Raymond Limely owned mob boss Sergio Farinelli 50.000 bucks. Boy, was he in trouble.
OK, it was a stupid move, he admitted that. Betting 1000 dollars you do not have on a horse that cannot possibly win, is never a recipe for success. Still, it had seemed such a good idea at the time.
Without the 1000, he risked loosing his home, and he loved that house. So he went down to Sergio Farinelli and asked for a loan. The next horse was definitely a sure bet.
It wasn't. And with the interest rates of Mister Farinelli, he was suddenly the proud owner of a 50.000 dollar debt to the mafia.
You cannot run from a man like Farinelli. Raymond Limley tried. They caught him at a cheap hotel five miles outside of town, broke a few of his fingers and asked him politely for the next down payment.
At that very moment Raymond found peace with God. He knew that he was dead, and he stopped struggling.There was no way an engineer like him could cough up this kind of money.
The next week they visited his work place, scared some of his colleagues shitless and directed him into a waiting limo. Blindfolded, he listened to the rumbling of the tires and the chiming of the bells of a nearby church. He didn't ask for whom the bells tolled.
A few minutes later he was tied to a chair in a room that hadn't been redecorated since the 1950s. Jane Mansfield looked down at him from an old Playboy poster up at the wall. Without sympathy, it seemed.
"If I understand this correctly, you are not able to pay your debts to me," Farinelli said. Unlike the room, he wore the very latest as regards color schemes and textiles. Hugo Boss would have been proud of him.
But not of his face. His face reminded Raymond of an executioners ax. It hadn't seen a moisturizer since Police Commissioner Hamlin spit at him ten years earlier, and Hamlin was nowhere to be found.
"Yes, sir," Raymond replied. "I have given you all I have. My car, my house, my TV. All I have now are these clothes."
"I am sure you appreciate the predicament we are in," Mr. Farinelli said. "I am a businessman, Mr. Limley, and I have become rich because I do not accept losses of any kind."
"I am sure you believe that we are going to dump you in the river now, with your feet buried in a heavy slab of concrete. But you see, concrete costs money, and that is an investment that will never deliver an interest." He looked Raymond into the eyes.
"You do have something I want, Mr. Limely. I want you to sign this contact, and when you have done so, you are no longer in debt to me."
A man the size of a freight train gave Raymond a piece of paper and a pen. Raymond found it very hard to concentrate, and his hand was shaking so much that it was very hard to read. He did get the gist of the text, though.
"You want me to hand over my rights to my own body to you?" he asked.
"Exactly," Farinelli said, "the alternative costs to much."
"What are you going to do with it?" Raymond asked. "Use it as fertilizer?"
Farinelli laughed. "I love your spirit," he said. "You are going to need it where you are going. Sign!"
Raymond signed. What else could he possible do?
"Thank you, Mr. Limely," Farinelli said. "You have made the right choice. Bill here will now escort you to your quarters."
Big Bill took a good hold of his arm and dragged him into a nearby elevator. He pushed a button labelled -5.
"Hm, minus five, you sure have a big basement here," Raymond said while the elevator took them down into the ground. Bill was not in the mood for conversation. He had heard nervous bablling like this a hundred times.
When the door opened, Raymond was staring into the eyes of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was gorgeous! Long, black hair caressed her shoulders. She was scantily dressed. Her green silk jacket was open at the front revealing a black bra and two soft curves of female flesh.
"Do you like what you see, Mr. Limely?" she asked him.
He was just relieved that she actually saw him, but was not able to give any coherent reply: "Uh, well, yes, uh! And you are?"
"You can call me Diana, Mr. Limely, I will be your mistress this evening."
Mistress? What the fuck?
"Follow me, Mr. Limely" she asked politely. Bill was not equally polite. He just dragged Raymond down the concrete hallway.
He could see rows of doors on both sides, with small windows with bars on them, as in a prison. Behind some of the doors he could see shapes moving. In one he saw the anguished face of a man, in another the tearful eyes of a black, young, woman. It was as if she had given up on life.
"Who are these people?" he asked nervously.
"Do you know Police Commissioner Peterson?" she asked. Strange question.
"Yeah, he is the one that took over after Hamlin?" he answered.
"Oh, I loved Hamlin," she laughed. "You should have seen him beg for mercy! Well, I guess he is in a happy place now."
Raymond didn't like the sound of this.
"What about the police?" he asked. For his own sanity's sake he needed to get a grip on reality. In that respect Diana was not very helpful.
"When Peterson took over he promised his voters that he would put an end to the disappearance of women in this city. In 2005 alone more than 180 women disappeared without a trace, never to be seen again."
She stopped and looked Raymond into the eyes.
"We know where they are, Mr. Limely. We were the ones that sold them to cheap bordellos in South America, harems in the Middle East and to a large number of sick perverts who wanted love toys of their own. However, we wanted to preserve our special relationship with Peterson, and in return for certain favors, we put an end to all the kidnappings."
Raymond and read about Peterson's pledge. He had been duly reelected. Any hope of the police rescuing him died at that moment. He was truly fucked.
"Now there are only men disappearing," she laughed. "And they fetch a nice price in the North African slave markets."
So that was it then. They were going to sell him as a butt boy to some Arabian sheik or whatever.
"This doesn't make any sense!" he screamed at her. "I am not that good looking. I am middle aged. Slightly bold, overweight. This doesn't make any sense."
"Ah, here is your guest room, Mr. Limely. I hope you enjoy your stay." Bill threw him into the room at the very end of the hall. It turned out to be a padded cell with no furniture. A small lamp in the ceiling filled the room with a bluish light. There was a hole in the ground at the end of the room -- to be used for sanitary purposes, he guessed. The wash basin was padded.
They closed the door. He sat down on the floor, numb. Down the hall he could hear a man scream: "Let me out of here, man. You cannot do this to me!"
Then a woman crying: "This is not me.Take me back, pleeeeease!" Then someone banging on the door: "Shut up, bitch, or I'll come in and ram you!" Then silence.
He waited for hours, before finally falling asleep on the floor. His mind was filled with strange dreams of men and women having bizarre sex.
In one of them he was bent over a table. He could feel someone rip down his trousers, and put a big dick up his ass. He woke up, gasping. Damned, that was a sick dream!
He lost track of time, but he believed it must have been morning, when Diana and her friend came back with a tray with some food and a bottle of orange juice.
"Eat and drink it all," she commanded. "You need all the energy you can get."
While he was eating, Diana opened up the small red briefcase she was carrying and looked through some papers. She looked at Bill.
"He is assigned to our Omanian friend?" she asked. He grunted.
"OK." She opened a folder and looked at some pictures. Raymond only caught a glimpse, but could have sworn that it was pages torn out of a colored magazine. He could see some skin.
Diana put the folder back into the briefcase. "Don't he know how much their backs will hurt with heavy equipment like that?" she asked Bill. Bill was clearly incapable of answering questions in any normal way, but the grin he gave her was sickening.
Diana took out a syringe and signaled to Bill. Suddenly Bill was holding him so tight that Raymond was unable to move.
"It is time for your special vitamins, my dear," Diana purred and inserted the needle into a vein in his arm. "Here you go. You are such a nice boy!" She laughed. Bill threw him into a corner.
"Turn up the intensity of the radiation!" he could hear Diana say. Shortly after he could see the blue light becoming more intense.
He explored the room in anguish, but could find now way of escaping. Not that he had been expecting that, of course, but he had to do something. This feeling of helplessness was killing him.
He fell asleep again. When he woke up, someone had put a white silk pajamas on the floor. As a prison garment, it was on the luxurious side. His old clothes were getting sweaty and stale, so he put it on. He started to understand the rules of this game. If they wanted him to change, he would.
While changing he noticed that some of his chest hair had fallen off. He looked at the blue light. Were they trying to give him cancer with radiation poisoning. Was that Farinelli's sick revenge? But what about all his talk about not loosing money? A cancer patient wouldn't be much profitable, would he?
He buried his face in his hands and sighed. That was strange! He let his hands wander up to the top of his head. He could feel a thin cover of soft down covering his skull. He had been bald since his mid twenties. Could radiation make hair grow out again? Was that it, were they trying to make him look better in order to get a better price at the gay marked?
Hours went by. He was getting bored.
Finally, Bill and Diana appeared again. He got a decent meal with a lot of vegetables and another shot of "vitamins".
"I guess you are getting bored?" she said and took out a catalog from her briefcase. "Why don't you entertain yourself with this one?"
It was a catalog from Victoria's Secret: Sexy models showing off bras, panties, and babydolls.
"Don't thank me," she said. "It is all part of our prisoner welfare policy!" She shut the door behind them.
Raymond sat down in a corned and leafed through the catalog. He used to masturbate to pictures like these when he was younger. And although the blue light made the printed colors harder to interpret, he could see that Victoria's models were as hot as ever.
He started fantasizing about having sex with one model wearing a silk georgette halter babydoll. He needed an outlet for all the stress and anxiety, so he started to masturbate, dreaming about burying his face in the lustrous hair of that woman, resting between her legs.
After his climax, he fell asleep again. New strange dreams followed. In one of them he was wearing the babydoll in the picture. Again he was forced down face first over a table, and he could feel a hand lift his babydoll to expose his butt.
He woke up with a scream. God, no, not again! What scared him though, was not the fact that he was being violated in the dream, but that the dream aroused him. He woke up with the hardest hard-on he'd ever had.
In the corner of the room he could see a white garment, neatly folded. It was the Victoria's Secret babydoll found in the picture.
There must be a camera here, he thought. They are watching every move I make. This must be some kind of experiment, he thought. That would be a relief. Maybe it was all a game. Maybe they would let him out, eventually.
Did they want him to masturbate holding the babydoll? Or did they want him to put it on? Did they want to find out how much psychological pressure was needed to make a cross-dresser out of him? Well, they could keep on dreaming. He would not put on that babydoll, that was certain.
He looked down at his white flannel pajamas. Hm, that one looked a bit feminine too, didn't it? He took of the top and looked at the label. Fuck, it was Victoria's Secret. He searched through the catalog. Yepp, there it was, on page 23. That model was wearing a pink version, but it was definitely the same garment. They had tricked him.
He let the top fall to the floor and sighed. He looked down at his chest. His black body hair had disappeared. His skin had become much smoother. He looked at his nipples. Were they always this big? They were rock hard. And the areolas looked bigger too. He touched the right nipple. It was definitely more sensitive that he was used to. Was this caused by the radiation?
He examined the rest of his body. No, apart from the lack of body hair, it looked pretty normal. Even his love handles were intact. He grabbed them with both hands and looked for the imaginary camera. "If your really want to change me, you can take these!" he shouted.
It was time for another meal and another shot. The weird dreams followed. Again he was forced down onto the table. Plates and cups fell down to the floor. He tried to hold on to the table cloth to get up, but the man behind him held him fast. Raymond felt strange. It was as if he was resting on two soft cushions on the table. He realized that they were breast -- big breasts.
He could feel the man behind him move his hands between his legs. When the man reached his crotch, Raymond could feel nothing. His penis was gone!
He woke up, shaking. He was aroused and it scared him. His dick was, thank God, still there, but it was pointing to the heavens. He was intensely horny, and the idea of having a penis up his ass, suddenly felt ... good? He threw up in the hole and washed his mouth in the basin.
That night the background tapes started running. The volume was low, but he could hear soft female voices whispering, overlapping. It was hard to hear what they said, but he did catch snippets like: "I am a soft, sexy, woman." "I love my soft, sensitive skin." "Lick my nipples, darling." "I look so good in my babydoll". "Fill me up with your love, baby!"