a very mild sedative to relax her muscles and reduce the risk of her cramping up. It is ordinary practice to care for our initiates in this way.’
‘What the fuck do you mean initiates? You kidnapped her!’
‘And what on earth makes you think that, Mr. Hughes?’ The man smiled and Martin felt even more uncomfortable.
‘She wouldn’t just run off to somewhere like this of her own accord.’
‘On the contrary, that is exactly what she did. If you don’t mind, I will refrain from using her previous name, as she does not tend to react well to the use of it. Here, your wife is known as Serenity. You see our operation is an efficient one, Mr. Hughes, and we know our target audience. Your wife happened to fit into said audience, and it took little persuasion to have her come running to us. We offer the women who come to us a release from their caged existence, the chance to escape from lives as bored housewives with lacking sex lives and pitiful lovers and find a new life beyond their wildest desires. They come to us, willingly, and they undergo our stimulation process. It changes them a little, of course, but Serenity is still the woman who left you for us, Mr. Hughes. In fact, she is better than the woman who left you. The perfect version of herself.’
‘What the fuck have you done to her?’
‘Done to her? Nothing at all. Done for her? Well, simply we have renewed her, the same as we do with all the women who come to us. They come to us in the hopes of a better life and we provide that. The building you are in right now could be referred to by the crude as a manner of brothel, I suppose. We operate with a distinct level of secrecy and discretion, and all our patrons are subject to strict checks before they are able to place so much as a foot over our threshold. One does not have to be ultra-rich to find themselves here, simply of a higher calibre than the riffraff of society.’
‘And you hire out the girls as sluts?’
The businessman scowled. ‘You certainly would not pass our checks, Mr. Hughes. Your mind is distinctly closed. We treat our girls like goddesses. As I said, they come to us, and we build them new lives. We set up breadcrumb trails to make it appear to the outside world as though they have run off to some sunny climate with a rich lover, and we allow them to live here or in any of our establishments across the world. They are not prisoners. By day they are out in the world, acting as agents for us to find other women who we may assist, rehabilitate if you will. By night, they return here, and if they wish to spend their time with the men who visit our establishment, they do so of their own accord. Naturally, it is rare that they decline the offer of such scintillating sexual contact, as the stimulation process helps to produce a perpetual carnal lust in them. I assure you, if I was to release Serenity from her bondage right now she would not think twice about fucking me before your eyes.’
‘She’s never been like that before.’
‘She has always been like that, Mr. Hughes. You simply never sated her appetites. The stimulation process uses a mixture of visual, auditory and scent-based stimuli in order to specifically pinpoint key parts of the brain that deal with suppressed lusts and desires. We do not incite any desires that were not already there. There are a few different compounds we use. The main rooms, for example, in which our clients and our girls engage with one another, uses a mixture of lighting, soft music and diffusers to deliver a unisex version of the stimulation process. I can assure you the effect it has on the love-making process is… explosive. This room, however, is specifically catered to our girls. The process is permanent, but we find the girls like regular repetition. Your wife, as you can see, is no different. In fact, she is one of our most eager initiates. This will be her fifteenth time.’
‘You’re not going to keep this under wraps forever. You slipped up. You didn’t set up any breadcrumb trail to throw me off. Now I’m here, and people will notice I’ve gone missing and they’ll find you, just like I did.’
The businessman smiled. He nodded to the two men who promptly left the room. Martin’s wife moaned in anticipation. ‘Mr. Hughes, please do not take offence to this, but you are exceptionally dull. Not only have you managed to drive your wife away so completely that she elected to leave you for even a sliver of hope that she might get a little sex, but your ability to see through a clear ruse is borderline infuriating. I cannot imagine how empty your life must be. The only reason you are here is because we allowed you to be.
‘The lack of a breadcrumb trail was deliberate in order to guide you here. In fact, the breadcrumb trail that led you to us was entirely set up for that very purpose. All those emails you found on your wife’s computer? Utterly falsified. The bank deposits, the text messages, everything that led you to us was entirely designed for that exact purpose.’
Martin was beginning to panic, and he strained at his restraints until it hurt. ‘But the police, the reporters I spoke to. They have all that information. They’ll find you with it.’
‘We have been keeping an eye on you since before your wife ever left you, Mr. Hughes. Our clients have a wide reach, and their resources are our resources. Let me simply say that every communication you have had since your wife’s disappearance has never reached the intended recipient. Your emergency calls were re-routed here, and answered by our staff. The police officers you spoke to were staff members sent to pose as the real deal, as were the reporters. Every communication you have had with any of them since has been false, and even your text messages have been remotely replied to. You have not spoken to anybody that we did not want you to speak to for over three months.’
Martin was almost lost for words. Suddenly feeling acutely vulnerable, he managed to articulate the only question he could think to ask. ‘Why?’
The businessman turned and strode over to Martin’s wife. He stroked her face again, his hand tracing her curves and she stared at him lustfully, biting her lip. His hand still roaming her body, he looked at the restrained man with an expression of disgust. ‘Because we require your services, Mr. Hughes. Well, your body is a more accurate way of putting it. You see our girls hold a lot of penned up energy, and though they are more than happy to be fucked they often find themselves in need of having something to fuck. We have a few girls who are naturally submissive, but they really want something a little more… usable, I suppose. That is where you come in.
‘As I said, this room is specifically designed to stimulate our girls, and thus only uses the female specific stimuli in the process. We discovered some time ago that the same process has some rather interesting side effects when applied to a male mind. Specifically, they wind up practically mindless, submissive, feminine and exceedingly horny all of the time. To put it bluntly, they become perfectly designed sissies. We make sure to exercise them daily, keep them nice and fit, but the incessant use at the hands of our girls often does that well enough. Most of our establishments have a resident sissy, but since this is a fairly new build, we have not yet had chance to hire one. You, however, are the lucky man to fill that role. I hope you’re ready, Mr. Hughes. Not that it matters. In a few minutes you won’t remember who you are, who you were, or that dear Serenity here was ever your wife. All you’ll be is a submissive little sissy to be used however our girls please.’
Slipping out of the room, the man ignored Martin’s shouts as he fought against his restraints. Hearing the door lock he screamed desperately, frantic to escape. Without delay, the walls lit up with sequences of flashing lights, a heavy mist swirled down from vents in the ceiling, and a constant music played from unseen speakers.
Restrained as he was, Martin was desperate not to let it get in his head. He was strong-willed. He could last it out. The mist swirled around him, pouring down his throat with every breath, sweeping up his nose. The lights flashed over and again, the music boring into his skull like a drill.
He was strong, he told himself, clinging to the man he knew he was.
He was strong…
He was sissy…
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