Future Investments

The prison governor, using Mikel as his interpreter, was very keen indeed that I should not return to America and make a terrific fuss about my enforced feminisation. I would not have put it past him to have arranged for my quiet assassination in order to permanently hide the fact that, during my six month’s incarceration in his prison, I had been physically converted into a form of shemale. I guessed I had Mikel to thank for my safe passage to freedom.

Freedom? That was a laugh. I had entered Belak High Security Prison as a young man of twenty-seven and now, at twenty-eight, I was about to leave with the main physical attributes of a woman, bar one.

The Governor offered me a mastectomy to remove my breasts and he near enough forced me into the hospital wing’s apology for a theatre, I refused. I loved my new appendages and just could not have been persuaded to be parted from them. Don’t ask me why. So the deal became, if I was allowed to take my breasts with me back to the States, then I would not seek notoriety on my return there, nor would I seek damages of any sort from the government of Kyrshestan.

Mikel fucked me for one last emotional time. For once he didn’t whisk me down to the hospital block for the usual enema. I lay in bed that last night still sticky with his spunk and, can you believe, I had shed a flood of tears. I was so jazzed up when he fucked me that I came of my own accord. I couldn’t remember that ever happening before. That was the one drawback with Mikel; he never touched me there. It was as though my prick did not exist. Often I had pleaded with him to the point of screaming, but all to no avail. Strange, on our very last union, I had no need for any external stimulation and had jerked off totally unaided.

Ironically I couldn’t leave the prison as the woman I felt myself to be but, for the first time in six months, I became a man again physically speaking. The reason for this was my passport photograph, that of me as Keith Jones. Could the U.S. Immigration Authorities be expected to accept Katrina Jones standing at their desk, even in these days of so-called enlightenment? Additionally, the journey back involved a transfer in Moscow, and there was no way I wanted to risk a difficulty with the Russian authorities. Best to go back as Keith, it was agreed.

Bra-less, my breasts were tightly bound and I was given a baggy men’s shirt and a jerkin to wear. I had been given injections in my buttocks virtually since I had arrived at Belak and was told they were to prevent infections. When I tried to get into my original jeans I realised this was a lie. The shape of my rump had evidently changed so gradually for me not to have noticed, and my new shape could not be accommodated in the old jeans. The services of the prison’s seamstress were called on. He was a tailor in his old life.

With tears rolling down my cheeks I waved Mikel good-bye. The fact that he was the architect of my enforced feminisation seemed to have alluded me. The complications I would be facing when back home with Petronella were all of Mikel’s making. I didn’t recognise myself as the submissive I had certainly been. And I could hardly believe I heard myself make a resolution that I could not go through life without being regularly fucked in the arse.

I was fast-tracked at Korfstad International Airport as if I were the president himself. I was even seated in First Class and made a fuss of by the cabin staff during the flight. I was almost sorry to have to prepare for landing at Moscow’s Pushkin International.

I found it very strange at first hearing English spoken as a first language on the Delta Air Lines flight to New York. My adventure with First Class was at an end and I found myself in Tourist. The flight was not fully booked and the seat beside me was empty so I was able to spread myself a little. I had an attack of the collywobbles for the first hour of the ten hour flight. I was close to being terrified at what Petronella and her prudish, insufferably snobbish parents would make of my new shape. And that was just a part of the new jigsaw. My sexual preferences had undergone a metamorphosis, potentially even more dramatic.

I had an interesting exchange with one of the cabin hostesses. My blonde hair was shoulder length when I arrived at Belak prison. Whilst most prisoners had their hair shorn soon after they entered those forbidding gates I, it became clear, was singled out probably whilst still in the courtroom, for a career as a prison whore. There was no intention that my hair should be cut short and, by the time I reached the sanctuary of the Delta Boeing, the length was halfway down my back, and the envy of the stewardesses.

I managed to sleep in snatches, for a good five hours in all, I reckoned. Between an in-flight film and meal and trolley breaks I managed to fill the rest of the time. Descending to New York the butterflies rose in a cloud and I felt slightly sick. Why should that be? I had a further flight to negotiate; New York to Boston Logan International.

I switched my mobile on for the first time bağdatcaddesi escort during that last hop. Giving me my own mobile back was the only present Mikel gave me as I had left the prison for the airport. Some present. The only zone in which it would work was North America. Sure enough, there were umpteen messages from Petronella. The only good thing about all of them was her insistence that she meet me at the airport alone. She wanted some long overdue time with me; just her and me. Friends and family would just have to wait their turn.

Being processed through Immigration and Customs controls I was so nervous it brought on either wind or diarrhoea. Which was it? I clenched my buttocks together, determined to hold in whatever it was. I was unsuccessful. Thank goodness, it was wind.

Sure enough Pet was there waiting for me in the Arrivals public area. She gave an all-American whoop and flung herself in my arms despite my pulling my travel bag behind. No way could I fault the genuineness of my reception and for a few minutes I forgot myself and was back as the Keith I originally was. We kissed and kissed and I felt my body wakening to the fact I had a beautiful woman pressed hard against me, hugging me like mad. A little message shot briefly out of my brain; “I was still aroused by women”. That was one significant plus sign.

The journey time, on a good day, to Arrow Falls, the quaint little town where the Chambeau dynasty laid their heads at nights, was eighty minutes on a good day. Pet drove and I sat beside her of course. We talked and talked, there was a lot of catching up to do news-wise. She seemed fascinated by the length of my hair and teased about me be taken for a girl. Whenever she could she dropped her right hand onto my thigh teasingly. I could hardly have been surprised at the suggestion she then put to me.

“Forgive me darling, but I haven’t told anybody about your release from prison. I decided to wait until it actually happened and I had the proof in my arms, just as I have now. So there is no welcoming committee back home and no surprise party. Besides I know you of old – you can be very shy. I wanted to see what sort of state you’re in, lest case it would be too traumatic for you. Can we just go to our little home first. I feel there’s an awful lot of catching up to do, and I’d like to sort of make a start?”

This was more music to my ears. What a relief; temporarily though it was. I had decided this could be my first and last visit back to Arrow Falls when Pet discovered my metamorphosis. I did have a Plan B. If the humiliation became too great; if I became a complete laughing stock and a pariah. I would run away back to England and start a new life there. For some unaccountable reason, my transformation in Belak High Security Prison had taken away just about all of my male aggression. I had become used to being told what to do and was happier to be so controlled, to be submissive. Was it the prison’s regime or did it come with my boobs? Probably a mixture of both.

Our house was detached and quite grand in its way. Nothing less would do for a Chambeau in Arrow Falls, of course. Although we were well and truly married Petronella had retained her surname, as a lot of girls do these days. Petronella Jones just would not cut any ice. She even suggested at one time that I changed my surname to Chambeau. I refused, needless to say.

I was counting down. Probably just minutes to go and Pet was going to get the biggest shock of her life. She made me drop my travel bag, grabbed my hand, and made a show of dragging me up the stairs. Of course I went along with the game and we ended up next to our huge double bed. I was allowed no time to take my bearings and to try and re-acclimatise myself to what were once my everyday surroundings. All that nonsense could come in time; Petronella wanted some very hot sex. She was about to get far, far more than she had bargained for.

Off came the jerkin and she flung her arms round me for a breast to chest hug. She didn’t just then get the idea she was getting a breast to breast contact. We hugged for quite a while and I found that most enjoyable. I started rising to the occasion. Pet squealed happily and dropped a hand to feel the extent of my erection. It was the first time I had had my testicles fondled by a woman in six months and only infrequently by the male prison managers I serviced as their whore. “I can tell,” whispered Pet, “you’re not going to last long at all. Not for this first time anyway.”

I muttered something in assent.

“Let me finish you off, and then we can get down to the real business.” She didn’t wait for my agreement. I suppose that was pretty obvious anyway. Expertly she unfastened the top buttons to my jeans one handed and the garment did not fall to my knees as she had expected it to. “Ooh, you’ve put on a bit of weight there. I suppose it comes with sitting in your arse all day in that horrible prison cell?”

This was a cue for me to play for time. “Perhaps.”

“Mmmmm,” she said, stroking my buttocks. “They beykoz escort feel like a woman’s.”

“Have you been stroking women’s arses whilst I’ve been away?” I quipped.

“And what if I have?” she joked back. At least, I thought it was a joke at the time.

She pulled away from me to get both hands free and to drop my underpants. Hopefully she would bob down, get her face level with my penis and give me a quick blow job. Quick? Yes, because I wasn’t going to last any time at all. Sure enough, down she went but I didn’t feel my pants being lowered and her hot mouth round my even hotter prick. Instead, up came her face, right in front of mine. The expression was pure astonishment. “Darling, why are you wearing pink panties?”

I blushed what must have been the colour of boiled beetroot. I was so pre-occupied when I had dressed myself that last day in the prison, I had put the panties on without thinking. I hadn’t even noticed when I went to wee several times during the long journey across the world. When prison staff had given me back my clothes there had been no male underpants among them. The pair that I had worm when I entered the prison were, no doubt, round the buttocks of a male prisoner in that dreadful institution. “They’re all they gave me,” I said meekly.

Her face stern, she looked me straight in the eye. “Don’t apologise Honey. I find it really quite sexy. I might want you to wear them again.”

Did I hear right? Was that my Petronella talking? My penis had deflated with the shock of discovery but was now it engaged reverse. “Do you mean what you said just then?”

“Yes, I certainly do.” She dropped back to a squat, and completed her original intention and had my panties down round my ankles. Between them and the jeans they acted as fabric handcuffs, or rather ankle-cuffs, stopping me from opening my legs. I was really, sort of, imprisoned, and just the idea of being so sent something of a thrill into my loins.

Pet’s mouth and tongue drove me completely wild and, try as I did, I just couldn’t hold back. I gave my wife fair warning although I didn’t try to back off, as if I could. I shot in her mouth and there was a lot of it. Selfishly, giving no thought to Pet at that moment I just wallowed in the wonderful intensity of orgasm. I spurted and spurted. I knew not how much cum, but the process was thrilling to say the least.

When I eventually landed I stared down at Pet in mounting amazement. It seemed she had taken the whole of my load and swallowed the lot. Her lips were still clamped round my softening penis and there was no sign of semen on her face nor on the floor. This was not the Petronella I knew of old. O.K., many times she would give me hand relief, often she would suck my penis, very rarely to the point I orgasmed, and never did she swallow my seed. Had my mere absence made her sexual urge grow stronger or had something happened to her in the meantime just as had happened to me? Any road, I wasn’t about to complain.

It did cross my mind she could have had a lover, or several, whilst I was in prison. Did I feel a rising jealousy? I examined myself. No, I did not, not just then anyway. I didn’t have time to think further. Pet was on her feet and kissing me. Her tongue forced its way through my lips and I experienced the shock of tasting my own semen . Did I like it? I was given no choice. She squirted into my mouth the remains of my load which she hadn’t swallowed. How dirty was that? I loved it; the act more than the taste. How slutty my dear Petronella had become. I felt yet another thrill as if a miniature tsunami, rose in my groin and spread through my body to overwhelm my brain.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get in the shower together and then into bed. It’s your turn to pleasure me.”

“This is it,” I thought. “Minutes away from the moment of truth.” I looked at Pet demurely in the eye and said aloud this time. “Why don’t you finish undressing me and then I’ll undress you?”

She regarded me quizzically, surprised at my suggestion no doubt, yet game to do what I suggested. The focus up until that point had been with my genitals and the muted bulge on my chest had escaped detection. Not for much longer though. She started at the top button of my shirt and as she worked down to my chest I watched her eyes turn quizzical, “What have we here?” She continued unbuttoning and after the last one she threw my shirt open wide to reveal the tight bandage across my chest.

Pet looked me straight in the eye. “Are those what I think they are?”

“I should imagine they are, yes.”

Clearly, my wife was very shocked. “I… I don’t understand?”

“They gave me injections in the prison. An American pharmaceutical company was paying the Kyrshestan Government for access to life serving prisoners in order to test a drug for breast enhancement.”

“why… Why did they pick you? You weren’t serving life. Just twenty years.”

“Just? Huh. it’s easy to say that. They made it clear to me I was certain to have time added on. The fact is they pushed me into the test caddebostan escort programme. If I had tried to resist they would have made my life even more hellish than it was. Besides I didn’t expect this sort of result.”

Petronella fought to regain her composure and in the process she giggled. “We’d better undo those bandages so as I can see them in the flesh.”

I put my arms high up over my head and turned round so as she could release the fastening at the back. The bandage was wound round me three or four times and so Pet was obliged to put her arms round me in order to pass the retrieved roll of bandage from one hand to the other. I found that slightly erotic despite the situation I was in. Finally the last of the bandage fell away and my breasts resumed a normal freedom and shape. “Turn round then, let me see.”

I did as bid and watched my wife’s eyes intently. Her eyes widened as she took in one breast, then the other, then back again and again. She was so slow in making a comment forcing me to ask testily, “well then?”

“Too use your vulgar English expression – what a fine pair of knockers.”

Her words pricked the bubble of tension I was caught inside, and I felt a great surge of relief. She hadn’t screamed and gone rushing out of the room. She hadn’t stared at me in disgust. In fact she commenced gently stroking them my tits and, in no time, my nipples went rock hard. I just stood there, hands by my sides, waiting for the next scene to evolve. I knew Pet too well. Whilst she was caressing my breasts, her mind would be racing at full pelt in an endeavour to adjust to this new situation. “You go and get the shower started, darling. I’ll join you in a minute,” she smiled enigmatically.

I did as I was bid and shuffled into the bathroom. I had a cold feeling in my stomach that Pet was about to flee. To rush down the stairs, out the front door, into her car and, in no time at all, would be sobbing on the shoulder of her father. What should I do in that event? Clean myself up, go to bed and snatch some sleep. Having journeyed all the way from Kyrshestan I was dog tired. The world could go and fuck itself for a few hours at least.

I refreshed my body by taking a very quick shower. As I re-entered the master bedroom I saw a set of pyjamas laid out for me to wear. Pet must have laid them out for me whilst I was showering. They were made of a silky material, rose pink with white daisies. Surely she could have found a pair of my nightwear for me. Or had that all been put away because I was not expected to return. Anyway, I wasn’t about to make a fuss and donned the set. I must admit, as tired as I was, I felt a little thrill at wearing something so feminine.

And the nightwear was possibly a good omen. If Pet had put them out for me surely she wasn’t about to run off. I climbed into bed intent on waiting for her. But my good intentions added up to nought; I fell deeply asleep.

I must have woken in the dead of night, stumbled into the ensuite, emptied my bladder and returned to the bed and immediately fallen back into a deep slumber. I could not tell you whether Pet was sharing the bed with me or not. When I did finally wake up for keeps Pet was not in the room, although her side of the bed looked as if it had been slept in.

She must have heard me moving about as I used the ensuite for a complete freshen up. She appeared with a breakfast tray offering coffee and fruit and a healthy cereal. She kissed me perfunctorily and said she would be back when I had eaten. I was told to stay where I was.

As soon as my brain woke up I felt a yet another huge relief that Petronella was not deserting me, not in the first instance anyway. I knew there was likely to be something of a chasm between us. I was not the same guy whom had parted with her six months earlier. Apart from the physical changes, my breasts and butt, there were now things deeply psychological, including a desire to be fucked and used by a man. Our sex life, in the four years we had been married, and our courtship before that, had been good, satisfying, but conventional. I now needed something far more exciting. And, because I had been used, because I had had no choice, I somehow became to enjoy being submissive. I had no wish to be the aggressor; maybe, as I said before, the change came with the boobs in part at least.

Petronella entered the bedroom wearing an identical pyjama set. Seeing my surprise she chuckled as she removed my breakfast tray. “We could be sisters,” she said provocatively. “Hardly twins because I am a brunette and you’re a blonde. And you have a prick and I have a cunt.”

I can’t remember Petronella ever being so lewd before. What had come over her? “That’s a thought,” I said, completely nonplussed to think of saying anything more appropriate.

“Can I play with your breasts?”

“Be my guest.”

She saw on the bed so close her hips rubbed into mine. Methodically she unfastened the buttons of my pyjama top and pulled the garment aside to reveal my two beauties. “Wow,” she said in admiration. “They’re nearly as perfect as mine. And look at those little brown nipples. They’re just asking to be sucked.” She leaned forward and sucked my left nipple for a good while, before transferring to the other. The feelings I had were indescribable, causing my penis to fill out to the absolute maximum.