The Change Club

Okay, this is a piece of porn writing involving whores, mind control femminisation and body modification - if any of that isn't to your taste, or is illegal for you to read about where you are, stop right now and go somewhere else. Needless to say, this is a fiction that should never be attempted at home, and you'd be insane to try. It was originally a furry story, so if a llama unexpectedly turns up, that's why.

The Change Club

Hazel still wasn't used to her new breasts. The bags of gel shoved into her chest stuck out ridiculously, much further than she was used to, and unlike most fakes, they weren't rigid, but jiggled with every movement she made. The weight of them pulled on the gold bikini top, her shoulders thrust back to further emphasise the size.

The girl put on a big fake smile and strutted over to the tables, just like she'd been told. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she walked. Wearing them was natural to her now, she couldn't really walk without them as it hurt to much. Maybe they'd altered her legs while she was under, or maybe it was something else they'd done to her mind.

One of her tables she was ringed by a group of lads, hooting at the dancers on the stage. "Hi boys!" Her voice was high and breathy. 'Throat scraping, they'd called it. It hurt a little to talk, and although they said the pain would die away, she stay kept quiet when not being spoken to, like a good girl. "What can I get you?"

The men drank her in. She was taller than most girls, especially in those heels, and her golden, tanned skin on the thin limbs shone under the hot lights. The light curling hair fell in waves to halfway down her back, which was curved as she trust herself chest and rear out. Her crotch was covered by the partner to the bikini top, a thin gold thong that just covered her groin, the straps glinting over her wide hips before they disappeared into the cleft between her gel-filled cheeks.

"I know what ya can get me," slurred one of the boys. She dodged his drunken grope, but her weakened muscles weren't enough to support her as she swayed to the side, and she tumbled. Another of the lads caught her, and she felt his strong hands on her soft flesh. The big black man looked down at her, white teeth glinting in the contrast to his dark skin, and she stared back in surprise. For a moment, she couldn't work out why she was reaching beneath her chin, but then he touched her collar, and said, "Hands off boys, looks like this one hasn't been broken yet."

He pushed her back to her feet. "All she'll be getting is our drinks.

"She stared at him. She didn't know what to do right now, the programming didn't have a solution for this exact situation. He raised an eyebrow at her and, flustered, she looked around for her notepad before finding it in her hand. "Beers and a chaser all round," he said, and then pointed at the first guy, who had fallen over behind her and was now struggling to get up. "Except for Tim, he's had enough. Get him a coke."

She nodded, and turned to walk off. It was a wonder to watch her walk away, her hips rolling from side to side, her arse swinging from side to side. She could feel every eye on her, and it embarrassed her so much. And that only made things worse, of course. A wire in her brain, they'd called it, although it was far more sophisticated than that. Something in her mind was altered, so that every time her sense of shame was triggered, her arousal grew. And the more humiliated she got, the hornier she got.

And getting turned on by something you hated was so very humiliating. By the time she reached the bar, she was panting with lust. She had to lean on the counter while the bartender took the caps from the beers, thinking cool thoughts to calm herself. By the time she took up they tray, her mind had returned to her base level of shame and arousal.

Halfway back to the table, though, the weight of the tray began to drag at her arms. She wasn't as strong as she used to, the muscles wasted away by the change, and she still misjudged what she could cope with. And the thought of dropping the tray, and hearing all the bottles smash on the floor, and standing there, every single person staring at her, knowing that she was a stupid, stupid girl, a worthless slut, standing there in a mess of broken glass and spreading puddles of beer-

And then she set the tray down on the table, heavily. Of course. Their programming wouldn't let her fail at a task they set her. She breathed heavily as she passed out the drinks, her tits wobbling beneath her, the weight of them dragging her rib cage around.

She stood, and the man looked at her. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No," he replied. "But once you break... I'm going to enjoy that."

She walked away, her mind on fire. That was what happened in the club, of course. They said that each and every dancer could refuse sex, but she'd never seen one actually manage to. The rules said, though, that the clients couldn't approach the dancers for the first time - and that she would have to be the one to ask, to beg for sex.

They called it breaking.

She thought she could avoid it. If she just lasted out her desires.

But she had so long left to go, and she was so horny that moisture was making a damp patch in her thong. The programming was too strong. She couldn't help herself. Slowly, she turned and walked back to the big black man, who was watching the stage again. She laid a delicate hand on his shoulder.

"What- what will you do to me? Once I break?"

Hearing herself admit that it could happen was so very shameful that her groin burned.

He pulled her head down to his mouth, gently, and whispered, "I'll fuck you, of course. I'll fuck you so hard, no-one else'll ever be enough to satisfy you."

Her legs shivered. "I-I can't-"

She could feel it happening. The needs growing within her was to great.

"We could go to the back rooms-"

"No," He said. "If you want me to fuck you, it'll be up there. On the stage. In full view of the everyone."

Hazel's eyes jittered within their sockets. It was killing her. She tried to say no. Her mouth formed words, but they stumbled on her tongue. "I-I-I-"

She licked her lips, and tried again. But this time, the wrong word came out. "Yes."

"What was that?"

"Break me."

****

Up on the stage, the lights were blinding. She couldn't see her audience, but she could hear cheers and whoops over the pounding music. Her eye flicked from side to side. She wasn't like the other girls, made to be confident and sexy, she was made to be humiliated, ashamed of what she was.

And she was. The leering eyes she could feel on her body set off the triggers buried in her mind by hours of hypnosis, and she began to heat up, sweat glistening on trails over her smooth, polished body. She wanted to run and hide, but the almost painful level of pleasure pounding at her groin made her stay.

She swung round the pole, not as graceful as the other girls, but that wasn't what she was for. She stumbled, and the cat calls turned into mocking jeers. She tried to wrap both legs around the pole and twirl, but her muscles weren't strong enough, and she slid down it, to mocking laughter.

And then the big guy climbed up on stage. He'd taken his shirt off, and she could see how well built he was. She was glad she'd chosen him.

She realised she didn't know his name.

He hauled her to her feet, and kissed her. Her body flexed against his, pushing her nipples into his muscles, before he broke it of and spun her round. A dribble of saliva trailed over her lips.

Gently, his hands cupped those massive tits. He teased the bow holding the bikini together, pulling it until the weight on her chest dragged it apart. Each orb bounced free, settling only slightly further down her chest as his hand rubbed her nipples. Hard plastic implants just beneath her areolas forced her nipples to stand proud all the time, waiting to be stroked.

The yell of one of the watchers drew her back to reality. Here she was, in full view, being fondled, her users' hands denting the flesh of her breasts-

One hand made its way down her smooth stomach. The man began to tug at her bikini bottoms. Her could have fucked her little arsehole without needing to undo the strings, but this was so much more humiliating. Gripping the thin cloth, he pulled it away, and without it to hold them in place, her penis and balls flopped free.

They'd explained to her what they'd done. While she was being packed full of gel, her hips swollen into the more feminine form, they'd gone into her groin and cauterized a few blood vessels - not enough to cut of the supply to her cock, but enough to make sure she could never get hard again. Her balls were left untouched, apart from the doses of hormones, but they kept making her so horny.

The black hands slapped her dick from side to side, to whoops from the audience. Most had roared with approval at the reveal, although a couple had been shocked - what were they expecting from The Change Club, anyway? Sticky streams of pre-cum adhered to her legs, and dripped to the floor. The big guys' hands scooped up the fluid, and reached between her cheeks to lube up the tight muscle of her arsehole.

With one hand he pulled her rear towards him, and with the other he pushed her shoulders forwards. She clutched at the pole, to keep her balance as she felt something warm and fleshy poke between her cheeks. The gaze of the crowd burned was hotter on her skin than the lights. This was it. She was revealed as a she-male, naked, on stage, about to be fucked, her massive tits juddering with every breath. The man's long pole slid through the gap in her legs, and the pointed tip poked beneath her ballsac. His muscular stomach pressed up against the cheeks of her arse, squishing the gel within.

Hazel was burning up. The desire was burning her up, even as the shame of being the hypersexualised thing grew. She gasped, trying to draw enough breath to stop her head spinning, but it was working. With a shock, she realised her mouth was forming words, little, and almost unheard: "Fuck... me... Fuck... me..."

This was the worst situation she'd ever been in. She could conceive of nothing more humiliating. And that was why, as her re-wired brain shorted out, she clenched her legs together, and began to rub his cock. He drew it back, and poked at her hole.

Her eyes opened wide as she was slowly split by the length of the pink flesh. A high pitched squeal erupted, uncontrolled, from between her puffed up lips. She wanted to writhe and squirm, half to pull away, half to push back, but the programming held her steady. This, she knew, wasn't about her pleasure, that was just to stop her even thinking of getting away.

He hilted in her body, and paused. She could feel the heat of his cock inside her, penetrating her organs, her mind. This was what they meant, the breaking. She could feel her mind changing as he pulled out, and began to pump, slowly. The hours she'd spent between surgeries, strapped to a chair, eyes held open to the swirling patterns she couldn't quite remember as words whispered the way she would be in her ears came back, and she knew why no dancer ever said no to sex: it was too good.

As her butt cheeks danced and jiggled, she felt her mind give under the pounding. Mirroring the shafting her arse was getting, her brain was being fucked open, unable to resist the waves of pleasure that shot through her. She couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

The man's thrusts were becoming more erratic. He drew back, and with one final thrust, buried himself deep within her, spurting cum. She could feel every drop, shooting within her depths. She didn't quite cum in response, but the feeling was the same: deep joy, satisfaction. For a second, she forgot the shame, the embarrassment of being a whore, fucked on stage in front of an audience.

But then, he pulled out with a shlorp. Her legs, shaking with the strain of the fucking, gave out and she dropped to the floor in a heap. He didn't even look at her, just stepped over her like a discarded tissue, his cock leaking a few drops of cum that spattered on her body. The shame flooded back, used and then tossed aside like so much meat.

But this was what she'd signed up for. That was the deal: The Change Club would change your body to anything you liked, but you had to pay with two years of working in the club, with a body they liked, a mind reworked into what they found useful. As a stripper, as a whore. All the dancers, male, female, she-male, cunt-boys and other forms, were working for the body the wanted. They, just like her, had chosen to be there.

The music was cut by a voice shouting over the tannoy, "Ladyboys and gentlemen! I'm pleased to announce that our newest she-male has just been broken in, and will be on special offer all night! If you want to fondle those lusciuos new tittes before they're stained with cum, now's your chance!"

Hazel tried to image turning down a punter. Or leaving this place. But then, as a man began to climb on the stage, she realised two things: first, they'd said she didn't have to finalise the body she wanted until the two years were up, and second, she'd never met anyone who had ended their years of servitude...