FTM FUCKED BY 3 MALES. PART 14: THE PARLOR BITCH

PART 14: THE PARLOR BITCH
At three I'm at the crossroads, with the collar on and my heart racing. This time the van is already waiting, with the engine running. The side door opens and the younger one grabs me by the collar and pulls me inside with a yank.

—Today it's time to fix you up, little whore —he says with that smile of someone who has already planned the afternoon—. Because even bitches need to get pretty once in a while.

Inside is the one with the tattoo, shaved head, short beard, blue eyes fixed on me from the seat. The mechanic is at the wheel, in his work jumpsuit, and in the back seat there is a sports bag that I don't recognize.

—What's in the bag? —I ask, and the tattooed one pulls my collar, making me fall to my knees on the van floor.

—Your work clothes for today —he says—. And your work face. We're going to turn you into a doll, bitch. A doll that can't see, can't hear, and only feels.

They take me to an apartment I don't know: the living room is empty, with a folding chair in the center, a work light pointed at the floor, and a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. On the floor, an old blanket and a leash hooked to a ring.

—Sit down —says the younger one, pushing me onto the chair—. And don't move.

The tattooed one opens the bag. He takes out a long brown wig, straight, with straight bangs. Then a makeup bag: red lipsticks, shadows, eyeliner, blush. And lastly, a black leather blindfold and foam earplugs.

—The males are going to make you pretty —he says, with a hoarse voice—. And then we're going to leave you blind and deaf. So that you only have your skin. So you don't know who touches you, or where the hand comes from, or when the blow comes. You only feel.

The younger one stands in front of me, grabs my chin and studies my face.

—You can see the cock on this one's face —he says—. We need to sharpen the snout. Bring the box.

The mechanic prepares a line on the mirror on the floor, long and white, and gives it to me with a straw while the younger one holds my hair. The hit comes like a whip: the world becomes sharp, bright, urgent. My skin tingles. My cunt starts dripping without anyone touching me.

—Perfect —says the tattooed one, seeing how I tremble—. Now yes. Still, this is delicate.

He stands in front of me with the eyeliner in his hand and starts to do my makeup. I feel the cold brush on my eyelids, the shadow scraping my bone, the lip pencil sliding over my mouth. The younger one brushes the wig and puts it on me, adjusting my bangs with his fingers.

—Look at yourself —says the tattooed one, turning me toward the mirror.

I look and I don't recognize myself. With the long brown wig, the made-up face, the red lips and fake eyelashes, I'm not myself. I'm a doll. A parlor whore ready to be used.

—Now the good part —says the younger one, and puts the leather blindfold on ...