Lee Cushing

The Aversion Treatment
 
 
 

Day One


 


Melissa's muffled objections burned her throat.  She choked and gurgled as the words trudged past bile and the ball gag.

The freak stared at her like a 10 year old looking at a new toy still wrapped in the package.  Her face alone would have been enough to enthrall any man.  She had been blessed with naturally feminine facial features to start with, and some cosmetic surgery along the way only brought out her strengths.  Full pouty lips, big blue eyes, no Adam's apple at all, and an elfish, pointed chin were enough to turn heads.  All of it framed by a
mane of strawberry blonde curls.

Yet the freak had her nude.  This fact in and of itself would have embarrassed her, but his stare made it worse, made her feel dirty and used.  She noted even from a distance how the pupil of her captor's right eye hung lazy, as if bending out of shape to get a closer look.   She felt the freak ogling her long slender legs and the hint of tight ass visible as she lay on her side.  She noted him taking in how her narrow hips flared out ever so slightly past the waist.  She knew he lingered on her perky breasts, which jutted out more as her back bowed forward from having her hands cuffed behind her back.  But it was her cock that he stared at the longest, and consequently, the one that made her feel the dirtiest.

Short but meaty, it dangled between her legs totally unaware of how out of place it was. She would have felt dirty having it exposed at all.  It was a lightening rod attracting all her feelings of discomfort with her own skin.  While the rest of her body had been re-contoured to femininity by either hormone pills or a scalpel, her cock served as the one remaining reminder that she wasn't yet finished.  It was a striking reminder of her past and out of synch with her present and future.  Having it seen made her anxious, having it ogled made her cry, having it touched made her nauseous.

He touched it.

"Shhhhhhit!. Just a clitty, that's all".  He began stroking her shaft.  "Just a big clitty."

Melissa closed her eyes, but her lids couldn't keep tears from sliding out to run slaloms over her cheeks.  Her cock began to twitch involuntarily.  The hormones had made erections almost impossible, unless the cock was stimulated directly.  Then the wiring took over.  How could she get hard under these circumstances?

The freak giggled.   "All girls like having their clitty played with.  So should you."  She closed her eyes and prayed she could go anywhere else but here.
 
 

Day Two

The usher barred the door.  "Sorry, Sir, the family has requested you not attend."

"Do I look like a Sir?"  Melissa stood outside of Krauss' Funeral Home looking elegantly mournful in a black suit, black hose and heels.

The usher turned into her mother.  Her wrinkled hide had been made all waxen by Bobby Krauss' formidable skills in the mortuary arts.  Melissa whimpered and tears began leaking from her eyes.   Mom's eyes and mouth fluttered as they strained against their stitching, the resulting words mumbled but eerily intelligible.  "Why are you crying? You're the one who put me here.  If I'd had known the types of problems we'd have with you, I would have never married your father and brought you into our lives".  It was the same nightmare she'd had for weeks.

She awoke with a start and bucked against the freak's hipbone.  It dug into her leg, but she took solace in knowing that at least he now slept.  The bristles of his flat top tickled her jaw, but she wasn't laughing.  The freak, even in his sleep, smiled at her though.

She flinched as she noticed his lips stitched together.  She looked away and let out a disgusted moan.  She checked a second time.  The stitching was gone.
Her eyes traced the cracking paint on the ceiling, white gaps torn into yellow.  She somehow found it ironic that the freak had raped her in a room painted yellow, while slivers of light leaked in through Venetian blinds.  Didn't these things only happen in dark alleys at night?

She noticed a crust of dried cum on her thigh, and speculated on whether it was hers or his.  The thought of it being either one made her stomach flip.  Having the ball gag in for an entire day dried her lips to the point of creating inch-long cracks and flaking skin.  She pondered escape, but now lay with one arm shackled to a post of the bed, the freak atop her.  A new cold metal clung to her ankles.  She looked down and found a metal restraint digging into each ankle, and a three-foot bar connecting the restraints and thereby spreading her legs.

No noise except the occasional whippoorwill penetrated the window.  She thought of escape, and twitched her nose as a dozen flakes of peeling paint fell abruptly from the ceiling.  The freak twitched and turned his hip off of her leg, but groped her breast.
Her stomach creaked with hunger.  She tried to count the number of times he had at her yesterday.  The skin on her cock was blistered from the freak jerking her without lube.
He'd not gone after her ass yet.  She took solace in thinking that maybe penetration wasn't the freak's thing.  Maybe he wanted nothing better than to suck cock and give hand jobs.  That was the rap against tranny-chasers, right?  Just gay guys in denial?  Maybe the freak held a job and he'd have to leave her alone soon.

She scanned the room for clues about the freak and how she might escape him.  Unadorned walls.  It didn't seem to be the sort of room a bed belonged in.  Too cold, too utilitarian.  No other furniture at all, as far as she could see.

She guessed that the sun had been up at least three hours when the freak woke up.  He awoke without a word to her, and left the room.  She heard running water, then he returned cleaned and dressed, wearing a pair of dress slacks and a white dress shirt.  He carried in a small plastic ball.

He held it out in front of her.  "Web cam," he said.  He pulled a cheap digital watch from his pocket, and leaned under the bed.  He pulled out a laptop, turned it on and connected the cam to it with chords.  "I get my lunch at 12:30, play with your clitty then." Queasy dread poured over her from head to toe as she realized why the freak had only shackled one arm.

He looked her in the eye for the first time, that ugly drooping pupil an inch away from her own.  "I mean that.  Privileges only come to those who deserve them.  Here," he continued, "a gesture of my good faith".  He removed the ball gang and immediately dove in to plant his lips over hers.  He squirmed and moaned over her for a little over ten seconds, and then got up with an obvious erection bulging against his pants.  He tweaked her nipple and then got up.  "See you later, honey."

Melissa waited five minutes.  Might as well keep it safe.  She thought of how stupid the freak had been to leave her untagged and with an online laptop with her.  Not stupid enough, though.  Her screams for help went unheard and he'd placed the laptop well out of reach of her free hand.

She looked down at her feet in the spreader bar.  She imagined swinging her legs and the bar toward the laptop, knocking it from its perch until it lay closer to her free hand, and emailing for help.  It was only 8:15, plenty of time to work on this project.  Maybe she could even be out of there before his lunchtime.

She shimmied as far down the bed as her chain would allow, lay her weight on her right elbow and right hip, tensed her legs, and swung them and the spreader bar toward the laptop.  She whiffed the air clumsily.  But then she spied the chord, running toward her from the laptop like a rat's tail.  Huffing, she swung her legs again, but found the bar kept her foot locked in at a ninety-degree angle to her leg.

Her heart danced to a frantic beat.  She tried again, this time stretching her legs out and attempting to use her toes like fingers, to grab the chord and bring it close.  She lurched forward, but the best she found herself able to accomplish was to land the spreader bar onto the table and drag the bar closer toward her, hoping the chord came with.  She succeeded, but the laptop only budged a few inches.  She twisted herself back around so her feet lay on the bed and she took an experimental swipe at the chord with her free hand.  Got it.

"Bad girl"

She hadn't even heard the freak come back in.  "Or should I have said, 'bad boy', you're rather a mess of parts, aren't you dear.  And you cavort around, trying to fool and seduce men who don't know better.  Whoring yourself to men like me.  Don't you?"

Melissa shook her head.

"And when I take you in to help you out, what do you do?"

Melissa grabbed the chord and yanked.  She tried to bring the laptop onto the bed and smash it atop the freak's head, but he was upon her too fast.  "Very bad girl." He grabbed her shrunken undersized testicles and squeezed.  Melissa tried wrenching his hand free from her, but he easily over-powered her.  "Diminished upper body strength from the hormones," the freak grinned, "another downside of this."

"If you want me to stop squeezing," the freak offered, "beg me." By this point Melissa valued her sanity more than her pride.  "Please, I beg you, left go of me."

The freak shook his head, an exaggerated mock disappointment scribbled all over his face.  "Nowhere near good enough.  Beg me to let you stroke your cock and I'll let go of your balls."  He squeezed as hard as he could.

"Please, please."

"Good girl. Very good girl," the freak's smile widened from the unexpected swiftness of her buckling.  "Please what?" Melissa's shoulders shook with sobs.  She paused as she considered the terms of surrender.  "Please eat my shit, you fucking freak".
 

Day Three

The doctor looked Melissa over as she sat in the wheelchair.  Her hair had been clipped to a boot camp crew cut.  A series of purple bruises appeared where her eye shadow had been.  She howled whenever she slapped her chest with a spastic hand.  She felt itching underneath a heavy bandage wrapped over where her breasts once hung.  A light beard shadow emerged under her jawbone where she'd still not finished her electrolysis.

He ran a nervous hand through his graying flat top and a lazy eye twitched as he skimmed notes from her chart.  "Mrs. Truslow I do hope you understand that we went through every possible step of the aversion treatment before resorting to this."

"So," Melissa's mother said, "getting him to realize the delusion of thinking that he was female, when his genitalia are obviously male, this method didn't work?"

"It's ordinarily quite effective.  Once they begin to recognize sensation there, and even enjoy it, the tossing away of their delusion isn't far behind.  But in Michael's case, the case of transsexual delusion was significantly exaggerated; the chemical imbalance impacting his judgment was too severe.   He expressed denial during the course of our standard therapeutic treatments.  We suspect that we just didn't get him in here quick enough, the case was just too advanced for our most commonly used modalities to do any good."

Melissa's mother looked up at the doctor, her eyes buckling under tears of joy.  She took the wheelchair by the handles and started to drive Melissa toward the door "Don't apologize.  You did what you promised, Doctor.  You gave me back my boy."
 


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