Consequences Read online

  We left her then. Barbara stayed to watch over her for a while. She was too good a surgeon for it to be likely that any complications might set in but it paid to be careful and she was certainly that.

  I went to the gym for another punishing session while Mary went off to her sitting room to catch up on her correspondence.

  Amelia recovered quickly. She was ultra-fit and this helped the process. Following the custom of modern surgery, she was made to get up the next day and to walk around the camp and then, as the days passed, to undertake slightly heavier work every day. Soon enough she was back at nearly full effort although the heavy strain of the capstan, rowing machine and the weights were left off until her internal wounds had fully healed.

  By now, four weeks was up and I left to return home, by way of Nepal, of course. It all went very smoothly and my friends and family all remarked how much good the ‘holiday’ had done me. It had, too. I was again bright and vivacious and could even talk to Toby quite easily.

  He of course was quite distraught. He was still guilty at ditching me but I was over that now and I wanted to see how he was coping with the sudden loss of his new girl. I affected surprise at the news of her sudden disappearance while I was in Nepal and speculated, along with everyone else, as to what might have become of her. Mary had suggested I not overplay my hand: listen and make the obvious comments but not to get too smart by offering gratuitous comments on what might have become of her.

  I think I played my role perfectly.

  Everyone was very eager to tell me the news, of course, and to get me to comment - that’s the way of gossipping people, but I merely expressed the surprise that would have been expected of me and said something like ‘it was as much as Toby deserved,’ and left it at that.

  I got back into the round of parties and charity bashes but my mind was back in Korea. I wanted to watch as they put Amelia back onto the heavy exercises that would start to build her body into the freaks that were the long-term girls there. I couldn’t wait for the month to pass that Mary had said was the absolute minimum for a safe interregnum between visits.

  As she said, though, “Nothing much is going to happen to her over the next month, Judy. She has still to recover enough from the operation to allow us to put her on the heavy routines and it will also take that long at the very least for the hormone treatment to begin to show, even in the smallest way.” Nevertheless, I was impatient and began to talk to my friends about my next trip almost as soon as I was home.

  They didn’t wonder. They reasoned that my ‘recovery’ had been miraculous but that faced with Toby once more, I might easily relapse into melancholy again and so when I made plans to visit China, they all made sympathetic noises. Once more I would be incommunicado, I said, as I wished to travel to the furthest reaches and wasn’t going to be bothered looking for postcards and writing letters. They would see me when they saw me, I said.

  Once more I played out the charade, arriving in China, ‘disappearing’ into the wilderness and then exiting in my alter ego. When I eventually got back to the camp, six weeks had elapsed after my departure and two months after Amelia’s operation.

  She was now well into the heavy-duty routine and I marvelled at the change in her appearance. Already her face was more masculine, with a heavier jaw-line and more pronounced jaw muscles; her breasts had diminished and her hips had slimmed a little. Her breasts had actually shrunk quite considerably and her muscles begun the slow process of developing into the freakish proportions of the girls who had been there six months and more.

  Her shoulders and arms were already those of a male rather than female athlete but they would be built into real bodybuilder size in the next few months. Her belly muscles were quite magnificent - eight squarish lumps of muscle that stood out cleanly from her stomach even when in a relaxed state. Her thighs were now bigger and less womanly in shape - much more pronounced and lumpy with heavy strands of muscle.

  Her buttocks were those of a male. Quite definitely! Narrow in width and sharply indented at the sides and reaching right up high into the small of her back. There was of course not an ounce of fat anywhere on her sleek frame and the crack between her cheeks was sharp and clean.

  The wounds of her operations had now healed and as I sat before her, inspecting her naked body for the first time after my return with her totally naked flesh on show right in front of me, I examined her groin minutely, looking for the marks. I couldn’t find them and Barbara grinned as I complimented her on the fine job she had done.

  Amelia stood there quietly as I ran my hands over her so muscly flesh, but she was blushing heavily as I complimented Mary and Barbara on my enemy’s new body for although I was full of praise to them, what I was extolling was a sexless, masculine-looking muscle-boy body and certainly not one of a girl twenty-two years old.

  She had a long way to go before her body even approached that of the more senior slavegirls there, but it was a start and the differences between her and the newest girl, one who had only arrived a week or so earlier, were very, very apparent.

  Once more I got back into the routine of the camp, spending a lot of time in the gym, developing my own body into what I saw as an athletic but very feminine shape but most of the time watching as Amelia was put through her paces in the gym and weight room and out on the machines on the parade ground.

  I loved these things. Much more than the gymnastics or weights for there, she was merely an athlete developing her body even if the whip-wielding guards standing around testified to the compulsion involved in that exercise. But outside, pushing or pulling the capstan bar, or even more, hauling on the oar handle, the allusion to slavery was much more pronounced.

  At the capstan they were slaves working an irrigation hoist or perhaps a mill wheel, while at the oars, they were galley slaves and the guards who acted as their overseers added even more to that illusion as they strode up and down the aisle or followed the girls around the capstan, lashing at their straining backs and bottoms with their vicious whips.

  But there was now a third machine. It had been installed while I was away and as I stared at the three girls operating it, I grinned at Mary’s ingenuity.

  This one was an enormous treadmill. It was set in a pit so that the central shaft was at ground level. It was a huge drum made of concrete and filled with water (I think it actually was a water tank) twelve feet long and ten in diameter. It was thus very, very heavy indeed but of course, like all Mary’s machines, it had a brake that could be applied to lock it still for its victims to be placed on or off it. Around its perimeter, there were a series of wooden steps bolted to its outer surface and directly above its outermost extremity, right above the edge of the pit in which it sat, was a gallows from which dangled three nooses.

  When I saw it in operation for the first time I marvelled at Mary’s mind. It was wonderful for us victims of these girls’ crimes - and horrible in the extreme for them. They were led up to it and made to climb up onto the step next but one above the ground. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs and the nooses slipped over their heads and tightened to a snug fit around their necks. Then the brake was released. If they didn’t want to hang, they had to climb the next step - and the next - and the next. And there they stayed, endlessly climbing, up and up, all afternoon as the huge cylinder rumbled around beneath their feet ...

  Ever climbed a few flights of stairs? After the first, it becomes a little wearying, doesn’t it? After three, you begin to hope this is the last ... Imagine climbing a hundred flights, non-stop, under the threat of being hanged. If they did lose their footing, they had time to scramble back onto the next step as it rolled around for the drop was not enough to break their necks but their antics as they struggled to find the next step were most entertaining.

  Mary had Amelia placed on it on my first day back. It was still fairly new and this was her first time on it. “I’ve been sav
ing this for your return,” Mary whispered to me as she was brought out to face it. She glanced at me, her face now carefully neutral for she had finally tumbled to the fact that I got off on her hatred of me but then they made her step up to the second step above ground level and stand there while they cuffed her hands behind her back and placed the noose over her head, snugging it down to a comfortable tightness and then locking the noose so it couldn’t accidentally strangle her if she did slip off.

  Once the other three girls to experience this training were similarly affixed to the machine, the guard released the brake and the monster drum began to turn, creaking a little in its bearings, the step on which they stood dropping down under their weight and as the girls realised the pressure on their necks was increasing, they each stepped up onto the next step.

  For all its ponderous weight, the drum turned easily enough and the weight of the three girls soon had it turning quite quickly. This meant they had to step up fairly rapidly and I began to appreciate how diabolical a torture this really was.

  Of course, it was also a wonderful exercise, applying extraordinary work to the thighs and calves but also to the back and belly muscles as well.

  As the minutes ticked by, I noted the sweat forming on the three slaves’ backs, trickling down their spines and leaking into the crack between their fine and so muscular buttocks. I also noted the way their shapely thigh muscles strained and corded with each step.

  Each step that soon became a nightmare of effort. As I say, climbing stairs endlessly is easy at first but soon becomes a torture of the worst kind after half an hour or so - and these girls had the whole afternoon, or most of it anyway, to ‘enjoy’ the exercise.

  I stood to one side of the machine, right next to Amelia, who was on the left-hand position, watching her now quite strange- looking body cope with this new trial. The noose around her neck was an imperative. She had to keep stepping up or risk hanging. Step after step. Step after painful step. Their faces soon became quite haggard while their bodies were sweaty all over, adding to the beauty of their developing muscles ...

  I stayed and watched her all through the afternoon. It was a delightful experience for me - not quite as pleasant for her ...

  Amelia was by now resigned to her fate. She no longer looked at me in hate - or in any other way, actually. I was no longer her enemy (to her, anyway) but was just one of the women who made life so dreadful for her. And she had apparently come to terms with this, going along with the routine of her days: rising, being bathed under the battering jets of the hose while she and the other girls soaped their naked bodies down; bending over for the insertion of the suppository; and then into the routine of exercise, housework and camp maintenance and then more exercise.

  I made sure I did my exercise in the gym in the mornings for I wanted to be there each afternoon to watch as she and others of the girls worked on the capstan, the rowing machine or the new treadmill. I didn’t much care which was her task each day. She routinely moved from one to the other, first pushing the capstan all afternoon, moving to the rowing machine the next, working on the treadmill the day after that and pulling the chains on the capstan the fourth day. They had three hours of this backbreaking effort before the rest period and then their day finished in the weight room.

  Barbara had said an early evening time slot for the weights was best, for they then had the whole night while sleeping in which the muscles could recover as described earlier. But the weight-training programme was also designed scientifically to work different groups of muscles on different days (combined with and complimented by the outdoor work on the machines) so as to achieve the best and fastest development commensurate with creating smooth muscle.

  No doubt we have all seen bodybuilders whose muscles have formed into strands that look quite ugly. Barbara assured me that she obviated this by mixing in an appropriate amount of isotonic exercise in the form of the rowing machine and other special exercises in the gym that toned the muscles while they were being built.

  I keep returning to the rowing machine and the capstan, I know, but it is because when I stood there and watched her body straining on these two items, I felt the greatest rush of pleasure.

  The capstan was one giant slog. Every step was a nightmare of effort and each of the girls had to concentrate every fibre of their powerful muscles into achieving the next step - and the one after that, and so on. This was no gentle stroll in the park. This was supreme effort and their naked bodies sweated and strained for the whole time they were chained to it.

  But most of all I delighted in the galley slave machine. This one showed off their rapidly developing bodies to the nth degree. I would stand next to Amelia for the whole time she was at the oar and watch as she lent forward, her now broad and very muscly back bent right down over her powerful thighs, her head nearly down between her legs, her arms and shoulder muscles all stretched out right forward.

  Then, as the oar handle reached its furthest forward movement, I could see those shoulder and arm muscles begin to take up the strain, cording into hard lumps of flesh as she began to pull back, the muscles in her back now forming into more hard lumps, their shape constantly changing as her body slowly unfolded.

  Now that she was sitting almost upright, I could see her chest muscles rippling, especially as they were now perfectly visible since her mammary organs were well on the way to disappearing. Now too I could watch as her abdominal muscles began to show.

  As her head passed over the fulcrum of her buttocks, they began to come into play, tensioning up into hard, very prominent lumps as they were required to help in the last part of the stroke. A her body moved further back still, she had to hook her bare feet under the foot bar and now the great muscles in her thighs corded and writhed along with her belly muscles.

  Her arms were bent double, showing off the fine biceps in each and I thought how masculine she looked. Oh yes, if Toby could see her now, there was no way he would recognise her for the girl who had stolen him from me.

  She was lying almost supine now, her stomach muscles standing up in great lumps from her flat belly, her whole body quivering with the effort - and then the oar handle reached its furthest travel in this direction. It was right over her head and she had to reverse the thrust, pushing it down her body towards her chest and further down over her belly, groin and thighs until it was down near her toes and the cycle began all over again.

  It was a stupendous sight and one I never tired of watching. I would stay there for the whole of the time she was scheduled on the oar, perhaps sipping a cup of tea but otherwise just content to stand or sit and watch, drinking in her toil and effort, delighting in her shame and in the grotesque transformation of her body from that of a lovely young girl to that of a very well built male - albeit a sexless male.

  With her head as naked as the rest of her body - remember she didn’t have a single hair anywhere on her flesh, not even her eyelashes or eyebrows, she was quite unrecognisable as a female - or, for that matter, as a male either for she was as bereft of the male organs of procreation as those of a female. Her groin was totally naked. Quite flat, empty, smooth (except for the almost invisible urinary bud) and now very muscular for her abdominal muscles now marched right down almost to the junction of her thighs.

  I often reached down to feel her belly as she heaved on that oar handle, admiring the way they formed the further upright she got and then stretched out taut as she was lying right back between the legs of the girl behind her.

  I also felt her breasts - or what had once been breasts, for they weren’t any longer. The hormones had now worked to flatten their former glory, sloughing away the milk-producing cells and turning them into a chest that was very definitely masculine in appearance. Very muscular of course for the effort demanded of her each and every day in moving her arms really developed the pectoral muscles in her chest.

  She hated me doing this for
of all the changes we had made to her, apart from her loss of her vagina anyway, the conversion of her beautiful breasts into the chest of a muscular male was the one that hurt most and of course I made it worse by constantly remarking on this as my hands and fingers caressed the silky flesh.

  I mentioned the Koreans were invited to come in and use the bodies of the girls for their sexual pleasure and you may have wondered how, since all eventually lost their womanhood. The answer to that question is that their mouths and anuses were trained to give even more pleasure to the men than their vaginas ever did.

  For this, they were trained. Trained as sexual animals ...

  That training was as diabolical as the muscle-building exercises. It was forced on them and they were made to practise each new technique until they could perform them as competently as the most seasoned whore in the world. For this, the male guards were used and they delighted in raping the girl slaves in their mouths and up their backsides.

  First though, Barbara lectured them in the theory of oral and anal sex.

  I sat at the side and watched as Amelia was apprised of the new ways in which males were going to use her body. I grinned as I watched her outrage that she was going to be forced to suck a cock

  - and even worse, take it up her anus, but then the outrage was replaced with resignation - one more nail in the coffin of her conversion to a neutered muscle slave - a sexless, female eunuch who would toil all day until she was exhausted, but then know that she might well be chosen to serve her owner with her body in another way.

  Barbara had one of the biggest Korean guards - and by big, I mean sexually, for his penis was just on a foot long when erect and the balls that hung beneath its root were just as huge - as a model and she chose one of the most senior slavegirls to come forward, kneel before the now naked satyr whose gigantic cock was fully erect and who grinned evilly down at the huge muscle-girl kneeling before him.