Kidnapped (A One Week Chronicles)

Pulling the sheets over his head, Mal sobbed quietly as the song finished, the only sound in the room muffled by the satin covers as he cried himself to sleep.

Day Four

Mal was awake before the alarm and quickly slid from the bed before it could fill the room with its invasive sound. He had kicked off his court shoes before going back to sleep, but still wore the satin dress. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he made his way to the bedroom and spied his instructions on the screen.

i.Exercise

ii.Shower.

iii.Shave.

iv.Shave some more.

v.Moisturise all over.

vi.Towel under arm pits 

vii.Come to living room.

viii.Hugs xx

Lifting the skirt of his dress above his waist, Mal pulled down his silky knickers and sat on the toilet to urinate. Yesterday, he'd struggled with the simple act of going to the loo, but was a quick learner and managed it without fuss. He then stripped in the bathroom, struggling with the zip, but managing to pull it down and slip the dress from his shoulders, wiggling his bum to get the tight fitting dress over his waist. It felt strange to release himself from its firm yet gentle embrace and he was surprised at how much he didn't want to take it off.

The corset came next and he breathed an explosive sigh of relief as he loosened the ties, his stomach no longer constricted by the garment. Pausing for a moment and gazing at himself briefly in the mirror, he left his knickers and bra on, preferring to keep the silicone breasts on. Had he been asked at that moment why that was, he wouldn't have been able to provide an answer.

Moving into the living room, he saw some purple lycra running tights and a matching sports bra on the table and put them on, pushing himself again on the bike until sweat poured from every gland and he felt his heart pounding heavily in his chest. The sports bra felt a much better fit with the breasts, though he could feel the silicone against his chest getting slick with sweat. Hitting the thirty kilometre mark, he eased off for a final kilometre before easing himself off the bike and stretching the soreness from his muscles.

Heading for the shower, he idly wondered at what delights would await him that day. He managed to suppress the thrill of excitement and told himself that he was just playing along until an opportunity arose. It will, he thought. Moirae will slip and he'll be ready.

Day Fifteen.

The last nine days had passed in a blur. Mal had worked hard every day, exercising diligently and he could feel his flat stomach returning, the looseness that had started to creep in swept away in a tide of sweat and hard work. He'd enjoyed the results, but had enjoyed more how he looked and felt in the variety of corsets and dresses that he'd been made to wear every day. He secretly loved how they fit better and how he looked more feminine but managed to hide it, or so he thought, from his captor.

Each day had presented itself with a new task and each had built upon the previous day. He had been tasked with learning deportment and every mistake or slip back into his old, boorish habits had resulted in a tighter skirt or corset and higher heels, restricting him even more and reminding him of his predicament. He was to sit, eat, stand, walk and act in a particular way and Moirae was keen to ensure that he emulate a real woman and not be some pastiche of one. He had found the task difficult at times and tried to rebel, but the rewards were so much better than the punishment and he was soon behaving more naturally and without thought.

Harder to do was his make-up and Moirae had been a patient teacher. As long as he tried, it was the one mistake he wouldn't get punished for and, on the screen, she showed him how to apply eye-liner, change the lines of his face with a tinge of bronzer under the jaw and apply lipstick without smudging the lines or getting some on his teeth. He spent an entire day putting it on and wiping it off, before being made to do it again. Engrossed as he was in his task, he barely noticed the time pass. The wig came next and he delighted at how it finished the look. He'd spend an age in the dresser mirror, admiring his reflection before going to the mirror in the bathroom to see himself as a woman.

"You're enjoying this," said Moirae over the speaker. Mal grunted and gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Just doing what my jail warden expects of me so I can get my reward this evening." She saw the lie for what it was but let it pass. He'd become adept at extracting wine or a tropical juice from the large dildo and the promise of a film or TV show in the evening was plenty for them both to keep the pretence up.

The next day, he was expected to exercise, shower, dress and apply his make up without support and Moirae had even opened a small cupboard with a choice of outfits. He naturally chose the sexiest ones and Moirae chuckled as she saw Mal try different outfits on before settling for one he liked. As the days wore on, he became increasingly confident in his ability to be Mel and Moirae gave a satisfied sigh. She decided that it was time to crank things up a notch. He could dress himself, apply his make-up and make a passable attempt at feminine deportment, but it was all a bit too easy now. She had to break him down more so that he could be rebuilt. Or broken completely. Whatever, really.

Mal finished his shower and stepped from the booth, hot steam filling the room. With a start, he saw that someone had been in the bathroom and placed a strange looking device on the sink. He glanced quickly at the screen and saw a diagram explaining its function. It was a douche, with a large bulbous end and a thin, tapered section. Next to it was a jar of lube and he shook his head vehemently.

"Not happening!" he shouted. He'd become used to talking aloud and getting a response from Moirae, but the speakers stayed silent. The image on the screen changed and his heart sank as he read it.

WRONG VOICE

He'd practised so hard at making his voice sound feminine, but had struggled, often forgetting himself. He knew that it was a demerit and so would be punished in some way. He closed his eyes and calmed himself. Yes, he was captive, but he hadn't been hurt. It was surreal, sure, bizarre, definitely, but he hadn't been abused. It could be that he'd been misled and that it was all leading to something sinister, but he'd made a promise that night he'd cried himself to sleep, that he would do what it took to get back to Katie.

Looking in the mirror, he saw his reflection staring back at him. His eyebrows were neatly plucked, thin arches over eyes that still had a smudge of make-up on and gold studs in his ears. It was more than that though. His demeanour had changed. He saw himself, but didn't recognise the person looking at him. He remembered a paper that he'd written at university. He'd studied evolution that semester and smiled at the through line of the work, realising how apt it was as his research echoed through his life to that point.

Life is about change. The world changes constantly, shifting as it hurtles through space, ready to slough us off at the slightest chance. Ice, fire, drought, flood. All will test every species and those who stagnate die. The rule is simpler than survival of the fittest. It's Darwinism distilled into its purest essence. Change or die. Adapt or die

His professor had called it hyperbole at the time, but, standing in front of the mirror, it felt like he had sent himself a message in a bottle. He grabbed the douche and closed the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes and a shower later, Mal left the bathroom feeling cleaner that he had ever done before. He'd struggled to get the thin end in but had taken his time and worked slowly, holding the liquid in for as long as possible before expelling the fluid in a gush that shocked him. Cleaning himself up, he walked to the bedroom and picked his favourite corset from the chest of drawers that had been placed there a few days previously. It was made of a deep purple satin and had intricate laced patterns over the satin. It reached from his pelvis to just below his chest and he decided that he would glue his breast forms on today and wear them "naturally" for the next couple of days. Mal loved how they hung from him and delighted in wearing strapless tops with them on.

He squeezed himself into the corset and tightened the ties, going several inches beyond what he'd been able to do twelve days previously. He put on a matching bra and then applied the glue to the back of the silicone breasts, using the bra to make sure that they were attached to him in the correct place. Lying on the bed, he pushed down on them and held himself there for several minutes while the glue dried, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander.

When they had set, he rolled up some stockings and pulled up the luxurious silk over his smooth legs before removing the bra and walking around the bedroom, testing the feel of the breasts as they pulled against his skin. He could feel himself hardening and quickly put on a matching pair of knickers to hide himself from Moirae. As he tucked himself away, he heard the rattle of a message being sent down the pipe and walked into the living room, but not before he slipped into a pair of five inch stiletto pumps.

He hadn't given it the slightest thought that he would do otherwise. Mal's conditioning was working, even if he didn't realise it. The sound of the heels echoed around the chamber as he fiddled with the container. He'd removed his false nails and been made to learn how to file his own and paint them as well as any pro. It had taken a day of painting, removing and painting again until his captor was satisfied and he'd chosen a bright red to match the red dress he wanted to wear that day.

Reading the note, his heart sank and he turned to the table, noticing for the first time the plug that nestled in a box next to some lube. It wasn't terribly large, tapered at one end and with a red jewel at the widened base. He'd never so much as contemplated an act such as this before and knew why Moirae had sent the message and not given him her usual personal greeting.

There'd be no argument on this. The note said that he was to insert the plug and leave it in for one hour. He glowered at the camera in the corner and swiped the plug from the table. He'd be damned if he did it in front of her and moved to the bedroom, pulling down his knickers before he had chance to think on what he was doing.

The plug was metal and he quickly put some lube on it before leaning forward on the bed, balancing well on his heels and gripping the satin sheets with one hand. With the other, he placed the plug against his arse and felt his sphincter clench at the cold lube. He remembered when Katie had asked him if he'd try a strap on and he'd refused.

"It's not as painful as you think," she'd said. "You just need to relax and take your time, go slow and build yourself up to the bigger ones!" She had grinned at that but Mal had brushed the conversation aside. He took her advice now, however, and pushed gently, prising his cheeks apart and slowly easing the plug in. The metal was unyielding and cold, but the size was tolerable.

Thinking it wasn't too bad, he pushed harder and regretted it as pain shot through him. He almost gave up then, but left the plug where it was and gave himself time to get used to the girth. He eased it out a little and pushed it back again, giving himself more time and eventually pushing the widest part through. The plug shot from his grasp as his sphincter closed around the thin end, leaving just the red jewel showing.

Still leaning against the bed, stockings rubbing against the sheets, he felt a moment of euphoria as the plug rubbed against his prostrate and involuntarily squeezed the plug tighter, eliciting a slight moan as the plug rubbed against his P spot again. Standing straight only served to push the plug further and he could feel his member stiffening with pleasure. Taking a moment to compose himself, Mal managed to get his knickers on before walking to the latest addition in the bedroom - a large cupboard that held a few dresses. He was yet to wear anything other than a dress for two weeks now and had grown to love the different sensations they could give. From long, loose and flowing dresses that swirled around him when he walked, to tight fitting ones that hugged his every curve sensuously, he was secretly smitten.

The plug in his arse moved with every step and he shook his head at how he'd changed in the last couple of weeks. He reminded himself that he was a prisoner though, and that everything he did was for one purpose.

Escape.

He'd play along with these bizarre games but, at the first opportunity, he would make his escape, whatever the cost.

Setting aside his dark thoughts, he chose a deep red Karen Millen dress that he wouldn't have been able to fit into two weeks ago and lay the stunning garment on the bed, glad that he'd pushed himself so hard on the bike. He took twenty minutes to apply his make-up, making sure that it matched his dress and chose some jewellery from a small box that had appeared one day after a gruelling session on the bike. He'd enjoyed the feel of the gold necklaces and bangles and looked forward to being able to wear proper, dangly earrings.

Every time he sat, the plug pushed up further, reminding him of its presence and every time he walked, it shifted within him, teasing and titillating. The dress, as he squeezed himself into it, served to grasp it tighter within him and he closed his eyes for a moment. He was imprisoned in two underground chambers, but had willingly imprisoned himself in a cage of satin and steel, followed by another layer of satin and capped off with impressively thin high heels. It was odd that he felt freer and more alive than he had in years.

A familiar whirring in the living room interrupted his thoughts and he strode into the next room as the projector came to life and Moirae greeted him with his tasks for the day.

That evening, Mal's reward was unexpected. On his bed lay a journal. He recognised it straight away. It contained his PhD thesis on oncogenes and how to switch them off before they became cancerous.

He'd felt such pride and achievement in his work and had been hailed as a revolutionary in his field. It had soon soured, however, as he struggled to take the research to the next step. He'd been able to alter the genes with gene line therapy, but somatic therapy had been just out of his reach. He could change the genes the moment after conception, but once the bundle of cells that made up an organism differentiated, he couldn't make any change permanent. He had been so agonisingly close, but had given up. Never chased the next grant, never pushed his advantage home when his name had been a big deal in oncology in only his early twenties.

He regarded the paper on his bed in a contemplative silence. It summed up his life.

Potential.

Picking up the journal, he flicked to his article and started to read.

Day Twenty

"No way. That's twice the size than the others. It's as big as the dildo you have me sucking to get something nice to drink!"

There was no message on the TV in the bathroom. The projector stayed silent and no rattling sounded from the message pipe. He'd become used to wearing a plug every day for an hour and had enjoyed some of the bigger ones, the sensation of being filled pleasant and more satisfying as the curved ones had tickled his g-spot as he now thought of it.

This one was the biggest yet and shaped to resemble a penis. Mal had less issues with using a plug when they hadn't looked so real. It was still smaller than the one that was embedded in the floor next to the bike and he'd assiduously avoided that one every day, fancying that it glowered at him as he went about his tasks and thankful that he'd not been asked to do anything with it yet.

"Give me a smaller one," he said to the air, careful to modulate his voice as he'd been trained to do and not show any trace of masculinity.

Empty silence. Mal gave an irritated sigh and gestured to the camera where he knew he was being watched.

"Fine. I'll try it, but if it doesn't fit, I'm not doing it. That fair?" A chime pinged from his bathroom and he walked through the bedroom, heels loud on the floor and saw a smiley face on the screen. He resisted the urge to smile back and went to the bed, climbing on it as he spread himself to take the large plug. Being silicone, he was surprised that it didn't hurt as much as he'd feared. He'd become used to taking the plugs and had perfected the technique of gently easing it in. This time, he tried not to focus on the fact that he was gently rubbing an all too real looking and feeling cock into his arse.

Finally managing to get the plug in, he lay on the sheets for a moment, his heels catching on the sheets, and startled when a vibrating coursed through his body. The plug had a remote that had just been activated and he gasped as it sent waves of pleasure through his body. His hands instinctively went to rub his breasts, enclosed as they were in the satin negligee that he still wore from the previous night. His breasts had been freshly glued on and he loved the feel of them through the soft material. He groaned loudly as the intensity of the vibrations increased and he felt himself starting to climax. Panic set in and he suddenly sat up with a guilty start. He knew that he was enjoying these new sensations but wasn't ready to face them just yet. He still had to get out of this prison. Only then would he allow himself to truly assess what was happening to him.

As he controlled his breathing, another chime sounded from the screen in the bathroom and he leaned over to see the screen from where he sat.

Outfit in Living room.

Glad to take his mind from thoughts he couldn't fathom, he rushed into the living room to find an outfit that stopped him dead in his tracks. By the door was a mannequin dressed in a pink sissy maids outfit. With long sleeves and a high neck, his body would be covered in silky satin and large bows but the frilly hem of the dress would barely reach below his knickers, coming out in waves of lace and silks. At the feet of the dummy were the highest pair of Mary-Janes that he'd ever seen with a heel measuring at least six inches. A pretty bow on the head complemented the outfit and Mal gulped, barely aware of the large plug within him that had now stopped vibrating.

Moirae watched him carefully on the monitor. This was a big step. She'd dressed him in many sexy dresses, but always ones that were never submissive. Designed to make him feel sultry and powerful. Beautiful and strong women wore what Mal had been made to wear these last few weeks, but he would now have to take a submissive role. She watched him hesitate. If he could overcome this, she knew that she could succeed with him. If he couldn't, she knew she'd failed. The consequences would be dire if she did. She held her breath and waited for an age, impatience making her tap a nail absently on the desk.

"C'mon hunny bun," she muttered to herself. "Don't make this all for nothing." Still Mal hesitated and Moirae felt despair creep into her, doubt wracking her body as she contemplated failure and the ramifications that would come with it. She was about to turn off the monitor when she saw him twitch. He reached a hand up and she saw him shake a little as he touched the uniform. Adrenaline coursed through her as she recognised what she saw.

"You love it don't you, you little minx!" she exclaimed with delight. She picked up the phone and dialled a number, surprised at how quickly her call was answered.

"Phase one complete," she said. "Time for phase two."

Mal pulled up the white stockings with trembling fingers and attached the suspenders to them from the white corset he wore. It was tighter than any he'd previously worn and he struggled to slip his feet into the shoes and do up the buckle. The heels were extremely high and he tottered for a moment as he stood up, his large plug pushing further into him. He'd taken a moment to apply some extra slutty make-up and wore a blonde wig with bunches on each side. Stepping into the dress, he pulled it up with a rustle of layers as the skirts shifted and bobbed as he pulled it up over the frilly French knickers he now wore. He pushed his arms through the sleeves, loving the feel of the shimmering satin on his smooth skin and reached behind to zip up the dress, grateful that the corset was so tight as that was the only way that it would fit.