Sunday, April 8, 2012

Happy Easter to All of You - and the last episode of Judas Goat.

A wee bit later today as I was messing around with some new irrigation. On top of that the U.S.  Masters is on TV - and my wife and I are both avid watchers of the major golf tournaments.  I can't play any more but she's a fervent golfer.  On top of all that?  Phil Mickelson is a major favorite of ours as he lives fairly close to us - and seems to be a genuinely nice person - so for those of you who follow this tournament, you have to know that it's been fantastic and we surely want to watch the finish.

It's also the last episode of Judas Goat.  I hope that you enjoyed it.  Any of you have recommendations for what I should serialize next?

But gonna get on with it.  But I do wish all of you a Happy Easter.

Rosie's 'Bits' will follow, as usual.

Start of Part 6.  End of Judas Goat.

Over the next few weeks I discovered what was on Samantha's mind.  She was determined that I was to have no sexual enjoyment whatsoever, and I was put through the 'milking' every day – sometimes twice.  After just a few days, I wept – pleaded with her not to do this horrible thing to me, but she was adamant.

I'd been ashamed at my submission to the women when I'd been used as their sex toy – but oh, how I wished for a return to that!  This mindless milking. without any emotion whatsoever was hateful to me. I HATED it!  Then, one night about a week later, Samantha gave me a choice.
"Fatima?  Quite a few of the girls would like to have you for a sex partner again.  Would you like that?"

My heart leapt within my body!  But I kept me demeanor quietly respectful and ladylike.  Nodded and looked down at the carpet shyly.
"Only one thing dear?  Seeing that you dress the way you do now?  Act the way you do?"
She paused, and I looked up.  She smiled gently and lovingly at me. "They want YOU to be the girl now.  Know what I mean?"

Befuddled, I looked up again. "Fatima doesn't understand Cheryl.  Why don't you show her?" Samantha said.
Cheryl nodded.  For some reason, she looked a little embarrassed, but started to open up the front of her robe.  I stared in horror at the huge dildo that jutted up and out from her.
"Want to be her girl?" Samantha continued.  "All you have to do?  Go and give her a nice blow job.  Then we'll take your chastity belt off and  she'll take you to bed.  Expand your horizons with that huge dildo of hers!  I know it will be uncomfortable for you the first time – but you'll soon learn to love it.  Now.  Want to be Cheryl's girl?"

I shuddered violently and shook my head.  "No!  Never!" I said vehemently. "You can maybe force me into doing something like that.  But I'll never do it voluntarily!"

Samantha nodded her head admiringly and looked around the room.  "Finally?  A little spunk from our little dancing girl?  Okay Fatima. We'll check you out now and then, just to make sure you don't change your mind."
I actually felt my lip curl with scorn.  That's one thing I'll NEVER do!" I repeated.

Weeks went by and, true to her word, Samantha 'milked' me regularly, then paraded various girls past me – all wielding huge dildos.  But I held firm, even though I was becoming more and more desperate for some sort of sexual release – any kind!

*        *        *

Then, finally, the big day of the meeting came.  Samantha had warned me in advance not to give any indications of what was going on as on more than one occasion, one of the heads would call with some innocuous question and might have been suspicious if neither Mr. One nor myself had answered. 

I was told to put on my best uniform that day, then Josephine, and two of the less senior girls (who were also decked out as maids) were at the main door when three limos drew up in the driveway.  I was amazed to see who got out of the first.  Mistress Samantha, The Don – and Mr. One - njust as he appeared in the old days!  Abrazzi  and Asti of the Chicago and Nevada families came out of the second, while Mancini of Florida and Gotti of the Northwest States fell in behind them as they walked into the house.

Nobody recognized me, for which I was immensely grateful.  Mr. One looked different somehow, and then it dawned on me.  It wasn't so much his appearance as his behavior.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but then I saw it.  Any time he went to speak, he would give Samantha a glance – almost as if he was asking her permission to do so!  She'd make a small signal, and then he'd speak.  The other guys hadn't seen or spoken to him in a long time, so didn't catch on, but I could see it, clear as day.  He was acting to the mistress in exactly the same subservient way that I now did myself!

They were only in the hallway for a few minutes at best, as me and the other girls curtseyed and took the gentlemen's coats and hats from them, but it was just enough time for me to figure out that the relationship between the mistress and Mr. One hadn't changed since the last time I'd seen him.  I made sure that I stayed as far away from him as possible and averted my face as much as possible, but I was wearing a short blonde wig that day and, being a lot more familiar with  feminine posture and demeanor was now almost impossible to take for a male.  I still breathed a huge sigh of relief as the mistress led them into the house proper, where Angela greeted them – and introduced them to their 'companions' for the afternoon – and  evening:   "Gentlemen?  I'd like you to meet -  Rose;  Dorothy; Melissa; Lori; and Cheryl – all supplied by your host – Mr. One!"

The girls looked exactly the way I'd described them – blonde bimbo's – but DYNAMITE blonde bimbo's!  All in flashy clothes, teetering high heels – giggling, preening, voluptuous  - everything any gangster ever dreamed of!  The guys all relaxed immediately and paired off with a girl and headed for the living room.  Me and the other girls had to rush in behind them and help get drinks poured and served, before we went back and got their overnight luggage and took it up to their rooms.  Angela supervised us until we got the cases upstairs. Then she surprised me "Girls?  Just dump the suitcases on the beds.  Don't think they'll need them..  Do unpack their toiletry cases though. They may want to clean up before dinner – but the way they're hitting on that booze?  I doubt it."
"But they ARE staying the night, are they not, miss Angela? " I asked, curtseying.

She looked at me, as if being surprised at being questioned by a maid.  then she remembered who I was – or at least who I had been.  "That's up for grabs Fatima" she said quietly.  "Don't worry about it. If any of the men question you girls about not unpacking?  Just say that I wanted to make absolutely SURE that the rooms were to their liking before unpacking their things.  Okay?"
We all curtseyed in unison, smiling.  "Yes, miss Angela!"
She smiled nicely.  "That's fine girls.  Thank you. Now all of you get back down to help serve drinks.  But Fatima?  Talk to me for a moment please?"

I was suddenly nervous at being singled out, but waited as the other girls left the area.  Angela came and took a hold of my arm in a friendly way.  "Dear?  I think it's about time you went and changed.  Bathe and put on your harem girl outfit – the scarlet one I think.  Take your time with your makeup.  Use the long – very dark wig.  You know the one I mean?  Report to me in the library about seven o'clock.  It might be an idea  . .?" she paused.  "No.  I'll do it.  Have something brought to your room to eat.  I'd strongly suggest that you do so.  It may be a long night for you."

"What am I to do tonight Miss Angela?" I asked her nervously.
"Whatever you're told to do dear."  She said calmly.  "Easy as that!  Now?  Off you go!  Scat!" and she gave me a light pat on my posterior as I hurried away.  A few minutes later Cynthia appeared with the key to my chastity belt, and readied me for my bath.  (Samantha ensured that I got no sexual release by always  having someone attend me while I bathed.  It wasn't the same girl all the time, but I always sensed something when it was Cynthia – she always had a sort of hungry look in her eye when she looked at me)

Angela was as good as her word. When I came out of my bathroom after a good long soak in perfumed bubbles, I smelled the plate of food that had been brought up to my room, long before I ever saw it.  Cynthia sat alongside and watched me eat. I wasn't too hungry – rather nervous I guess – but managed to eat most of it.  Then, I went and brushed my teeth and washed my mouth out with a pleasant mouthwash before I started applying my makeup. 

From constant practice, I had become quite adept at applying cosmetics.  For my 'harem girl' duties, the emphasis was on dark, sultry eyes and very heavily applied wet lipstick.  When working as a maid, however, the opposite was true. There, I had to strive for anonymity – a sort of featureless look.  I had to be very careful with perfumes as well, using heavier musk based products for Fatima and light florals – if any – as the maid.

I was also very concerned about my appearance that night for another reason.  So far, Mr. One hadn't recognized me and I wanted it kept that way.  He was aware that it was me that had betrayed him, but as long as he didn't know for sure 'who' I had become, I felt fairly safe.  If he ever found out – I was a dead man – or girl.  Whatever.

To my surprise, Cynthia seemed to have forgotten about my chastity belt.  Then, when I reminded her of this, she just smiled and said she was acting on Samantha's orders. It felt strange getting my clothes on without it, but Cynthia kept me company the whole time, so I had no chance to take any kind of advantage of the situation. I even felt stirrings of an erection once or twice, but think that it had been so long since one had been allowed that I might have forgotten how.   Somehow I doubted that and grinned to myself, enjoying the unusual freedom.

When we got back downstairs, I was surprised to see that the girls were all gone.  From the mess in the dining room I could see that dinner had been eaten – Josephine and the other maids were already starting to tidy up. Cynthia escorted me to the library where Miss Angela was standing, then left me.  Angela checked me out carefully, laughing at my expression when a few of the men were making lewd noises.  She laughed confidently at them though. "Stop it you guys!  You're scaring poor Fatima here.  She belongs to Sam!"  She paused, distracted by a small commotion at the doorway, then laughed.  "Any way?  Here come your dates for the night!"

And, sure enough, here came the girls – done in identical costumes – prancing into the room!  The guys let out yells of delight – because the girls were done up as New York cops! – At least a stage version of same.  The flat-topped caps with the visors and the tunic jackets buttoned all the way to the neck looked fairly authentic.  As did  the truncheons they carried attached to their belts.  From the hem of their tunics down though, there was no resemblance.  Each wore black net stockings and high heeled black patent leather shoes.  The way their caps were pinned to the mass of blonde hair they all sported also added to the striking picture they made.

Music started up as they strutted in and, in perfect time, they launched into a dance routine that had the place rocking!  "Arrest me officer!" one of the guys yelled. "I'll come quietly!"  Then another yelled "No!  arrest ME!"

Everybody was applauding lustily as the girls finished their routine by pulling flimsy looking, toy handcuffs out and twirling them seductively, then marching up behind their respective dates and yelling out, in high girlish voices "Take the position suckah!"
Laughing aloud, all of the men bent over and put their hands behind their backs, squealing playfully about getting lawyers and how they'd never talk, as the cuffs were snapped into place.  That kind of thing.  Then a note of puzzlement started creeping into their voices.  They couldn't get these little 'toy's off!  They were indeed handcuffed!

The music stopped and the hilarity disappeared. Abrazzi was the first to pick up that everything wasn't what he'd thought it was.  "Get these things off me you ditsy bitches!  Gonna get your asses kicked if you're not careful!"

This was followed by a chorus of threats and imprecations from the others.  A few of them even joked about what they were going to do to 'these broads'.  This stopped when Samantha called out "Ladies?  Why don't you take your escorts for a little stroll, huh?"

In all of the confusion, I hadn't seen how it was done – but Mr. One was now handcuffed like the others and was attended by Angela herself.  I couldn't understand then, why he had been included into the group – after all, he'd already been made over.  Why do it again?

But all of the men were making different noises now.  More pain and indignation as each girl took a hold of the handcuffs and pulled them up, forcing the men to stoop.  They were then led about the room for a few seconds.

To my amazement and disbelief, each man was then pushed into a chair.  His shoes, socks, pants and undershorts were removed.  Their clothes that couldn't be removed because of the handcuffs were simply cut off their bodies.  Finally, they sat – totally nude.  Quiet now.  Some fear starting to show.  The Don finally spoke.
"Samantha?  Okay.  You've got us.  I'm in no position to make threats, but I can make promises.  Tell me what you want.  If it's at all reasonable?  You got it.  You'll also have my promise that this whole thing will be forgotten.  No repercussions at all. Ask anybody.  My word is good.  How does that sound?"

His voice was low, and despite the conditions, supremely confident.  Samantha was nodding agreeably all the time he spoke.
"First Don?  I'd like you to address me as Mistress.  Is that okay?"

His eyes shot out ice.  "Bullshit!  Talk  sense!  I ain't . ."  his voice was losing its calmness.

She interrupted.  "Rose?  Do something, would you?"
Everybody gaped as Rose simply hauled him, spluttering and cursing out of his chair, then sat down and pulled him over her knees.  She made a motion to Josephine, who hurried over and gave her a fairly large piece of wood. Seconds later, she was spanking the head man of all the mafia in the United States!

He squalled and yelled curses at first but then whimpered as the beating continued. Then simply lay still over her knees when she stopped.  Samantha called out "Don?"
No answer.
Rose whacked him again.
Samantha called out again.
No answer.
Rose whacked him again.
About the fifth or sixth time, the Don responded "Yes mistress" to Samantha.

"Very nice Donna. See?  If you'd just said that at the beginning?  Could have avoided all of that.  Couldn't you?"  There was a slight pause.  "Answer me please, Donna?"
"Yes mistress."
Samantha spoke to the maids standing beside Josephine.  "Rose?  I think you can let Donna sit upright now.  Girls?  Donna must be chilly.  Get some clothes on her, will you?"

I had to fight from giggling myself as the girls proceeded to dress him – a strapless bra, panties, garter belt and net stockings, then pulled a teddie up over his legs and into position, then fastened the straps over his shoulders and between his legs.  All of his undies in splashy yellow satin.  Then a shocking, peroxide blonde wig was placed on his head, his bra was stuffed with tissues, and strappy high heeled shoes put on his feet.  All of a sudden, any dignity the man had had was stripped away from him.  He looked like a travesty of a woman – a cheap whore!

Samantha turned her attention to me.  Fatima?  Come and sit on my lap please?
I hurried over to her and she settled me in her lap.  Then, her arm around my shoulders spoke to Abrazzi.
"Mr.  Abrazzi?  You were saying something about 'Ditsy broads?  Ass kickings ' I believe?"
His eyes shifted around. "Well?" he shrugged his shoulders as well as he could.  "I was just jokin' around.  Kiddin' with the fellas.  Y'now?"  He tried for a confident grin, but it failed miserably.
"Do you have a problem in addressing me as mistress, Mr. Abrazzi?" she asked calmly.
"Well – now – y'know?  It's kinda hard for us Americans.  Not that we're against you limeys – English I mean . . ."
"Just say.  No, I don't have any problems calling you mistress Samantha." She said  "That's all that's needed.  Not too hard I trust?"
He looked at the guys close to him.  They looked away.  He shrugged again.  "Nah.  I don't have a problem."

"Melissa?  Will you do the honors?" Samantha said quietly.

And seconds later, Abrazzi was being spanked soundly – squalling and kicking out in a furious rage, until he too admitted that mistress Samantha deserved that title.  He was also dressed in bright satiny undies – black fishnet stockings and high heels, just like the Don – the only difference being that his undies were scarlet with black lace trim.  Then Melissa perched him on her knees and started to fondle him.  His new name was Alice.

Rose saw this, and with a giggle, took the Don into her lap and treated him in similar fashion.  He started to object, but was quickly upended over Rose's knees and given a few sharp spanks with her bare hand.  He was quiet when she allowed him to sit upright again. Slid quietly into her embrace.  Laid there in docile fashion.

"Mr. Mancini?"  Samantha asked.  "You?"
"No problems mistress Samantha." He said meekly.
"Very good!  Mr One?"
"It's all right by me, mistress."   My ex-boss said.
Asti and Grotti – once they saw the way the wind was blowing were just as quick to call her mistress.

 You should have heard the indignant squeals when they were all then upturned, spanked and dressed like their predecessors. "It wouldn't be fair if I didn't treat you all the same way as the others, don't you think?" Samantha asked with a grin, surveying her group of six men all dressed on contrasting, bright, flashy, satin lingerie – and all with peroxide blonde wigs descending to their shoulders.

"But girls!  GIRLS!  What have I been dreaming of?" she gloated some minutes later.  Don't you want to be pretty?  Look as nice as you can?  Get  some nice makeup on?  Be all sexy?"
They all looked blankly at her, until a few more spankings had been applied to their satiny backsides, then they all finally got enthusiastic about this idea. (I noticed that although the blows to their backsides weren't any less powerful, their yells and swearing had subsided.  They just laid there – more accepting  of the women's dominance over them now).  Some of them even managed to sit quite prettily as their partners descended on them with makeup.

While they were being transformed, Samantha spoke to me quietly.
"Fatima?  I've been thinking?"
"Yes miss?" I whispered.
"I've been very cruel.  I've been leaving a decision up to you – and I'm well aware that sissies have a terrible time making decisions.  So?  I thought I'd ask you one more time.  Do you want to be my dancing girl – or a girlfriend to the ladies that want you?"
"Mistress.  I think . ." I started.
"Hush!  If you say "no" to me this time?  You'll be Fatima for the rest of your life.  The only sex you'll ever get?  Is the kind you've been getting."
"Mistress?  I . ."
She put a finger to my lips.-, then to my shock, her hand descended and started fondling my genitals under the flimsy materials I was wearing.  I became instantly erect.

"Dear?" she said.  "Just hush!  Let me finish.  Mr One doesn't like you.  The others don't know yet it was you that got them into this mess, but they're going to find out..  When they get back to the States? I'm sure they'll want to pay you back?  And?  if you stay with me?  I'll protect you as well as I can, but these are really vicious men – and I'd bet that they'll try and get to you.  Kill you?"

"They'll find me anyway." I said pitifully.
"Fatima?  I don't like you.  I don't like traitors of any sort.  I want you to suffer.  But if you accept being a girl – tonight?  I promise you that you'll get plastic surgery – give you breasts, hips – big luscious lips?  No one but me will ever know who you are.  And I give you my word that I'll never tell!  Now, if you DON'T want to give me this satisfaction? "  She smiled cruelly.  "You'll be my little ice maiden for the rest of your life – and THAT'S a promise!"
"I don't want to lose my penis.  I'm frightened!" I said tearfully.

"Did I say anything about that?" she said argumentatively. "You can keep that little thing you're so proud of.  Some of my ladies like sissies with it.  I certainly don't care!"
My judgment was starting to desert me as her hand gently caressed me. "What do I have to do?" I asked.
"Whatever you're told!  It will be humiliating, I promise. But you'll never have to wear your chastity belt again.  No more ice against you.  What's it going to be?"
"Be a girl." I whispered, trying to rub up against her hand.
"Suck cock?  Take it up the ass?"

"Not from a man. Please?" I said helplessly.
"No.  I won't ever ask you to do that."  she said honestly. "Do we have a deal?"
"Yes." I said.
"Just one contingency." She said.  "You ever, ever, tell anyone outside of this room what went on here tonight?  All bets are off.  In fact, if I find out that you did?  I'll deliver you to your friends myself.  Is that understood?"
"Yes mistress." I said.
She took my weak soft hand in hers and shook it.  "Deal!" she said.

While we'd been talking, the men had been having makeup applied – smeared was a more appropriate term. Bright red lipstick, blush to match.  False eyelashes – black, lustrous, and obviously phony.  Sparkling eyeshadow.  By this time though, they were cowed.  No threats, no arguments.  Quietly, they sat as their female escorts taunted and degraded them – a few wept – which generated more jeers.

But, some video had been put on the TV which seemed to have drawn their attention.  One of the ladies turned the sound up, and I thought I recognized a voice – which turned out to be mine!
"Go, and have a look." Samantha urged me.  "Go on."

And, surrounded by growing indignation from my male companions, I saw vignettes of me – in reverse.  As I was at that moment, the gradually working the way back – all the way to where my original interview with Samantha had taken place!  My betrayals of Mr. One – and the organization made clear to the audience! 

The whorelike countenances around me were almost diabolical in their rage as they identified the originator of their current difficulties.
"Girls!  GIRLS!"  Samantha barked.  "I had this little video clip made so that you would know who you owed all of this fun to.  Now?  Let me tell you what is going to happen."

She paused and surveyed her rapt audience.
"Videos have been made of all you girls.  Being spanked, and dressed – and made up.  Now?  Anyone can tell that none of you did this voluntarily.  Right?  But what do you think your underlings would think if they saw what you'd been up to?  Even if the knew that force had been used?  Think they'd understand?  SURE they would!"

She sighed a happy sigh.  "Tomorrow? All of you will be allowed to fly back to the States.  Only thing?  You'll take your new girlfriends – Rose, Melissa – and the others with you.  From here on in?  You report to them every week.  Do anything that's not allowed?  Certain videotapes will be flooding the market.  I'm sure that all of your gangster friends will just  LOVE them!  Fancy that idea girls?"

No words were understandable, but the hatred from the men was palpable. She continued.  "But here girls?  We're going to break with tradition a little bit.  Fatima here is going to demonstrate how you should give your new mistresses a blow job.  But don't get all jealous now!  You'll all get  to do it.  This time?  Without your handcuffs.  A sort of voluntary thing, you know.  Though, if you give us any trouble?  Spankings galore!  Fatima?  Go and take Donna's handcuffs off her.  Go on now.  Donna won't hurt you!"

I went to where the Don sat on Rose's knees. She handed me the key, then whispered in his ear.  "Donna?  Going to be a good girl now?  Not show Rose up?"
He nodded, and I unlocked his handcuffs and took them off.

I was half expecting him to attack me, but he was as meek as a little lamb.  But then someone tapped me on the shoulder,  I turned around and it was Cynthia.  I hadn't seen her approach.
"Hi sweetie!" she cooed.  "Finally!  Going to be Cynthia's girl, huh?    Just look what I've got for you!  Here, let me sit on this chair beside Rose"

As she sat, I noticed that Rose had somehow acquired a dildo and was sitting in the chair with it pointing upwards.  Then Cynthia pulled up her skirt to reveal an even bigger – MUCH bigger dildo, pointing up at me.    "Come on then dear.  Show Donna how to do this properly.  Come on now!  Kneel down,  That's a girl!"

I had knelt down about six inches away from her.  She took both hands and put them on my shoulders, then gently pulled my head down.  I saw the end of the thing come closer and closer.
"Open up now!  That's a girl" she cooed, her right hand at the back of my head, forcing it down. 

There was nothing for me to do, but open my mouth.  "Just your lips now, sweetie!  There!" and she leaned back a little and took me with her. "Now  dearie?  Let's see that pretty head of yours bob up and down.  Oh!  You're SO good at this!"

I didn't see what was happening at the side, but heard Donna get her command to do the same as me, and then I felt her get into sync with me.  Then we were told to slow down, and I heard more chairs being pulled into line.  With this, I was able to glance to the side a few times. The men were so subdued now, that even when they were freed of the handcuffs they approached their appropriate mistress meekly, then knelt - and soon we were all on our knees, our heads bobbing up and down, mine the only brown one in a line of peroxide. Above us, our mistresses laughingly taunted and mocked us for our lack of masculinity as we performed what had always been to my mind – a peculiarly feminine task.  And from some of the sobs coming from my left and right, some of my companions felt the same way.

It had to have been a pre-arranged signal, because all at once I felt something like a cream – at body temperature, being injected into my mouth from the dildo.  As I let out a disgusted squawk, I heard all of my cohorts make equally disgusted sounds. But Cynthia was holding my head down firmly, so that I couldn't raise it. "Swallow dear!  It won't hurt you!" she said.  Gagging, I did as she suggested.  Again, similar noises echoed up and down the line of us subjugated males.

"Okay girls!"  Samantha giggled.  "Well done!  For beginners you did remarkably well!  Now ladies, if you'll get up and give the girls your chairs?"
Laughing and chattering, the dommes relinquished their  seats, and the males – all avoiding each other's eyes took their places.   Cynthia leaned over me and whispered.  "Almost done sweetie.  As soon as you're finished, let's you and I take a little walk upstairs.  I'm keeping my dildo on – just for you, so don't be wasting any time now."  Then she stood back.

As she did, Josephine and the other two girls came and handed all of the seated males a lipstick tube.  Samantha stood in front of us now, larger than life, dominating the sagging line of feminine  males in front of her.  Walked down the line, caressing a breast here, patting a thigh there.
"Last thing girls?  Your lipsticks are all smeared.  I think it would be a good idea for you to take a few minutes to freshen up?  But while you're doing it?  Look at the screen – and sing the words – I'm sure you'll do the song justice, won't you?"

As she spoke, music filled the room.  An old song, but I knew it.  Just couldn't remember the title.  As I took the cap from my lipstick, the TV screen lit up and the lyrics were displayed.  In unison then, we all started singing as we applied our lipsticks – the old Rodgers and Hammerstein song –  " I enjoy being a girl"

It wasn't a very good rendition I'm afraid, but our mistresses all seemed to enjoy it.

The end

 And now for Rosie!


alexvyaz said...

Yes, I like the story.
I always love a fiction where group of women traded places (and clothes) with group of males. ;)

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