Conflicted

Excerpt

“Billie Ray, you worthless bag of cat excrement, get my bath ready and then finish up the laundry. If the bath is so much as two degrees off, your balls will go into the Cuisinart. You are without a doubt, the most useless housemaid I’ve ever had.”

Billie Ray Cammerly’s step mother, Ethyl Gazze, was once again wondering why the hell she had ever agreed to take on the boy after his parents perished in a hot air balloon accident. After all, he was now twenty and in theory and legally, able to take care of himself. He would have died with them, but chose to jump from the smoking balloon basket and land safely in a big pine tree only a few feet below the rapidly descending gondola.

“You owe me,” Ethyl often said, and she made sure that Billie Ray paid dearly for the roof over his head and the disgusting meals Ethyl made for him now and then. When he reached nineteen, he should have headed for college, but was often told that if he left this place he called home, he could never come back, and so he stayed with Ethyl and her strange friends.

The men who visited her decided that Billie was fair game and began to use him as often as they used his stepmother and the time came when three men and Ethyl decided that little, twenty something tow-headed, slightly frail-looking Billie might make a better girl than he was as a boy, so they put together a suitable “fuck-Me” wardrobe, took an album full of lewd and suggestive still photos and two five minute videos of him and sent these off to several brokers they knew might have an interest. A few weeks later, plans were secretly made to consign him to a Specialty Auction in a nearby city where he was quickly sold and shipped off over the border to a school where boys became girls, whether they liked it or not.

True, Billie Ray had many physical assets that would, they said, ease the gender change. He was only an inch over five feet tall, had long, well-proportioned legs, virtually no beard on a too pretty face for a man and was blessed, his owners said, with a fair complexion. They bought him special underwear and taught him to tuck his sex between his thighs and walk in high heels, carefully placing one foot ahead of the other and just enough off center so that his hips swung slightly. They used a hair removal product on his entire body, glued authentic-looking silicone breast forms to his chest and showed him how to do his make-up. Initially, the false breasts were small and barely required a bra, but as his time at the school became months instead of days, he was introduced to push-up bras that actually gave him/her a reasonably explicit set of girl boobs. A daily dose of hormones slowly improved that category as well as adding some flesh to his hips.

By the time he came onto the stage at the auction, most of the crowd had already spent what cash they came with and were eighty percent stoned. The bidding on Billie Ray was unenthusiastic and went slowly that night. In the end, trying to meet their sales goals, the auctioneers quietly sold him/her to three women who said they’d take the slowly developing gurl back to their native country in Southeast Asia and finish what the others started.

The deal was done and Billie, tired, cute and miserable in bra, panties, suspender belt and hose, was collared, gagged, hooded and tightly bound in a hog tie. They dropped him/her into the boot of a big, luxury German car and drove away, leaving the auctioneers convinced that it was best for all concerned and that the boy/girl would do well in her new home, providing that her real breasts developed a bit more or she got some surgical help in four critical departments: genitals, ass, breasts and cheek bones.

The new owners had enough other business on their minds to not be overly concerned or worried about Billie, so they put him on a slow-moving, Turkish cruise ship and sent him/her off to undergo some additional trans surgery. Within a week, somewhere in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean, Billie, who was now, from appearances, more girl than boy, was taken from her cage below deck and strapped to a cold metal operating table. Her gag was removed and she was told that if she made a sound she’d have what was left of her male privates painfully removed with a dull steak knife. Billie blinked back the tears that she already shed daily. She bit her tongue while two young women in surgical gowns prepped her, again used a strong depilatory on her entire body, took plaster impressions of her teeth and mouth and discussed her body as though she wasn’t even there.

The lead surgeon of this surgical circus, Doctor Janet Webb, spoke as they explored Billie’s nearly flat chest with its tiny nipples.

“The mones seem to be working nicely, but we’ve got to improve on what nature and the pharmacy have begun to create. Who wants to work on what?”

“The ass is okay,” Doctor Cynthia Bailey, the number two surgeon and an escapee from the UK’s national health system, said as she poked and prodded Billie’s various nearly fatless parts. “But the hips need a tweak, the cheekbones have to be enlarged, the Adam’s apple taken out and the tits adjusted. Janet, what do you want to work on? I’ve got the tits,” she added, laughing while she poked and pinched Billie’s undeveloped chest, annoyed that the nearly flat breast forms that he/she still wore seemed to be permanently attached. “Some fool used a two part epoxy to attach these boobs and so far I haven’t found a solvent to take them off.”

“Cut the suckers off,” Doctor Webb suggested, half in jest and anxious to move ahead with the conversion.

“No. I’ll try acetone and peel them away slowly,” Bailey suggested.

Dollie Locanivitch, MD, Bailey’s professional companion, snorted. “Oh, great. Thanks Bailey. You always leave me with the crap work,” she moaned as she put on the surgical cap, gloves and mask. Her specialty was toes and fingers, but demands of the current business model required her to move into other plastic surgeries as well, which she actually hated. “Oh hell, let’s get to it. Whoever finishes first gets to do the cock and balls as a reward.”

“You wish,” said Bailey.