A Goth's Story" (MFdom, tg/v, nc, sm) [4/8]


Chapter 4 The Presentation
====================

The antechamber was decorated in the kind of overblown style that I was coming
to expect. Candlelit, with black walls, the room was like a refugee from a
Hammer Horror movie. The door by which we had entered was cushioned with velvet,
the double doors, that, I presumed, led to the room in which the Patrician
entertained, were flanked by two grandiose statues of naked women lithely 
contorting around severe looking spikes. I sat on a marble bench along one of
the walls, flanked by Aisling and Hawk. The Hairdresser sat twittering to 
Sepulchre on a bench on the other side. I, in my new and humiliating dress, sat
contemplating my new situation. I had been captured, treated like a piece of
meat, an item, and made to wear a corset and a Goth dress. I was currently
tottering around on a pair of ridiculously high-heeled boots that, combined with
the corset, made me sway my hips provocatively as I walked. I had to escape,
partly to regain my freedom, but partly because I was, almost subconsciously,
enjoying this. That was the truth that I had to escape from; I enjoyed being the
centre of attention, being made to feel special. It was appealing to depths of
me that I had seldom, if ever, explored before.

The double doors opened, to reveal a man dressed as a butler. 
"The Patrician will see you now." He said, in a stereotypically stately manner.
I stood, half voluntarily, half propelled by Hawk and Aisling, the two 
intimidating guards that had marshalled me through the transformation and were
still ensuring my compliance. I walked, still unsteady, but trying for as much
grace as I could manage, through the doors and into the presence of The 
Patrician.

The room into which I walked was much larger than I was expecting. I realised
that the building I was in was, or at least had been, partly a church. This
cavernous hall had been the nave, along the side, columns rose high, to a 
vaulted ceiling. Candles, flickering slowly, lit the room. As I walked up 
presumably what had been the aisle, although the pews had been removed, my heels
clicked loudly on the stone floor. I felt like a bride going to the altar. I
wondered how apt that analogy was going to prove as I approached where the altar
had been. On the dais a throne rose, designed in similar style to the one at the
club, but on a much larger scale. The Patrician sat, looking imperious, upon it.
People, who I can only describe as club bunnies, gathered in small cliques
around this end of the room. They had been talking, gathered in small cliques,
but now were silent, watching me with interest. 

Lacking instruction I continued walking until I stood before him. 
"Kneel!" Hawk hissed in my ear. Startled, I complied, ungainly in my 
unaccustomed attire. There was a ripple of amusement, a shifting, from the
courtiers. Hawk and Aisling, up to this moment escorting me, dropped back a
couple of paces. The Patrician stood. I continued to face forward as he paced
around me, inspecting the handiwork of the Hairdresser, who I could her 
nervously murmuring some distance behind me.
"Well then." He said, after several agonising minutes. "How we have been 
changed. You probably have many questions. You may not ask them, but I will
answer some." He reached forward, and lifted my chin. "You are mine now. Bought
and paid for. You exist to do, and to be, what I will. I have paid for your
transformation, and will continue to pay for it, for it is not over." I couldn't
understand. What more could he do to me? I felt the answer gnawing at me, an
expanding darkness within.
"Something permanent." I whispered inaudibly.
"Your old life is gone. I would imagine that James has sold of most of your
belongings and thrown away the rest. You resigned from your job, pleading family
problems. Your bank account has been emptied and closed. Your family, well, they
might miss you but not for long, at least not after the letter that you're going
to send them. Understand this. There is no going back. There is no escape,
either. Your old life is gone. I think you'll enjoy your new one, though." He
paused.
"Your old name is gone as well. I give you a new one. From now on you are Sable.
You have no other name, nor any need of one." His hand caressed my cheek and
gently stroked my hair. "You may call me Master, or The Patrician in the third
person. You kneel in my presence as does Sepulchre. You will do what she tells
you until you become more accustomed to your life." He walked back to the throne
and sat.
"Oh, one more thing. You have seen your last daylight. Your apartments, in this
building, are blacked out. You will find no windows in the parts of the building
that you can visit. You will only be allowed outside during the night." I was
surprised that I was to be allowed outside at all. I obviously showed that, for
he continued. "Oh yes, you will be allowed out. Within certain limits, of 
course. You are now a creature of the night. My creature of the night and I am
proud of my possessions. How could I resist showing you off?" He turned away
from me.
"Lucy!" He commanded. The Hairdresser clattered forward. 
"Yes Bri-sir." She caught herself just in time. The Patrician frowned slightly,
but let it pass.
"We are pleased, as always, by your efforts." He commended her. "She is, 
however, overweight, which the corseting and the diet should deal with. However,
I am displeased by her lack of cleavage and a little with her face. I don't
believe that hormones alone will correct this, and so I have decided that she
will undergo surgery tomorrow." I stiffened, appalled. I must, must escape.
"Can you arrange it?" He finished.
"Yes, sir." She replied. "I'll contact Darren. Breasts and face?"
"Yes." He confirmed. "Take her to a 36D cup, that should be adequate for her
size. Do her lips, nose and cheekbones on her face. Her eyes are really quite
acceptable." He reached down, lifted my chin a bit and peered into my eyes.
"Yes, quite, quite acceptable."
"You may go now." He ordered, dropping my chin. "Take her to her rooms." Hawk
and Aisling stepped forward as I rose gingerly. At their prompting I backed off
before turning and leaving the room via the doors we had entered.

Hawk led me through the corridors of this, apparently vast, building that was
now my prison. The corridors were decorated to look like the passages of a
medieval castle. The floor was tiled and the walls painted to look like stone.
My footsteps rang hollowly as I hurried along, behind Hawk but with Aisling
prompting me. I soon lost my sense of direction, and track of the turnings, as
all the halls looked identical. Hawk suddenly stopped, causing me to almost fly
into his back, I stumbled but managed to retain my precarious balance. He opened
the door he stood before. 
"These are your rooms." He said. "Do not leave them before you are collected.
Do not do anything stupid. Your position is quite hopeless. Understood?" I
nodded. "Ok. Get some sleep. You'll find a night-dress in your closet." He held
the door for me, and I walked in to my new apartments.

As a prison, this one was fairly comfortable, I decided. I had two large rooms,
a spacious bathroom and a large and mostly empty closet. The first large room,
which I had entered from the corridor, was a sitting room, black-walled, with a
wooden floor. The only light came from candles in large wrought-iron 
candleholders. There was a large, comfortable sofa, black, of course, and a
matching armchair. I had a dark wooden writing desk and a fairly large bookcase.
Glancing over it, I saw that it was stocked partly with gothic horror novels and
partly with fetish erotic books and magazines. The lifestyle that I was to be
forced to lead was becoming obvious. The second room was my bedroom. It too was
black and candle-lit, with a wooden floor. It was dominated, however, by a vast
four-poster bed, with black satin sheets and covers and a black canopy. It had a
dark wood chest of drawers and a bedside table in one corner was a vast dressing
table with a mirror. Doors led from this room to the bathroom, which was 
spacious, with a large bath, but remarkably normal otherwise, even including an
electric light, and the walk-in closet, which had space for thousand of garment,
but actually contained only two. On a hanger on the left-hand side was a long
flowing black nightdress, on another a hooded black satin dressing gown.  The
most notable thing about the rooms was the entire lack of windows. It seemed The
Patrician was not joking about never seeing daylight again.

I sat on my sofa, considering my options. If I stayed here then I was going to
become the permanently feminised slave of The Patrician. I would be given 
breasts, my features changed beyond recognition. Beyond that, however, I had no
idea what would become of me. My mind turned over all sorts of sordid concept. I
resolved to escape, this very night, if it was night. I realised I had no idea
what time it was, or where I was. Nevertheless, a break for freedom must be
undertaken soon. Before the situation was irretrievable. Before, a voice at the
back of my mind said, I became too enamoured of this dark and hedonistic world I
had been forcibly inducted into. When I knelt in front of The Patrician, when he
ran his fingers through my hair, something felt very right. I had felt very
safe, protected by this powerful man, more powerful than I had ever been and
giving in to him, doing exactly what he said, letting him make all the 
decisions, was a very seductive proposition.

I shook my head, trying to clear these degenerate thoughts from my head. I must
not succumb, or I would lose myself in this new life. I tried the door. To my
surprise, it opened. Hope flickered within me. I quickly unlaced my boots, as
speed and quiet would be crucial. I didn't think I could run that fast wearing
the corset, but removing it was not an option. In stockinged feet, I padded out
into the corridor. 

I picked a direction, right, and, hitching up my skirt, crept quickly along the
hall, ears straining for the slightest hint of someone coming. I padded along,
turning almost at random, until I came to a staircase leading down. Reasoning
that down was more likely to be closer to out, I tip-toed down it. At the bottom
was another corridor. I paused, breathing quick sharp breaths, my lungs and
diaphragm restrained by the corset. I heard voices, approaching me. I looked
around desperately. Underneath the staircase, was a door, I tried it, it opened.
I crept in and held the door closed.
"The Patrician does pick his toys well." One voice said.
"I quite liked the look of that new doll," A second one agreed. "Sepulchre and
Sable. The names go together well. Which will you prefer?"
"I don't know." Replied the first. "I think I'll wait until Sable is finished
before deciding."
"Good idea." The voices faded as they went past.

I waited for a couple of minutes. There was no sound. I left my hiding place
cautiously and continued my escape. I soon found another down staircase and
descended to another identical floor. After five minutes on this floor, I came
out onto a balcony. I crouched, looking through the railings. The balcony ran
along one side of what apparently was a foyer, red carpeted and grand. A master
staircase ran from the balcony in a graceful curve to the floor below. A large
door, with locks and bolts indicating that it might be exterior was in the
middle of the far wall. I crawled along the balcony towards the top of the
stairs, the exit now in sight. Suddenly I heard the voice of the Butler.
"I'll just go and lock the front door, Mary." He was saying. "No one will be
arriving now."
He walked across the floor, I lay as low as possible, praying he wouldn't notice
me. He had almost reached the door, probably about to lock it closed and me in,
when a bell rang. He paused. It rang again.
"Damn. I'd better go and see what he wants." He cursed. He turned and walked
swiftly back the way he had come. This was my opportunity, I had to move quickly
before he returned. All attempts at stealth off, I ran down the stairs, grateful
for the carpet muffling my footsteps. I ran to the door, fumbled with the latch.
I looked around, nobody was coming, and opened the door. The cold night-time
air, for it was night, breezed through the door. I tasted freedom, I ran through
the door, not bothering to close it. I was free, I had escaped!

I got about four paces from the door when I felt it, like a kick in my neck.
Fire spread from my neck all through my body. Over and over an unknown force hit
me. I fell to the floor. In the distance I heard a alarm bell ringing and people
running. I was picked up and carried back inside, half-conscious, half-aware and
only half-disappointed. 

I was carried into the building and dumped on a couch. Slowly, the pain ebbed
and I regained some semblance of normality. I looked around. I was in a small
room, with a single door. The familiar frames of Hawk and Aisling flanked the
door. Aisling looked disapproving, Hawk frowned, but there was a glint in his
eye and the hint of a smile. The door opened and The Patrician walked in a
flowing scarlet dressing gown.
"You were warned." He stormed. "And you still chose to run. Now you realise
the futility of your actions. Your collar, which was locked on you, will shock
you repeatedly if you stray without permission from the places in which you are
allowed. Alarms will sound and you will be found. Now, Hawk, Aisling, prepare
her for punishment. You will soon regret this, even if you don't already."
Without giving me a chance to say a word he spun and stalked out of the door.
Hawk's grin was now plain. 

"Stand up." Hawk commanded. I obeyed, dispirited. It seemed that escape was
impossible. Hawk unzipped the back of my dress and pulled it down. "Step out of
it and hold out your hands." He commanded. I obeyed. Aisling pushed aside the
bracelets I wore and fastened a pair of cuffs, very similar to the ones I had
worn throughout my transformation, around my wrists. These cuffs she then 
fastened together. Hawk, having put away my dress somewhere, returned with a
long chain, one end of which he locked to my collar. There was a knock at the
door; Aisling opened it to reveal Sepulchre, who had a sorrowful expression on.
"They're ready." She said simply.

Hawk dragged on my lead and I stumbled after him. He led me through the 
corridors back to the chamber wherein The Patrician had held his audience. The
room seemed much as before, but a bar had been lowered from the ceiling, to hang
about seven feet off the ground. Hawk led me in and stood me beneath this bar.
The Patrician entered through a side door, as I had been commanded, I dropped to
my knees.

"Well," he said as he approached, "you learn some lessons at least. You are
responsible for this. Your choice." I sneaked a look out of the corner of my
eyes. The Patrician had changed into a different costume. He seemed to be 
wearing riding boots of some description, and he was tapping something against
the side. "Understand this. To every action there is an equal and opposite re-
action. You have spurned our hospitality. You have acted in an ungrateful and
uncivilised way. Therefore, we will be uncivilised as well. Stand up." I obeyed,
cumbersomely. "Raise your arms above your head, touch the bar." I heard the
all-too-familiar click of a padlock as I did so. I tried to lower my arms and
found that my cuffs had been locked to the bar. 
"Raise the bar." The Patrician commanded. The bar rose jerkily, pulling me more
and more upright, until I was off my heels and standing on tiptoes. "Enough."
He ordered. 
"After each stroke, I will offer you the whip. You will kiss it and then thank
me. You will say ‘Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth girl who deserves to be
punished.' Every time you do not say it, you will get another five strokes. The
score starts at twenty."
I heard a whistle and then my buttocks exploded; a line of fire being etched
across them. I yelped. At the same time, I felt a stirring in my still-tethered
genitalia. Something about being whipped by a powerful man appealed to me. The
Patrician proffered the whip in front of my face. I wanted to kiss it, to say
the words, so that this agony could be minimised, but I could not. There was a
wall in the way, a last bastion of pride and reserve. I turned my head away.
"Twenty-five, then." He said evenly. The whistling came again, followed by the
crack across my buttocks. This time it hurt worse than before, as The Patrician
had hit across the first weal. The whip was proffered again; again I refused.
"Thirty."
 Thirty more strokes, I felt that I could not stand a single one more, let alone
thirty. I must say those words. The whistle came again and I jerked with the
blow. Through the haze of pain I saw the whip in front of me. I felt the curtain
part slightly, and I kissed the whip. I cleared my throat.
"Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth..." I paused.
"Well." The Patrician asked.
"... girl who deserves to be punished." I finished in a rush.
"Not bad." The Patrician commented. "But not quite good enough. You don't 
sound like a girl, and you don't sound like you mean it. Nonetheless, we are
merciful. The count remains at thirty."
The whip fell again and once more I jerked as my buttocks flamed. I kissed the
whip and said, as softly as I was able.
"Thank you, Master. I am a naughty Goth girl who deserves to be punished."
"Excellent. Twenty-nine strokes remain."

Half an hour later I sat on the sofa in my room, weeping softly to myself. I had
been led back to my room in tears by Hawk, who had at least had the discretion
not to say anything. Lacking anything to wear, and feeling rather vulnerable in
my half-undressed state, I had put on the nightdress and dressing gown. It felt
comforting to have them drawn around me. Then, still in a lot of pain from the
beating I had taken, and emotionally broken and distraught, I had sat on the
sofa, fortunately soft beneath my aching rear and wallowed in self-pity.

There was a knock at the door; I looked up. "Yes?" I managed to say in a 
quivering voice. The door opened slightly to reveal the head of Sepulchre.
"Hello, Sable, may I come in?" She asked.
"I guess so." I said. She came in, sat down beside me and put an arm around my
shoulders.
"It hurts, doesn't it."
"Yes." I replied.
"It hurt when it happened to me, too." She said.
"You?" I asked.
"Yes." She responded. "I made a bid for freedom on my first night as well. He
wants you to. It was made easy for you, and for me. They feel, and I guess
they're right, that they can tell you that escape is impossible, but you have to
demonstrate it. Besides, he then gets to beat you."
"It was deliberate?" I asked.
"Yes. Tell me, do you feel like trying to escape again?"
"No!" I responded vehemently.
"Why not?" She inquired.
"Because I can't cope with the pain, because the collar would stop me, because I
don't want to be whipped again and because..." I stopped, surprised at what I had
been about to say.
"Because you like feeling special, and you like being the centre of attention."
She finished. I nodded sorrowfully. "Don't worry. I felt, and still feel, the
same. James is very good at picking his candidates. You'll find, if you haven't
already, that you'll enjoy this life much more than your last. I know I do.
There's something appealing about being humiliated and serving a man like The
Patrician."
"Why does he do it?" I asked.
"James or The Patrician?" She questioned. "James does it because he needs the
money and because The Patrician has threatened to do it to him if he doesn't
find candidates when The Patrician wants them. The Patrician takes people 
because it amuses him, because he likes broken people serving him and there is
no-one more broken than a feminised man."
"What about tomorrow?" I asked. "Are they really going to operate on me?"
"I'm afraid so." She responded. "He is much more keen this time. I got to 
spend a week just dressed before they operated on me, and it wasn't that severe.
You, I'm afraid, are going to be changed quite noticeably and quite 
permanently." She paused for a moment.
"Now get some sleep, you'll need the rest." 
"OK." I said, feeling somewhat better.
"Oh; and Sable." She said, as she rose to go. "Give in. Submit. You really
will enjoy your new life much more. Trust me." She bent down and planted a kiss
on my cheek. "Goodnight Sable." She said.
"Goodnight, Sepulchre" I replied as she walked through the door. I took the
dressing gown off and hung it back on its hanger. Then I crawled into the vast
four-poster bed, and closed my eyes. The satin of the sheets and the nightdress
felt unbelievably soft against my shaved skin and, despite the constant press of
the corset, I felt comfortable. Surprisingly, I was asleep in moments.