3 SUM (5 page)

“We fully appreciate the effort of our officers, and the difficulties they face. But just try and remember why we are here, we don't want to kill him just yet.”

Had she just said kill? I mopped my brow.

“I'm making a donation at the Bank,” I informed them.

“That won't get you off the hook,' said the judge, stretching her long legs further under the table. I could now see the top of her boots, and her knees.

“Would you like to kiss them?” she asked. “Roll under them, get stamped, stomped?”

“I'm no masochist,” I said.

Though I could understand why some had been attracted. If you couldn't go to the other side of the barbed wire, then to be scratched whilst you dangled helplessly upon it would at least give a sense of perverted pleasure, exquisite pain. And if there was no other feeling available then something could be better than nothing. I was getting used to the spiked cage pushing into me, and the cold steel wrapped around my gonads that kept the apparatus in place, secured with a small numbered padlock.

“Humiliation then?” asked the colonel. “Gives you a funny feeling, an uncontrollable pleasure?”

“Not at all.”

I brushed my hair back with my hand, and crossed my legs.

“Who gave you the stickers?” asked the police chief.

Her hair was jet black, too dark to be natural.

“No one. They were pushed under my door.”

“And why didn't you report it?” asked the judge.

“I was scared, didn't want to get involved.”

“But you have reported other instances,” said the colonel.

She really had read my file.

“My stalker,” I said.

“You think it's her?” asked the judge.

“Setting you up?” added the colonel.

“Does it matter, really? I'll never get the chance to prove it,” I lamented.

Was it boldness or dejection? I was ready for the guillotine. I sat back in my chair, below their elevated asses. To the side were two armed shemales, silent, granite faced.

The colonel whispered in the judge's ear, and my heart sank to the bottom of their boots. One mistake could screw up your entire life. My moment of youthful rebellion had come back to haunt me. Should I come clean? Bargain with the steel token?

“Have you ever seen your mysterious stalker face to face?” asked the colonel.

“The police haven't taken it seriously,” I said.

“That wasn't my question.”

I mopped my brow. “No.”

“Wait outside,” said the judge.

I was back under the glare of my shemale escort. She had a strapon in her pocket; I recognised the bulge. She stroked it and looked at my ass. I knew what she had in mind. Her phone rang, and she removed it from under her epaulette.

“You can go,” was all she said, holding my bag on the end of her outstretched arm as though it were contaminated.

“What day is it?” I asked.

“Wednesday.”

I made my way to the exit. It turned out I was in a bunker, and as I climbed the stairway the light hit my eyes. Some woman, looked retired, wolf whistled as she drove by.

The sky was blue and so were my balls, perhaps I was developing a tolerance to the meds? But if I wanted to stay clear of the law, I'd best stick to the prescription. Damn, the Bank. I checked my watch and hailed a taxi. I had an hour before my second release of the day.

“You're a looker,” said the taxi driver.

She had short blonde hair, no makeup, and her face and shoulders were red with sunburn.

“Where to, honey?”

“The Donations Bank.”

“Now why doesn't that surprise me?” she said.

Quickly realising I wasn't the conversational type, she turned on the radio. But she did adjust the rear view mirror to get a better look at me.

“Fifteen credits,” she said as we parked outside the pink sandstone monolith that was the Bank.

I reached for my purse, in the satin clutch bag. It really wasn't the time or the place but I'd been rushed into getting dressed and couldn't find my favourite orange leather shoulder bag with the marigolds stitched around the top.

“Hey, if you can't find the money you can always pay me another way,” and she leered in my direction.

I pushed the money into her hand and, once the door was unlocked, tumbled out.

I checked my compact and brushed my hair, appearances were everything. I smoothed out my dress, front and back, and coughed loudly at the receptionist who was ignoring me.

“Doesn't say crossdresser in your notes,” she said after a short introduction.

“I wanted to make the day special,” I replied, batting my eyelids.

“And donating to the Bank isn't special enough?” said the nurse who had crept up behind me. “If you're even good enough.”

All donations were screened for genetic illness. Vespertina was our gardener.

“I didn't mean it like that,” I mumbled, and the receptionist and nurse smiled between them.

The nurse clicked her fingers and I followed. More corridors, and I was a rat in a glass maze.

“OK, honey, wait in here.”

I grimaced. It was either honey, love, or darling. And if it turned serious, if they wanted you but you weren't forthcoming, bitch, slut, and worse.

I sat in the armchair. There was a jug of water on the table and a large blue pill. On the wall in front was a TV screen.

The nurse turned around before closing the door.

“I almost forgot, you're a newbie. Take the tablet with plenty of water; in ten minutes you'll be ready.”

“How?” I asked.

“The pill blocks the suppressants you're on. You'll feel like a new man, literally.”

“I'm not gay,” I said.

“And straight men wear dresses?”

I could see her point and hopefully she'd soon see mine; she was fit, and I could remember how that felt a few days ago.

“See that remote control?”

I nodded.

“Porn movies,” she said, “like in the old days.”

I pretended I had no idea, that I'd never wondered.

“It'll get your motor started,” she said. “Press one for shemales, two for crossdressers, and three for gay men.”

“No women?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“My, you really are a pervert. I'd go for the shemales in that case.”

Half an hour later and the heels in the corridor were walking in my direction. There were two nurses, but not the one I'd seen earlier, and a guard who was the prettiest of the bunch. I'd think of her, watch maybe, or was that too salubrious?

They lifted up my dress as I lay back on the couch, and pulled down my satin camis.

“Damn, he's caged,” said the brunette.

“Why didn't you say?” asked the blonde.

“I thought you'd have the key,” I replied.

Besides I'd have completed already; the blue pill really did work.

“Not our department,” said the blonde.

“Is there a problem?” asked the guard.

She was new to me, and they talked as though I wasn't there.

“Maybe, we'll just do it the hard way, or not as the case may be,” said the brunette.

They laughed, and I just felt myself getting warmer, but with embarrassment not passion.

The nurse bent me over gently. I was pliable to their will, and the guard unleashed her standard issue strapon. A cup was put under me at the end of my cage.

The nurse held me down, and I was ravished, my prostate milked. Eventually the container was full, brimming with a new generation of female leaders and male subordinates: queen bees and an endless supply of male drones, workers, fighters, defenders of the realm.

“I'll take it to the lab,” said the guard, pinching her nose.

Passion was now a process; sins of the flesh had been abandoned for safety, purity.

They poured a syrup down my throat, and I waited an hour before they deemed I was safe to unleash upon society once more. My desires, urges were under control yet again. Regrettable was putting it mildly; I'd felt like a new person, invigorated, manly even, if that's how a man felt. I'd wanted to take on the world, and all three of them. I desired to do unspeakable things.

“Tidy yourself up,” was the last instruction I received, and, for the second time in a day, I was unceremoniously booted out.

Chapter Seven

Gillian was looking at me with either desire or hatred, I couldn't tell. Perhaps it was both, perhaps she hated wanting me.

I'd handed in my slips, explanations for yesterday's absence, signed and stamped by the Court and the Bank. My camouflage nail varnish had worked, and I was disappointed there were no sticky buns for the office, the edible type, not mine.

Claire called me into her room, but at least it was still mid-day and I had witnesses; Trudi and Cassie were filing. It was rare, but occasionally some of the ruling class were convicted of assaulting the junior ranks of society, the men, rape not included. We were the new witches, bitches, leading them on; besides, everyone knew men always enjoyed sex.

“Mother Nature only knows why, Valery, but it appears you're a wanted man.”

She waved a piece of paper across my face.

“It's my depot tomorrow,” I replied.

“Was, it's been cancelled. And I've been ordered to give you tomorrow and next week off, more if you don't show.”

“Why?”

My heart was pounding. I didn't want any trouble.

“You really don't know?” asked Gillian entering the room.

I shook my head.

“I hope this isn't to do with the pegging,” said Gillian.

She'd got carried away, scratched my back and bit my arm, technically an assault of the non-sexual variety.

“Don't be silly,” said Claire. “The poor boy was gagging for it, led us both astray.”

“Teaser,” said Gillian. “But you should know I have connections, Valery; give me any problems and I'll have you marched to the front.”

They may have taken my pride, but I still wanted to hang onto my life.

“I never said a word.”

“Well, let's just keep it that way,” said Claire, “and maybe next time we'll go easy on you.”

“Maybe,” added Gillian.

She sat on my lap, and began to stroke my hair.

“You know, you're so adorable when you're mad,” she said.

Her finger was under my chin, and she pushed it up until our lips touched. Suddenly she pushed me away, and wrapped her soft hand around the back of my neck.

“Not yet,” she said, and my head was spinning.

Maybe she was right, I was gagging for it. I was perspiring heavily.

“Hey don't sweat it,” said Claire. “You can leave early today.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm always sure, and, besides, it's Friday tomorrow. Have a good long weekend, week, whatever; who knows what's in store.”

“Thanks.”

“And, Valery, great job on the nail varnish,” said Claire.

Chapter Eight

The phone wouldn't stop ringing and eventually, wearily, I picked it up from under my pillow. It was Steve 873 from work. I guess it had to be; I had no other friends.

“Let me in, sleepyhead, we're going to be late,” he said.

I pulled on a light blue velour tracksuit, and lifted up the latch.

“You can do your hair on the bus,” said Steve, excitedly.

It was Saturday, and we were going to Claude's for our monthly waxing.

“You ever wonder about Z's?” asked Steve.

This was our nickname for Claude, he always looked tired.

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, just that he's such a handsome beast, unattached, and never seems aroused, excited.”

“Maybe he's into women,” I said.

Steve's mouth dropped open in shock, as though he'd never considered the option.

“I won't believe it,” he said, “and we're two of the most gorgeous guys in town.”

Well, I was good looking. I wasn't so sure about Steve. You couldn't call him ugly, or rather you would but you couldn't. No one was labelled unattractive officially; we were all beautiful in our own way.

“So why hasn't he hit on us?” I asked Steve.

“Oh my, you really think he's into them, women, real ones?”

“Ask him,” I replied.

“I couldn't, just the sight of him leaves me tongue-tied, but you could.”

“I'd be embarrassed, Steve, honestly. Besides if he's into women, or would be given the chance, he's probably fighting depression like the rest of us.”

That was another drug in our cocktail, antidepressants. They worked most of the time.

Steve played with his hair for a while, and looked around the bus to see if there was anyone he could flirt with.

“Or perhaps he's androgynous,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “It's not illegal.”

In fact, they were usually in better jobs than us medicated guys and received more credits. Though I'd heard it was one hell of a test to prove it.

“What a waste,” pondered Steve as we hit the kerb.

The only guy responding to his pouts was the driver.

“He'd look great as a blonde,” he whispered in my ear whilst pointing in the driver's direction. “I'll get my nails filed later.”

“At Suzie's nail bar,” we said together and laughed. Steve laughed much louder than I did; he was trying to show the driver he was fun.

“A bite to eat?” I asked.

“Only if we shop for a new bag.”

“Steve, I'm low on credits”

“Don't be such a sissy, I'm buying. Next stop.” He rang the bell.

It wasn't the only bell he'd pushed, and he took the drivers number as we alighted.

Steve pulled out the sunglasses from his bandana, and we strolled to Claude's, arm in arm. Steve had the longest legs, and made the most of them in his orange flannel hot pants. He'd look even more stunning after his full body wax. Mother Nature, had I really just thought that? Did I fancy my best mate? But I loved women, didn't I?