Chapter 13
The steel frame was spun again, back to the vertical, then in planetary orbit. Robin's head spun, he was confused. Cocks, cunts, tits, twats, balls, belly but-tons followed each other through the expanse of his jumbled mind, bouncing up and down like gaily-colored balls, impinged themselves on the retina of his senses.
Robin was going crazy.
Sex crazy.
He could think of nothing but sex but sex disjointed and disembodied and entirely disconnected. Crazy sex involving himself but no one else, bits and pieces of sex following on each other in crazy abandonment and seemingly attacking him and smothering and choking him in an avalanche of wild and disjointed sex.
The frame was brought to a halt with bone-jarring suddenness. Robin's whole body was aflame from the strains and tensions and also from the craze of built-up desires that could not be satisfied.
They halted the frame and undid the shackles and allowed him to step down. He felt old and weak, broken in spirit and body. His cock had shriveled to almost nothing, his balls hung loosely as if trying to run away from his body.
A toothless old hag with wild gray hair and sagging breasts helped him down from the frame. She had her lips circled with bright red smears of lipstick and her wrinkled parchment cheeks were rouged. She was virtually naked. Her breasts, thin and wrinkled like an alligator's skin, hung down almost to her waist. She wore a tiny bikini bottom on her bony hips; the bikini was made of gold fabric. Her spindly legs were enclosed in gold-colored boots with square toes.
She leered at Robin. "Come kiss your Granny, dear." She held him in a bony embrace and forced her wrinkled lips on his. He couldn't be revolted any more. His sensibilities had been assaulted. He was unable to feel any further sense of outrage.
"There my dear," she said through her toothless lips, "What a pretty little girl," and she rubbed her gnarled hands all over his unresisting nude body.
Perhaps she was also part-blind, he thought, or she was getting senile. There was no telling what she might conjure up in her demented mind.
"Come little girl, you have to have a bath. Get all that sweat and dirt off your pretty body. Then we'll dress you up like a little girl should."
Cackling to herself, she seized Robin's hand in hers and led him off unprotestingly.
She brought him to an old-fashioned bathroom. The high narrow tub was supported on cast-iron clawed feet. Steam was rising from the water. She led him to a worn wooden step by the bath, let him stand on it while she attached a bright-red rubber apron around her waist.
"Mustn't let my clothes get all wet now, must I?" she said in explanation, ignoring the fact that all she wore beneath the level of her sagging breasts and above the tops of her gold boots was a tiny golden bikini panty.
She encased her arms in amber-colored rubber gloves that reached to the elbow, then she dipped one pointed elbow into the water to rest its temperature.
"Just right," she said, and then she poured a generous cupful of bath salts into the water. Vapors flavored with lavender assailed Robin's nose. "In you get my dear."
The old hag "helped" her charge into the water and when he was lying down and covered, she swirled the water with her hand.
"What a pretty girl," she said. "Such a pity your mummy won't let you grow your hair longer. It would look so nice tied up with a nice pink ribbon."
The water was hot and soothing. Clouds of steam were swirling through the room. A heavy vapor was assailing his ears. His body felt strange and unrelated to himself. He seemed to be floating in a cloud of unreality. The old hag kept passing her fingers over his body under the water and it felt like some sort of futuristic reducing apparatus massaging his tissues. She droned on and on and her voice came over to his ears, far and distant, floating in, tinny and scratchy, like an old, old 78 r.p.m. record on a hand-wound Victrola.
The warmth was soothing and hallucinating. He couldn't tell where his body ended and the water began. It got to the point where he couldn't tell what was her voice and what were his own inner musings. He couldn't tell what were her fingers and what were the sores on his body thrilling to the relaxing water.
She had a big squarish bar of old-fashioned laundry soap and she rubbed it into his hair and worked up a lather, then rinsed it off and then she had him sit up and she lathered his chest again.
Suddenly she whipped out a straight razor and, without warning, she shaved the hair off his chest. He didn't know what to say or do. It was all too crazy anyway, it was all a nightmare. When she'd finished she wiped off the soap and looked at his chest with what might have been admiration. "Such a pretty little girl," she cackled. "Such a nice little, pretty little, girl. Such lovely smooth skin. Such a little girl. Won't be long though and before you know it, just like that, you'll have grown a nice pair of tits, just the right thing to be a pretty young woman."
On and on she drawled in the nightmare that was swirling around Robin's head and body.
She made him raise his left leg and after she'd washed that she lathered it and shaved it with the straight razor, muttering appreciation for his soft girlish skin, and then she washed and razored the other leg. Now she took the bar of soap and worked her way with it up the insides of his thighs and around his belly, making ever smaller circles that eventually centered on his cock. "Nice little girl," she kept muttering. "Good little girl, be nice to your Granny now." And so she went on, and on, and on.
"You'll get the surprise of your life," Robin wanted to say. "Just wait a moment till you hit me dead center and then you'll see my cock and you'll know I'm not anybody's little girl."
He wanted to be amused by the whole situation but he found it difficult to maintain an air of amusement. It was all just too silly, this woman and her silly chatter. Let her just touch his cock and she'd soon have all the nonsense knocked out of her doddering old head. Then, when he was ready he'd get up and find himself some proper clothes and walk out of this fun castle and go back to his hotel and have a good sleep and forget all this nonsense. ...
His head was in a swirl and he could hardly feel his own body. Perhaps something they'd put in the water. The old hag had just turned on the hot tap some more and she'd poured in something from a tall glass jar. His skin seemed kind of numb and his body seemed as weightless as his head. She was making these circles with the soap around his belly and under his ass and between his thighs.
"Pretty little girl, growing up, aren't we." And her soapy fingers got nearer and near his center. She dug her soapy fingers into his asshole and it did nothing for him. "Pretty little pussy," she said and Robin wanted to laugh at her senility.
"There, honey, you shouldn't have this sticking out, not a little girl your age," and Robin could have sworn she was somehow pushing his cock in on itself and making it disappear up into his body. What an incredible fantasy! Such craziness.
"Oh and there, shouldn't have those, either," and the way her fingers were going on his crotch, Robin imagined she might be pushing his nuts into their bony sockets.
"There, honey, that's better. Pretty little girl. Pretty pussy. Pretty as a picture."
Now she swirled her hand and the soap all over his crotch and Robin felt hardly anything, except when occasionally she slipped a finger or two up his ass.
"There now, honey," she said at last. "Got you all washed and soaped. Now you git out of this tub like a good little girl and your Granny will dry you all over."
Dazed, he did what he was told. He stepped out of the bath, stood on the worn wooden step and let the old hag wrap him in a big warmed towels. She dried his face and his eyes and then she dried his arms and chest and legs. He had a tiny urge, hidden far, far away, to open up his legs and reach down for his cock and wave it at the doddering old hag and say "Lookit that, yer silly old crone. See that cock? Know what it is? That makes me a boy, a little boy...."He caught himself suddenly and realized it should have been "Man" not "little boy" but it really seemed so immaterial and inconsequential after all.
He stepped off the wooden step and she rubbed his body in the big towel and then she opened the towel at the front and wiped him around his ... his cock! Where was it? Not only couldn't he feel himself having a cock, he couldn't see it and now when he brought down his right hand, he couldn't touch it. Where his cock used to be there was nothing, just a lot of wet hair and a little bulge and yes, there it was, a sort of little slit.
He was going crazy. He WAS a man. He wasn't a woman or a little girl whatever these perverts here and this old hag right here wanted him to believe. He had a cock, a good cock, right here. And a pair of fine, juicy, bouncing balls, right...
His balls had disappeared too. This was too much! Absolutely too much! He groped himself. The scrotum was still there, though very shrunk and up close to his pelvis, and he thought that if he searched he'd find his balls, perhaps they were stuck up in their sockets. He groped and searched-yes, perhaps they were there, but if they had, they were settled, they wouldn't come out. And his cock? That seemed to have turned in on itself and shriveled away inside him leaving only the little opening in the skin.
It was preposterous.
And the worst thing about it was that he didn't really mind, his cock had been the cause of so much trouble ever since he'd let that girl Lizbeth pick him up, and it seemed good and right to have lost it. Cockless Robin...
"That's a pretty little girl." The old woman was at it again. "Can't understand why your Mummy chose such a boyish name for you like Robin, or why she's got you up to look like a little boy, but we'll change all that soon. In fact...
She stopped her chatter and probed his crotch.
"Heavens to Betsy, I do declare! I think you're beginning to be a regular young lady soon. Got your airs all over your pussy, that you have, and soon's as a cow's bells is a-twinkling, you'll be having yourself your red-letter days. Well, we'll take care of that.
From the mahogany cabinet over the marble sink she took down a sanitary belt in pink elastic and a sanitary pad and fastened them deftly in Robin's crotch and up around his waist.
She got a large downy powder puff and dusted Robin's back and chest and belly and thighs with violet scented talcum powder. Next she took a pair of frilly French panties in white with lace edging and made him step into them and pulled them up his thighs and over his buttocks and covered the sanitary pad with a great amount of appreciatory comments. A black-lace bra without straps, heavily boned and padded with foam rubber was fastened to his chest, a boned waist clincher, also in black, went around his waist. A black garter belt. Sheer nylons. They were a soft black and the old woman had Robin sit down on a cork-topped stool while she rolled them up his leg. First she made Robin put his left toes into the rolled-up stocking, then she unrolled the stocking and eased it along his foot and over the heel. She pulled it at the back of the heel to straighten it, rolled it up the calf with both hands, straightened it, rolled it over the knee, then pulled it up the thigh, a hand down each side to widen the top of the stocking and make it slide easily up the rest of the thigh. The straps were pulled down from the garter belt, two lace-covered Mack-elastic straps, and the tops of the black nylon stocking snapped into the snaps.
The other stocking went on the same way, with the old hag's fingers hungrily feeling and probing their way along Robin's soft girlish skin.
"There now, and before we put on our nice little dress, just let's put on our shoes so we won't catch our death of cold on this bathroom floor-heavens knows why they don't keep it warmer-and then we'll have a look in the mirror...."
The shoes were black patent leather pumps with low-cut vamps and very high heels. The old hag slipped them on Robin's feet and Robin felt them pinch at first but hold firmly. It was very difficult standing up in them and Robin tended to teeter. He found it gave a definite tilt to his body bringing his bosom forward and upwards and making him feel more and more estranged from the old Robin he had known.
The old woman walked him over slowly to a pier glass. He looked into it hoping to see himself; his eyes were caught suddenly by a very tall and shapely young girl in daring underwear. She had very snort hair and there was no make-up on her somewhat too-bony face that gave her an attractive boyish appearance. Her bosom was full and high, peeking daringly out of the top of her black strapless bra. Her waist was pinched and tiny. The white frilly panties were cut daringly to expose much thigh and crotch and the black nylons were held in place with a black garter belt.
Robin looked at the legs, fabulous, long legs with well-turned calves and delicious thighs, legs that were incredibly long. They terminated in black patent pumps cut low at the vamp and on very high heels.
"My God!" Robin suddenly realized that all this time he had been looking at a reflection of himself. Himself! He should have been shocked . . .but he wasn't.
He liked what he saw. He liked this boy-faced girl with those great sexy curves and those incredibly sexy legs. And if it was himself that he saw there, he liked himself, in a sexy sort of way. Yes, that girl turned him on. Yes he got turned on to himself as a girl. Yes, if he was honest with himself-and after all this, why shouldn't he be?-he was turned on by the thought of himself as a girl.
He could feel it as an awakening of thrills in his belly, spreading out of his crotch. It was exciting to be a girl. His logical mind tried to check him, tried to correct his thinking, tried to bring him back to his senses. But he couldn't resist the satisfying sense of excitement. It was coming from his...no, not his cock, where his cock had been, where the old woman had made it somehow shrink and disappear.
How strange. As a man he should have been outraged. He should have panicked at this loss of manhood, but he didn't mind. It was so strange. He felt completely numb at the idea. He was a girl now, apparently, a girl as long as these strange people here in this strange loft wanted him to be a girl. He was an attractive girl and it turned him on to be an attractive girl-and he didn't mind the loss of his cock-if indeed he had really lost it. As long as he had no cock he'd be a girl.
The thought was really exciting. He felt a tensing and stirring deep inside himself and imagined it might be his cock coming to life again and making its presence felt, but when he reached down he felt only his panties and inside the panties, among the hairs, a wrinkled slit with a hard lump at the bottom of it. He pressed the lump and felt it pressing back with pleasure. Logic told him his cock must be hidden in there somewhere inside the folds of his skin, but his desires over-ruled his head. His cock was gone his new perverse identity as a woman told him. He was growing a cunt and soon he'd be a woman.
"Naughty little girl," the told hag said interrupting him and giving him a sharp stinging slap on the wrist with her bony fingers. "Mustn't play with your little pussy or you'll get it all bloody. Now put that sanitary pad back and straighten yourself and we'll finish getting you dressed."
The dress was a simple one-piece black poplin affair with a short stand-out skirt. It was buttoned at the top where it had a white Peter Pan collar and puffed sleeves that ended half-way down the upper arms in white cuffs. A white frilly apron was tied around Robin's waist.
"Now sit down over here, Robin dear. We'll have to do something about your face to make you presentable to your mistress."
She had him sit down at a dressing table, fastened a large protective cape around his shoulders and proceeded first of all to brush and style his hair. It was short, but the old hag's skilled fingers were able to work miracles with it, brushing some of it forward, and some sideways. Soon he had a line of blonde bangs across his forehead and ample amounts of hair covering the tops of his ears, she sprayed it and teased it to give it more volume and then she put a starched white caplet into at the front.
She next applied mascara to his lashes, long, beautiful sensuous lashes under her fingers. Shadow on the eyelids. A touch of rouge on the cheekbones. Lipstick, a thin line, carefully applied. More shadows worked into the cheekbones. Something to soften the line of the chin. The chin! Robin realized that there wasn't a trace of stubble on his chin although it must have been twenty hours since he'd last shaved. Was that another one of their devilish tricks? Well, never mind. That would be all right with him if he never had to shave again in his whole life.
He looked good. Pretty face. Strong, sensuous features. A good nose. Real good-looking chick.
The old hag was giving her own version of approval in her inimitable way. When she had finished working on Robin's face she whipped of the capelet and let him see the full results in the mirror.
Stunning! Absolutely stunning!
"Robin, you're a great chick; She couldn't keep back the compliments from him. "You're going to wow all the fellers." Somehow that seemed important. It seemed important that if he was going to be a woman he'd be a damn good one, really damn good. And he was, no question about that, not a one.
"Come, honey dear,' the ancient hag admonished. She took off her rubber apron and stood up in her gold bikini panties and her gold boots and put her arm into Robin's arm. "Let's go back and join the crowd."
The old hag walked with mincing little steps, shaking her withered ass so that the empty and flaccid breasts jounced against the gaunt ribs of her chest. She barely came up to Robin's elbow and she tended to pull him down to one side as he tried to walk. It was very difficult on those stilt heels with his pelvis swung up and his breasts stuck forward and he was glad that he had to take only very small steps at a time and had the old hag to lean on for some sort of support, however unstable.