Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Summary: Several people recount their experiences of a future pleasure
palace to a journalist, who suspects that not everybody is using the
unrivalled body-modification facilities for their own good.
Keywords: MF, Mf, Mdom, Fdom, transformation, ScFi
Part: 3
Author: Hugh Deacon
Title: Investigating the Palace
This is a sequel, but as the original is a published book, I can't ask
you to read that first.  Hopefully these bits of story stand on their own,
but it may help to know that they're set in a kind of pleasure resort of
the future, and that it is common in that time to modify your body just as
much as you can afford.  My interest is in those who have less control over

how their bodies turn out ...

   As you might imagine, I don't advise reading any further if you're
underage, nor if you're one of the many types of person who risks a
shattered world-view discovering what turns some people on.  All others -
read, save, distribute, whatever you like as long as the file stays in this
form.

   Comments, advice, suggestion, but no rants, to:
hugh@deaconstories.fsnet.co.uk

   Investigating the Palace

   by Hugh Deacon

   Interview Two

   I threw it all away, that's the essence of it.

   I was important here, and I enjoyed my importance as much as I enjoyed
my job.  You've seen what this place is like, I'm sure you can imagine the
rewards of management here, the perks available and the drug of power.  And
yet, like any other intoxicant, you can never have enough.  That was my
undoing.

   So what if Raphael Hope-Smith ran his medical empire with more concern
for his own cleverness and his twisted imagination than for the good of the
accounts office.  He turned out products - both male and female - that
earned the company money in vast quantities despite the occasional failure.
He was certainly more reliable than his predecessor Herbert Westman.  A
genius, that man, one who vitually single-handedly established the bed-rock
of our uniqueness, but decidedly unstable.  He had to be quietly despatched
when his insanity became too much.  No, Raphael's good for us, there's no
doubt about that, but he's so obnoxious.  I could have avoided him, you
say, and I agree, but I was too important.  I needed to face him down.  And
so here I am as you see me.

   I had thought, when the time came for an implant-freshening treatment,
that I had the upper hand.  That our conflict was escalating nicely, well
within my control.  Accordingly I had no qualms about presenting myself to
our own clinic and allowing one of our nurses to strap me down and insert a
tube into my arm.  Our technology is better than any in the world, after
all, and the management rooms are extremely comfortable.

   Then Raphael presented himself, smirking as I flushed at my nakedness.

   I glared at him.  "Do you always take this much interest in routine
treatments?" I asked icily.

   "Routine ones?  Not at all." His irritating smile spread further.  "I'm
here to fulfill your wish.  Remember?"

   "My wish?  All I want is a body clean-up and my implant recharging."

   He shook his head and pulled a recording cartridge from his pocket.  He
pressed its side and my voice filled the room.  "I'd love to be more
intimate with your skills, Raphael." A short pause, then "It would be very
interesting to know what its really like for the fortunate women we employ.
Imagine, no demands but sex."

   "Do you want me to go on?" he asked.

   "No." I looked at him with baffled annoyance, sneakily checking to see
if my bonds would give.  No such luck.  The way people thrash when the
treatment's eating at their body I'm not surprised the restraints are so
firm.  "You seem to have a collection of my sayings, all out of context. 
What's the point?"

   "Dear Tamara." He rested his hand on one breast and I was helpless to
prevent him.  "It's quite obvious to everyone that you've been wishing to
sample the life of one of our slaves.  I'm simply giving you the
opportunity."

   "What?" I was too amazed even to shout.

   "Yes.  Logged into the system is your request for ten years leave of
absence from your directorship and a formal consent to the company's full
control during that time.  Starting from your next maintenance session. 
Starting now, in other words."

   I met his eyes, but I was scared now.  I outranked him.  I was bigger
than him, and stronger, too, after years of refinement in pursuit of my
bodily ideal.  But my stature, either authoratative or physical, could do
me no good at all immobilised and within Raphael's sphere of control.  "You
won't get away with a fake like that." I told him.

   "Too late." he said, tickling my nipple, "I already have.  You should be
grateful for my courtesy in telling you what's happening.  It will be a
long time before you get to hear what's going on again."

   "But . . ."

   "Good night." he interrupted.  At once blackness rushed in as I slipped
into unconsciousness.

   When it receded, things were different.  Everything was different.  The
luxurious couch was now a utilitarian white one and the cosy surroundings
had opened out into a large empty room.  It was with horror that I
recognised it as one of our training rooms.  Could Raphael really have been
serious?

   I sat up sharply, rattling a chain that ran from a band of steel on my
ankle to the trolley I was on.  Whether from that noise or coincidence, the
man himself opened the door next to me.

   "Ready to learn about your new job?" he enquired, striding towards me
with a genuinely cheerful expression.

   I waited until he came close enough, then lashed out with my fist.  "You
fool!" I shouted, then stopped, shocked, at the sound of my voice.  My
hand, too, was effortlessly caught in one of his.

   "What's wrong, my dear?" he asked, holding my wrist firmly and putting
his other arm around my shoulders.  "Don't you like your new self?  Here,
let me take you to the mirror."

   He deftly freed my ankle from its chain and placed me on the floor. 
Immediately I noticed how much he towered over me.  I had to scamper to
keep up with him, my hand in his, because I had to look up even to his
shoulders.  He wasn't tall, either.  Before, I had looked down on him even
without heels.  But this was nothing to the unpleasant surprise that
awaited me.

   "You swine." I whispered as I gazed at my reflection.  "You utter
bastard.  Who will ever take me seriously now?"

   I hadn't only shrunk, I was younger.  Far younger than the dreams of
mature women, remembering the days when they'd first attracted lustful
looks.  Wide innocent eyes gazed back at me and I could detect none of the
cynical experience I'd seen every morning in my own mirror.  Below the
elfin face, all unformed angles, was a body on the cusp of puberty.  The
small swells of breast and rosy nipples, the beginnings of waist and hips:
these told of new fertility and a readiness to be introduced to the
mysteries of adulthood.  But the twiglike limbs and still-boyish outline
made clear that the process was only just under way.  Even as I watched,
the eyes brimmed with tears that didn't look at all out of place.

   "Why this?" I asked, mourning the loss of my magnificent body.  "What's
the appeal of a child to you?"

   "A child?  Look at your wrist." And he forcibly turned my hand over. 
There, set into the smooth and clear skin on the inside of my forearm, was
a holographic panel with the government insignia.  It stated that I was the
formal property of the company I had been a director of, when that
ownership would cease, and that I was a legal adult for the purpose of any
act my owners gave consent to.

   "You . . ." Words failed me.  Grudgingly, deep inside in the part of me
that wasn't screaming against what had been done to me, I had to admire the
man.  He had stripped me, in one move, of everything I took pride in,
everything that I felt defined me.

   "Good, isn't it?" He agreed with my thought as though reading my mind.
"You were larger than life, I felt, taking up other peoples' space too
much. It'll be good for you to get some feeling for little people.  It can
only give you depth."

   I looked down at the neat hairless slit of my genitals.  "Depth?  A body
like this can't accomodate anyone, not even the perverts who might find me
attractive."

   He chuckled, reaching down to pat my little bottom, giving it a squeeze
for good measure.  "That's you all over, Tamara.  Think physical.  You'll
be amazed what you'll learn in your new shape."

   I wriggled away from his groping hand.  A thought struck me, and I
turned to face him, looking up into his eyes with fresh courage.  "You
can't have faked that statement convincingly.  You haven't got my codes -
nobody else has.  So what will you say to the boss when he finds out?"

   "Nothing much." He shrugged.  "Whoever falsified the records did it well
enough to fool me.  I just did as it said."

   "But you'll have to restore me if you're ordered to."

   "Ah, now that's the sad part about it.  All your clinical records have
disappeared, and we assume they must have been accidentally destroyed.  All
your genetic templates, from birth to current, have gone.  How you are now
- you're stuck with it."

   This was like a hammer blow.  I studied the twinkling eyes in the
artfully sad face and knew he was telling the truth.  I would need the
expert help of a skilled cosmetitian to regain anything like my old body,
and I was speaking to the best, who wouldn't oblige.  I felt myself
collapsing as though my muscles had all come loose.

   Strong hands - compared to mine, now, anyway - gathered me up.  "Never
mind." Raphael's voice seemed to come from a distance, although I could
feel the rumble of it in his chest.  "I'll look after you.  I like you as
you are now."

   I fought to regain control of myself.  "I can tell," I said, trying to
put sarcasm into my piping voice.  "You've got your hand on my pussy. 
Don't say you've always lusted after little girls.  That would explain a
lot."

   He jerked the air from me in sitting down suddenly.  He easily turned me
over and administered a sharp smack to my bare behind.  However much I
struggled, just one of his hands on the small of my back was enough to keep
me pinned.  In helpless fury I had to accept that I was now weak, with the
feebleness of a child.

   "First lesson," he said.  "You don't answer back."

   He waited for a few seconds before a second stinging blow fell on the
same spot.  "Second lesson.  You say 'Yes, sir,' when I tell you something,
or a client does."

   He waited again, both of us in silence.  But all my resolve fled when I
saw his hand rise from the corner of my eye.  "Yes sir!" I blurted
hurriedly.  Instantly I hated myself, giving in over such a trivial threat,
but there was something about the fiery pain and helpless humiliation that
felt much worse than it should have done.  Of course, that first surrender
was symbolic, and Raphael knew it.

   "That's better.  Play along, make no fuss, and you'll probably find
you'll enjoy it.  You get to be looked after, with no responsibilites."

   His hand descended gently onto my rear and he began to stroke me.  I
couldn't move, and after a while didn't want to, in spite of a part of my
mind that raged against giving in and settling for such abasement.  Having
sacrificed my bulk, my new smallness and dependence were overwhelming and
it felt good to have a stronger man hold me and soothe my inflamed skin.  I
didn't even wriggle much when he slipped his fingers between my slim thighs
and rubbed lightly at my naked pussy, only jerking when he probed inside.
I'd been having sex for so long, using men like disposable toys, that the
electric ache of an unbreached vagina was something I'd forgotten.  It hurt
when he poked at the barrier, testing it with his fingertip, making me
clench on him in an effort to stop it.

   "You're a lucky girl," he told me with a chuckle, setting me on my feet
again.  "It's not everybody gets a chance to start their sex-life again,
this time knowing in advance what's in store.  You've got a lovely little
cunt there - all plump and new.  Not slack and abused like it was before."
He stood up, towering over me and looking down at the top of my head with
its childish tangle of fair hair.  "For the first time, I actually want to
give you a fucking."

   I clasped my hands in front of my juicy pussy, knowing the futilty of
protesting if he really wanted me.  "But what about my virginity?" I tried,
wincing again at the thin treble of my voice.  I sounded only like someone
to sweep aside.  "If you've gone to the trouble of restoring that, won't
you want to sell it?"

   "Don't you worry your little head about business.  That's for us men to
take care of.  Get your sweet body over to the mat and lie down.  You're
about to learn what grown-ups do to make babies." He gave me a small push
that nearly toppled me to send me on my way.

   There were tears of fury in my eyes as I headed in the direction he
indicated.  Halfway to the padded area of floor the unfairness of this
sudden change hit me all over again, and I stopped.  "I won't do it," I
said.  "If you make me, I'll speak to the boss, and you'll regret it. 
There's no way you can convince anyone that I asked to be reduced to an
adolescent for ten years, and then the tables will be turned." I faced
Raphael, summoning up all my courage to stare into eyes thirty centimetres
above my own.  "If you scrap all this and put all your skill into remaking
me as I would like to be, I'll forget it ever happened.  Otherwise I'll see
you ruined, I promise."

   He just laughed, and my heart sank.  I knew in my gut that I was right,
that he couldn't get away with this, but he obviously didn't care.  "You're
cute when you're angry," was his only reply.

   Raphael swept me up, easily foiling my desperate struggles, and held me
under one arm while he dropped his trousers.  Having exposed the organ that
was currently running him, he dropped me on the softer piece of floor and
fell onto me before I could move.  As I've said, he wasn't a big man in any
respect, but in my diminished state I was crushed.  He held my wrists and
kept my body flat with his so that all I could do was scream and try to
butt his head, and that did no good at all.  Then, when he forced my knees
apart, I got my legs free and found that I was limber enough to be able to
batter his back with blows from my feet.  But that didn't trouble him
either.  I didn't have the strength to cause him inconvenience, let alone
hurt him.  I wished fervently for my own arm, just the one, and just for
long enough to give my attacker one good clout.  Whatever my wishes, they
counted for nothing.  I could feel the head of his cock forcing inside me,
and my body betraying me with lubrication to ease its passage, the horrible
stretching until I genuinely feared my most sensitive flesh might split. 
Then a brief pressing ache followed by an instant of fierce pain as he
plunged through my hymen.

   "It's not fair," I thought with every jerk of my body as he drove into
me.  "It's not fair.  It's not fair." I liked sex.  I enjoyed enveloping a
man, receiving the vital part of him into myself and draining him of his
fluid when he thought he was in control.  This was nothing like that.  This
was being fucked, flattened under a man I hated and wincing with pain as he
filled me with more than I could take even as passion rose to drown out the
hurt.  Sex with clients might become pleasurable, given time, but I would
always be the junior partner, never the seducer.

   Finally the act was over and Raphael rolled off me with his cock
streaked with blood.  I was left panting for breath with frustration and
soreness mingling.  It was painful to bring my legs together.  I had
nothing to say as he got to his feet and retrieved his trousers, and he
said nothing either.  I think I saw worry on his face, but that may have
been wishful thinking.

   Not long after, a man arrived and led me away to wash, after which I was
stuffed into one of the nasty cages where we keep our slaves.  I was too
tired and depressed to be concerned about the lack of comfort and the
passing clients looking in.  I huddled in a corner and slept.

   Later, or it may have been the next day, I was woken by a gentle tapping
on my ankle.  I tried to hang on to my dreams of my old life and power and
pleasure, but eventually had to surface and see what was in store for me.
Alvin was looking at me quizzically.  He's probably the only one of our
staff I actually knew - although I've become familiar with many more since
then - and I liked him.  In fact I'd requesitioned him for my bed more than
once and found him very acceptable.

   "Alvin," I said, as he didn't speak.  "You've got to help me."

   He shook his head slowly.  "You haven't treated me badly, Miss Tamara,
probably as well as you know how.  But I can't interfere with management
decisions."

   I gaped at him.  "But I'm management.  You have to do as I say."

   "Not any more, you're not.  Now you have to do as I say.  And I've been
ordered to take you to your new day quarters."

   He lifted me down from the floor of my cage, which was head-height to
him, took my hand, and walked briskly towards the corridor which led around
the back of the client viewing area.

   "But, Alvin . . ." I tried to say as I was hurried along.  "If you know
who I am, others must, too.  Why aren't you allowed to help?"

   But he only shook his head and clamped his mouth tight shut.

   It was only a short walk to our destination.  I was led into a room that
I'd never seen before.  No doubt it had been modified specially.  Really,
it was a small suite of rooms, including a tiny bedroom and bathroom.  All,
I saw with distress, had only glass walls to separate them from the
clients' area.  If this was where I was to stay I'd never have privacy
again.  Even the antique porcelain toilet faced out onto the luxurious
seating of a waiting area.

   "Please." I looked up at the big man holding my hand.  "Tell me this
isn't for me.  Tell me it's all a joke."

   He smiled without looking at me.  "I'm sorry.  But Mr Brookes will be
here shortly to speak to you.  I'm sure he'll explain." Then, as I sagged
with relief, he turned and patted me on the shoulder.  "Can I say before I
go that your new look is very charming?  I dream of a daughter of my own,
and I'd love her to be just like you." He gave me a quick kiss just below
my hairline, then rushed out of the door in embarrassment.

   I stared at the closed door with my mouth hanging open.  Just as it
occurred to me to see if it was locked, my boss came in.

   "Tamara," he exclaimed, looking big and smart as he blocked my only
exit, "You look marvellous!"

   I fought the urge to run and fling my arms around him.  Mr Brookes has
always been in control, always been aloof from any petty quarrels and
struggles.  No-one ever thinks to question him.  I was sure he'd be able to
sort out my horrible situation.  "What's going on?" I asked, my voice more
querelous than I would have liked.  "It doesn't feel marvellous.  I can't
wait to back to my old self."

   "Now, now, Tamara." He closed the door deliberately and came over to me,
sitting me down on a hard wooden chair.  "You know you've got a long wait,
there.  I should relax and enjoy yourself."

   "But . .  ?  Surely you don't believe him?  This was never my idea."

   He squatted down beside me, a solemn and wise expression on his face. 
"Raphael told me you'd had a memory problem since the treatment.  That's
very sad.  However, I know you'd never forgive me if I didn't make sure you
went through with this.  Besides, it's been set up so well that I'm sure
you'll be a great asset to us in your new capacity."

   "This is no memory problem!" I gripped his arm to emphasise the point.
"He's set me up."

   "Well, you say that.  But arrangements have been made at great expense,
and I daren't disbelieve him.  Here, let me show you your clothes and
explain how you'll spend your days.  No, not a word more.  You know how
busy I am."

   He brushed off my hand and went to the bedroom, where he opened a
cupboard.  Hanging on a rail were several identical sets of an
old-fashioned school uniform.  In a drawer he pulled open was a selection
of plain white underwear, and at the bottom of the cupboard three pairs of
shiny black shoes lined neatly against the side.  "You needn't spend your
time naked." he explained.  "These outfits will only add to your
attraction. If you get dressed now, I'll tell you what we've arranged.

   "The first consideration is that your work is too valuable to be passed
on to somebody else.  So you get to do it here, disturbed only once a day.
As you can see, you are clearly on view, whether seated at your desk,
having your afternoon nap, eating or excreting, showering - whatever you do
will be in public.  Any of the clients who wishes to spend the night with
you must enter the amount he (or she) is prepared to pay for the privilege
on a unit we've installed outside, and only the highest bidder gets the
chance.  That way we maximise both your usefulness and potential profit. 
That desk there may look like an antique but it has a virtual screen that
can only be seen from your angle, so you can work pretty much as normal. 
Of course, to your viewers, you'll seem to be a hard-working schoolgirl
from more innocent times."

   By now dressed in the silly clothes, tugging at the hem of my black
dress to try and cover the white of my panties properly, I studied the
furniture he'd pointed out.  "Is that all I do?" I was conscious that I
sounded plaintive, not my old determined self.  "Sit on a hard chair,
working away, waiting for the evening when I get to be slobbered over by
some old pervert by way of a change?"

   "That's it exactly." He smiled paternally, but with a glint in his eye,
and shepherded me to my seat.  "Except one detail.  If you lag behind in
your duties, any of them, you'll be punished in a suitable way.  By which I
mean the cane on your panties or perhaps bare-handed smacks to your naked
behind with you bent over your desk.  Don't expect any fun.  You had enough
of that while you were a director, and it didn't add to your efficiency."

   "But . . ." I tried to say.

   "No more.  I'm going to leave you to your work.  I may speak to you
again at some point, but not for a while."

   With that, he strode out and the door latched shut behind him.

   For a minute or two I couldn't tear my eyes from the closed door.  It
gradually sank in that there was no mistake and no way out - I had been
systematically deprived of everything I enjoyed.  Then I glanced out of the
glass wall at the various clients, some of whom were openly staring at me,
and realised that however unattractive the idea of continuous figure-work
was, the humiliation of a punishment in front of these people would be
worse.

   I nudged the button that turned on the disguised screen, sighing as I
did so.  The first words that appeared were "I know what Raphael did, and
he'll be punished.  But that makes no difference to you.  Get on with your
work."

   I stared as the lines faded from sight.  The elation that poured through
me at the opening words was cut off abruptly as their real meaning became
clear.  Mr Brookes knew that I'd been trapped into this situation, and he
didn't care.  There was no hope.  I'm ashamed to say that I couldn't begin
my tasks until I'd finished crying.

   A long time later, when the big white dial-clock on the wall ahead had
ticked from four o'clock to eight, my screen shut off by itself.  I
stretched my aching back, sad all over again that I had virtually no
breasts to show off as I arched.  It felt like evening, and the space
outside my window was as full of visitors as I'd ever seen.  As I got up,
wondering what I was supposed to do now, the door opened.

   In marched a man with the glossily perfect appearance of the truly
wealthy.  He dwarfed me, not so much in physical size, although he was
head-and-shoulders taller, but in his confident bearing.  Without a word of
introdution he clasped me in a one-armed hug, half-crushing me into his
armpit.

   "Well, kid," he said, and I could feel his beautifully-crafted tenor
buzzing in his chest, "tonight's the night.  You need to learn about sex,
and I'm the man to teach you."

   I wriggled loose, just far enough to breathe.  "I'm not actually . . ."
I managed to say before my mouth was filled by his palm.

   "Not a word.  Little girls should never answer back.  Now, can you keep
quiet?"

   "I was only going to say . . ."

   "Obviously you can't.  So perhaps more than one kind of lesson is needed
this evening.  Stay right there.  Apparently everything I need should be
here somewhere."

   I was more than a little overawed, so I did as he said.  But what he
brought back was too much.  It was a ball-gag of the type I'd found amusing
myself in the past - on other people, of course - but decorated on the
outside with a pink plastic dummy of similar vintage to my uniform.  I
opened my mouth to object and had it swiftly filled with the disgusting
object.  My visitor was surprisingly tender in fastening the straps,
lifting my hair to tuck them underneath, but was sufficiently insistent
that I knew it wasn't worth struggling.  I flushed as I caught sight of the
childish device in the reflection on the window.

   He saw me looking, and followed my eyes to a small audience that had
gathered to watch us.  "You'd think they would know that it's rude to
stare." he murmoured in my ear.  "Still, we'll give them a little show
before we shut them out.  Slip off your dress and panties, but keep your
shoes and socks on."

   I hated revealing my puny body to the stares outside.  It felt like they
were laughing at me even though their expressions never changed.  But I was
obedient.  Years at the other end of the chain of command had taught me the
futility of resistance.  It was even worse when I was ordered to undress
the man, as I couldn't help exhibiting my pink and hairless pussy.  As a
final indignity he made me stand facing the window with my legs apart while
he bent his knees and poked his erect penis out through the junction of my
crotch and clasped the tiny swells of my chest.  So polite applause was the
last thing I saw as the window dimmed to seal us in alone.

   Then he picked me up, cradling me carefully in his arms, and laid me on
the bed.  I would have to get used to men carrying me around.  I lay there
feeling horribly naked and vulnerable, my shoes and gag only emphasising my
nudity, while he stood over me sillhuetted against the light and devoured
me with his eyes.

   "You're a rare treat, my dear," he said.  "I'm going to enjoy being your
first."

   I couldn't even tell him that he wasn't.  I could only hope he wouldn't
hurt me when he discovered that my newly reconstructed virginity had
already been taken from me.  Consequently I was very tense when he eased
himself down beside me - so tense that when he started fondling my pussy I
was so tight and dry that he could hardly fit a finger inside me.  I was
breathing fast, the air whistling in my nose.  But he soothed me patiently,
his hand gliding over the soft skin all around my belly and inner thighs
while his lips teased at my tender nipples one by one.  Gradually I felt
the familiar melting down below, and knew that after Raphael's crude
attentions yesterday I'd be ready for this new conquering.

   But ahead was a moment of shock and pain.  This man was gentler than
Raphael, but even so my poor vagina could barely accomodate him.  And,
worse, for the second time in mere hours I felt a splitting deep inside as
a barrier was broken.  How could it be, I wondered in hurt bafflement.  Had
I dreamt the earlier rape?  Whatever, this was just as agonising, and the
slow mounting of sexual pleasure was hardly compensation.

   I will say no more about that night.  The man was kind, on the whole,
and I did enjoy some of the things he did.  But that was my first
experience of the cruel trick played on me.  I heal quickly, which is a
comfort if one of my nightly visitors has extreme views on discipline, but
that is a side-effect of my constantly renewing virginity.  Over the course
of the day when, in the midst of my mind-numbing work, I should be eagerly
anticipating the carnal pleasures of the evening, I know that deep inside
me my hymen is regenerating and renewing.  Every night I have to suffer its
breach again.

   By my count, it's two years now I've been the sweet little plaything of
the highest-paying clients.  Sometimes, as I suffer beneath the crushing
weight of yet another heavy-breathing fool, I think back to the days when I
could have a man eating out of my pussy with one click of my fingers.  I
wonder if sex will ever be a simple fun act again.