You Can't Fight Biology

"I'm very sorry, Daddy," she said.

And they led me back to my room.

3. His revenge unfolds

The very next day, I was taken to the same place, and once again chained to the post. The "girl next door" came out, as before, with Mueller right behind her. As before, they were soon followed by the nurse and another young woman dressed only in in silk panties and an underwired bra. I recognized her instantly, although she, like my poor daughter, had clearly been receiving the benefit of the doctor's treatments. It was my wife, Annie. She looked healthy, with good colour in cheeks and her usual kind smile, although her appearance was a little altered. I am not an expert in breast sizes, but I suppose the enhancements had increased her size to something like a 34H or 34J cup. She looked across the room at me, and a curious pitying expression crossed her face. Briefly, I wondered whether I was becoming erect again, but looking down I saw that I was still respectably limp, though naked.

At the doctor's command, the nurse scissored my wife's bra strap, and her new tits spilled out over her chest. Then, she cut off the panties, exposing a rather lush plot of pubic hair in an area my scrupulous wife normally kept shaved. And I resigned myself to the horrible certainty that the doctor would rape her as he had raped my little daughter.

What happened, however, was much stranger than that. The doctor issued some sort of command, and presently the door opened once again. A male youngster came in, a wiry, a skinny little brat, and I wondered for a moment whether he was about to be raped as well. But then, he bent over with a jaunty, impudent, manner and whisked off his own pants. The half-erect cock that popped out of his white briefs was another of Mueller's experiments, evidently: a big hairy cock, a couple of inches longer than my own, and as fat as a rolling pin. As I realized what was about to happen, my eye wandered down to the scrotum under his now-tumescent penis. The balls dangled heavily, wreathed in a faint fuzz of light-colored hair.

By now, my wife was already lying on a floor mattress, face up, with her legs spread. I looked at her face, expecting an expression of fear or disgust, but she looked merely expectant and even, though I could scarcely imagine why, somewhat eager. Perhaps she had been drugged with the same aphrodisiac that had made the "girl next door" so forward. In any case, she did not seem unhappy at the way thing were unfolding. The kid eyed her with a greedy leer, with his outlandish prick almost touching his pointy chin. As young as he was, he seemed to know exactly what to do next. He took his long cock in one hand, and sort of lay down over my wife's big, soft body, forcing his monstrous prick into her womanly curves. He was not very tall, so his head barely came as high as her shoulders. He buried his face between her big, wobbling tits and gave a hard push. As he entered her, she made a little sound of surprise, sort of an "Oh! as if this is not quite what she had expected. Then the kid got busy, his narrow back and skinny buttocks going up and down, very capably. Within a few seconds, she was groaning and writhing, and soon she was hissing out little swear words under her breath and clenching her hands at her sides. Whenever he lifted his skinny back, I had a clear view of his dangling balls and the base of his cock. A hot jealous anger rose in me and I tore at my chains. But I could only watched helplessly, while this insolent youngster made my wife come, and then made her come again and again, loudly and without restraint. It went on like this for a very long time, and I lost count of the number of times she announced the arrival of another orgasm with a series of gasps and that little girlish cry that I knew so well (though I had never heard it so many times on one day!).

And then he came too. Apparently, the kid's "enhancements" included the ability to pump out ridiculous quantities of sperm. It spurted into her in such abundance that it spilled out around the shaft of his cock, and poured down her thighs. Then he pulled out, and shot one final long string of semen up her belly and over her breasts. He seemed very pleased with himself, as he put his clothes back on. He kept glancing over at my wife and chuckling.

By now, my dick was hard and throbbing, as before. From across the room, I saw Annie looking directly at it with an expression of disapproval, and I was filled with shame. It was not just my obvious arousal that embarrassed me, but the relatively small size of my stiffy, poking up like a little breadstick. I had never thought of myself as having a small penis, nor had Annie ever complained about it. Now, I longed for her to come over and take it in her hand and finish me off. But her attention had already wandered admiringly back to the youth, now stuffing his soft thickness back into a pair of boyish briefs. And this time the doctor offered me no relief, but sent me back to my room with my prick still sticking up, and my hands still handcuffed behind me. It was a very long time before the erection subsided, and longer still until I found sleep.

4. The Final Humiliation

At this point, I assumed Dr. Mueller had done his worst, having raped, and no doubt impregnated, both my daughter and my wife. I expected I would be released now, and sent home to meekly raise the progeny.

Alas, I was not so fortunate.

I remained their prisoner, and as the days went by, I began to see signs of transformation in myself...a soreness in the chest, a tenderness around the armpits. I realized, with a growing anxiety, that they were giving me drugs, and probably had been since they day they had brought me to this wretched place. I tried refusing food and water, for a while, but it did not help. Every night I would fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when I awoke the transformation was a little further along. I tried to stay awake, but it was no use. A man can't survive without sleep. Neither can a woman.

I am not sure how long the process took. I have no way to know what drugs they were pumping into me, at this time, but I do know they left my brain in a deep fog. And as the fog in my thoughts thickened, the schedule of treatments seemed to accelerate. I vaguely remember being wheeled in and out of various rooms, and palpated under bright lights. I remember being given injections, then being hooked up to IV bags filled with coloured liquids. I suppose a lot of time went by, but I was too heavily drugged to mark its passing.

Then one day, I woke up in the white-curtained room and my head was clear. Nobody was around. I was lying in bed, fully alert for the first time in weeks. Shifting my position slightly, I became aware of a strange heaviness pressing against me. I struggled into a sitting position and looked down at the hospital gown draped lightly over my body. I noticed a large bulge in the gown over my upper torso, and I knew right away what it was. My hands confirmed the worst: I had been forced to grow breasts. I felt suddenly nauseous, filled with revulsion, as I pulled the gown over my head to see what had been done to me.

These were not perky little man-boobs, either, but big, swinging knockers. Hooters. Sick with disgust, I tried to climb out of bed, but found myself too weak to stand. I fell back in the pillows, and a wave of regret came over me, followed by something that had not happened in years. I began to cry. Wet tears ran down my cheeks, and while wiping them away I noticed an unfamiliar smoothness in the skin of my face. I had no beard, no stubble. My chin as smooth as a child's.

The next thought that crossed my mind is the obvious one. It will have occurred to you already, I imagine, but I was still dazed from medication and thinking a bit slowly. My lower body was still covered by sheets. I did not dare take them off to look below, but instead pushed my hand down under the blankets, into the space between my legs and found...nothing at all. No penis, no testicles. I had been unmanned.

Where my manhood had been, there was now a neat plot of soft brown hair. I explored it with my middle finger, and immediately felt a small thrill in the general area of my crotch and, to my amazement, a slight wetness. I pushed against this damp spot, with the tip of my finger, then pressed it in, up to the first knuckle. I pushed harder, and now my whole finger slid in easily. It was not a disagreeable feeling. I began sliding the finger in and out, very slowly, and felt the whole area became saturated with moisture.

So, I was a woman, and a fully functioning one. How they had accomplished this, I could not even guess.

I would have taken my explorations to their logical conclusion, but just then the door to my room came open, and in walked the efficient nurse, and the hated doctor, wearing his usual preoccupied scowl.

"Ah," he said, ruffling a sheaf of papers on his clipboard. "I see you're back with us. Nurse, please examine...her."

The nurse briskly pulled back the bedsheets. What I could see of my new body was a bit disappointing. As I knew already, I was a woman, but not a particularly attractive one. I had wide hips, but a rather thick waist, and there was more angularity in my legs than is considered desirable. If my thighs were a bit less plump than I could have wished, my tits were the very opposite. They were immense. Indeed, they were almost ridiculous, spilling sideways over my chest and sagging heavily into my armpits. The tears sprang to my eyes once again, and I noticed another change change that was especially hard to explain. My whole body was smaller and slighter than it had been. It was not an optical illusion. I could see very clearly that my feet no longer came close to reaching the end of the bed. I inspected the narrow bones of my wrists and was struck by the shortness of the forearms, lightly brushed with soft girlish hair, and their overall appearance of frailty.

The nurse poked around at my tits for a while, and seeming satisfied, turned her attention to my crotch. She snapped a latex glove onto her right hand, and, with no pause for permission, plunged one finger into my vagina, as deeply as she could. I grunted miserably, and she pulled it out again.

"Vaginal opening is normal, doctor, and the cervix is well toned."

Cervix? Stranger still.

Mueller nodded, slightly, and lowered his clipboard. "Good," he said. "Good. Call in that new guy."

"Buford?" she asked.

"Yes, that one."

She must have pushed a button, or something. Within less than a minute, the door flew open again, and the "new guy" came in. He was a big, well-tanned fellow, densely muscular, with an upturned nose like a pug. He had a shaved head and tattoos all over his bulging biceps.

The doctor spoke. "Do you think you can you get it up for her?" He gestured absently in my direction.

Buford shrugged. "I don't see why not."

With that, he started unbuckling his belt, and soon was standing in front of me, his semi-soft cock dangling between his big muscular thighs. I don't suppose I have to tell you that Buford was a well-hung gentleman. "Bigness" was Dr. Mueller's signature style, and Buford had benefited from this as much as anyone. Even semi-erect, his organ was very impressive, and it became clear that it was in good working order, too. In the time it took him to walk across the room, it sprang fully erect. He paused at my bedside, his muscular chest heaving, his hairy hands hanging at his side. I looked fixedly ahead, but in my peripheral vision I could see his thick cock, and sticking out in a vaguely menacing way, like the yardarm of gaff-rigged ship.

Then, Buford climbed aboard.

I'd had sex with plenty of girls before, but never had I really known what it was truly like to be fucked. To have something stuffed right in, and then to feel a big man's weight pressing down on you as he takes his pleasure, sweating and grunting. I guess I'm not very imaginative, but I learned a lot that day. The first thing that strikes you is your own weakness. You couldn't lift him off you if you tried. You see his big arms planted on either side of you like a couple of trees, and you realize how much smaller you are, and you know he can do as he pleases, with your consent or without it. You feel the soft tip of his cock poking at you, down below, looking for the way in. Then he finds it, that soft, moist gap in your middle, and in it goes. You feel a sort of "whooshing" inside you, as if something has given way. There might be some pain. It hurt me, at first, and I cried out, "Don't!" But of course, he did.

If it is your first time, you probably don't move much while it's happening. You might beg him to stop, or try to squirm out from under him; but your body soon betrays you, sending out that warm wetness that makes it so easy for him to slide into you. Then you just lie there, a little dazed, and you let it happen. He labours over you, plunging and jabbing. In, in, in. Gradually, an uncomfortable feeling sort of grows inside you, a sort of pang in your groin. You try to fight it down, but it just keeps welling up. It becomes a kind of tension. The tension grows until you can hardly stand it, and you feel a need to push up with your pelvis. You try not to, but it happens all on its own. You feel a sort of stiffening in your spine, a sudden rigidity in your pelvic muscles, and the climax begins.

I understand there is some controversy about whether a woman's orgasm feels different than a man's. I am here to tell you that it most certainly does. It begins like a very small burst, which sets off a larger burst, and then a sort of chain reaction follows. In a second or two, waves of these little explosions ripple up your body, building up to a big and very sudden release, and perhaps you cry out. I did, anyway. I did not want to give my tormentors the satisfaction of knowing what was happening to me, but I could not keep quiet, however hard I tried. A long "aah" escape from my lips as I came.

But the really remarkable thing about a female orgasm is, the first climax might not be the only one. It might be followed by another one, even bigger. And after that, a truly overwhelming climax might hit you, and instead of just squealing "ooh," you might find yourself screaming.

That's how it was with me, anyway. And as I screamed with a pleasure I never asked for and didn't want, the shaved brute above me released his load into my virgin pussy. They say a girl can't really feel a man shooting sperm into her, which is true. You don't feel the spurts of fluid going in. But you do feel the spasms in his cock, and you feel the muscles in his abdomen becoming sort of rigid. And when he spasms again, you feel the wetness of his sperm gushing out around the shaft of his penis, dripping down the front of your thighs. And when he spasms once last time, you know, somehow, with a sinking certainty, that you have been impregnated.

Once was all it took.

They kept me there, tending to my needs as my belly grew, and grew, and grew, and my tits became heavy with milk.

They did not release me until many months had passed, when I was so far along that no clinic would even consider giving me an abortion. The days drifted by, monotonously, as I grew and grew (though never an inch taller). Finally, one morning, the nurse came into my room, and gave me a pretty new dress to wear-a billowy cotton shift, white, with a pattern of yellow flowers-and she fitted me with a big, serious-looking bra, with buckles and wide straps and those little fold-down flaps over the nipples for nursing babies. Through my tears(I cried often and easily, now) I caught sight of the tag on the strap: 34J. I was now the woman of my dreams, I reflected sadly.

When I was dressed, they put a blindfold over my eyes, led me out to a waiting car. After a long drive, I felt the car pull over. They yanked off my blindfold and pushed me out onto the sidewalk without so much as a goodbye. I recognized the surroundings immediately, a quiet suburban street in my old town. As they drove away, I did my best to read the letters on the car's license plate, but it was gone before my eyes could adjust to the sunlight. I just stood there by the road, blinking and fighting back tears.

Soon, I found myself waddling down the sidewalk, just another expectant mom, draggin her pregnant bulk down the sidewalk. My heavy tits stretched the straps of my bra so they cut into my shoulders. I tried to walk softly so that they would not bounce, because they were so tender and sore these days. Even so, I could feel them jiggling, barely concealed under the filmy cotton of my summer dress, and a group of young jerks whistled at me as I trudged miserably by, and shouted vulgar taunts.

By instinct, I found myself walking in the direction of my old house. I don't know what I was hoping to find. Perhaps, I thought my old life would still be there, waiting for me. I soon found myself at my old address, but on the far side of the street. The house looked the same as ever. The car was in the driveway, the grass neatly trimmed. I was on the verge of crossing over and trying the door, then realized I did not have a key. I patted myself all over, but the silly yellow dress did not have a single pocket. As I stood on the far side of the street, my old front door suddenly opened, and a woman came out backwards, deftly pulling a stroller out through the door and manoevering it onto the landing. It was my wife Annie, looking unchanged (except, of course, for the new bustline, which suited her rather well). As for the baby, I knew very well who the "father" was. I wondered, briefly, whether it was a boy, and had he inherited his skinny father's precociously big cock? Then another figure emerged from the house, a girl cradling a baby in her little arms. Against her small body, the baby seemed impossibly huge. It was Ellen, only eleven and already a tired mom with stetch marks and chapped nipples. The baby had black hair, like Dr. Mueller.

At this point, Annie seemed to notice me watching them from the far side of the street. But what she saw there was nobody she knew, just a sad-looking pregnant lady, out for a stroll in her summer dress. She waved cheerfully at me, and I waved back, mechanically. I knew there was no place for me here, so I turned and trudged heavily away, my sore tits joggling stupidly under my chin.

Somehow, I ended up here at the women's shelter. I have no idea what is in store for me. The baby will arrive, of course, there's no way to stop it now. Will it have an upturned pug nose and big arms, like the musclebound brute who fathered it? I suppose I will have to nurse the thing. My boobs are already brimming with milk. Maybe I will even learn to love it. Maybe I won't be able to help loving it. You can't fight biology. Perhaps that is my punishment, in the end...to raise my rapist's baby, and give it what is left of my love.

The End.