Authors: Melody Mounier
Mr. Dentz read the note. He sat in a wicker chair, smoking a cigarette, glancing over at me from time to time, as he read.
Finally he stood, walked over to the fireplace, stacked a few logs on top of some kindling, and lit it. He waited until the fire was roaring. I felt the heat on my bare breasts, cheeks and thighs. He held the note over the flame. It caught, and he dropped it into the fire. It blackened, shriveled. Then it was gone. He returned to his seat. He lit another cigarette and looked at me without speaking for a long time.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably. I'd been kneeling for six straight hours.
"I came up for a little quiet fishing trip," he finally said. His tone was matter-of-fact, emotionless. "Now I find you." He exhaled smoke. "I bet you took a taxi from the train, and dumped your clothes somewhere inaccessible. Am I right?"
I nodded mutely. The ballgag left no room for my tongue to form even muffled words.
"Curious. It's hard to believe it's really you, Sam - that it was always you. And curiouser still that you would submit yourself to the indignity twice. One would think, after all you've been through, you'd have learned your lesson. You know, I'd always thought that girls like Anne-Marie were born, not made." He smiled. "You learn something new every day. Today I learn that a man I counted a friend has been living the life of a slave girl for the past year, right under my nose, and under my whip - and apparently will continue to do so, of her own free will. Hmmn. Was coming here your idea?"
I shook my head.
"So, you're a gift from Sam, I guess, as he says. Yet you obeyed and came. That's very like you - very Anne-Marie of you."
He sat in thought, then seemed to come to a decision. "Well now - Anne-Marie, I think is what I should continue to call you, since you really are the Anne-Marie I always knew - it looks like this is going to be an interesting weekend. I came to fish, and not ten minutes into the weekend I've already caught something. I have a choice to make, apparently - to reject or keep Sam's gift. In either case, you're still a woman - Sam made it clear he wasn't going to unlock your DNA. So the question is what to do with you. You make a very attractive package, a nice little present, all tied and prepared.
"Hmmn. There are decided benefits to keeping you. I know from experience that you're well trained. You were always my favorite before, and I don't see why that should change. I had use of you off and on for a year, and I imagine you're as pleasant a fuck as ever."
He stubbed the cigarette out. He leaned forward, his face inches from mine.
"You're at my mercy. You can't leave here without my help. You're a helplessly bound little fuckpet in a house with locks that won't open for you, ten miles from the nearest neighbor, with no clothes and no money. Whether you wished to come here or not, your agreement with Sam apparently stipulated that you come here, no? Therefore you've delivered yourself to me, I suppose, as part of the price of becoming the slave girl you are. Your slavery is a fait accompli. You're here, you're under my thumb, and I don't intend to release you."
He leaned forward, lifting my chin to look into my eyes. "I want you to understand something, Anne-Marie. I will be no kinder knowing who you once were than I was when, to me, you were just a pretty little slut. For it's clear now that that's all you really are - a sexy little cunt - and maybe always were. Do you understand me, bitch?"
I nodded, lowering my head.
"Good."
He sat back, then stood. He towered over me.
"You've had a month's reprieve from slavery, Anne-Marie. A month to unlearn behaviors which should be innate. A month to convince yourself you have a right to be free. I think some extensive retraining is in order. I think now I need to remind you what a whip feels like." He got up, pushed me over onto my side, and rearranged my restraints, so that my wrists were still cuffed behind me, but my legs were free.
"Get up, slut." I obeyed, shaking like a leaf, my cunt sopping wet. He grabbed my arm and led me to the basement stairs.
"This, I think, will be the best fishing trip on record," he said, chuckling as he led me down into the dark.
I never did become a man again, in case you're wondering.
By the time the DNA encryption technology used on me was made obsolescent by organic nano (replacing the microbots of old with programmable, self-aware bacteria), and I once more had the option of returning to my old gender without Mr. Smith's decryption key, I'd been Anne-Marie for six years. Long enough that being anybody else was pretty much out of the question.
Mr. Dentz gave me my freedom when he decided to settle down and marry. I don't begrudge him that - I'm not really cut out for the wife thing. I make a much better fuckpet.
So, I have freedom to choose again. And Mr. Dentz has given me an emancipation fund large enough to afford nano, so I could become male again if I wanted.
I don't. What I am interested in now, is the fact that I never really was a girl - I mean, a girl-child. My life as a woman started at eighteen.
Anne-Marie has become a good deal younger - like about eleven years younger.
Tomorrow, I'll be on a bus, on my way to Phillips Academy in Massachusetts. I'm part of the incoming freshman class. Phillips is one of the schools enlightened enough to permit age-regressed nano-mods to apply, if their higher educational memories are wiped. They're more concerned about throwing the grade curve off than propriety.
Thirteen years old.
Nothing in my wardrobe fits me anymore. My breasts have developed, but the curves and all are still shifting, not where they'll be a few years from now, and I'm only 4'9". I'm a kid, really. Innocent again. Sort of. Probably more of a Lolita than anything else. Not that it's illegal for teachers to have sex with nano-regressed minors - it's not - and I'm looking forward to looking up to my teachers in more ways than one.
But you know, it isn't like the old days, when nano was expensive and a guy like Sam Smith could make a fortune from working the trade. Those were cowboy times.
Now you can buy it off the shelf - products like "Eternal Youth" deliver on the promise, and pills to "increase your sex drive" are so effective they come with intimidating advisory warnings on the packages. They even come with software interfaces so you can customize your appearance, age and sex to your heart's content. The little things log onto the Gov servers and register any changes.
A lot more people are changing gender than I would have thought. Largely it's for temporary, recreational purposes. There are even those who cross the species divide - to become horses, or eagles, or whatever.
And looking like a movie star has gone out of style. The natural look is in.
It's a brave new world, all right, though I sometimes wonder if it's lost some of the magic in the process. When I was first transformed, nano gender-reassigns were so rare that the fact that I was one, well, it made me feel special, chosen, in some way, for the life I now have. That anybody can be anybody, literally, within the reasonable bounds of the law, makes it seem...commercial.
But then I'm old fashioned. Inside this thirteen year old's head is a very old mind. I only have an 8th grade education now - and in a few days much of what I've written here will read like somebody else's lurid imaginings, since I'll be wiping all memories of my sexual history - I'll literally be a virgin again, physically, emotionally, and intellectually. But I'd have to do a total brainwipe in order to forget that I was born many decades before the date on my birth certificate. That I'm old, though my body is young.
They say youth is wasted on the young. Now it's hard to tell just what the hell that means, when anybody can be any physical age, and any gender. Every generation has trouble adjusting to the strange ways in which the world moves on, leaving them behind. But I think these are the first days of an era in which the generation gap will erode, blur, and eventually become meaningless.
Religions that espouse reincarnation are undergoing explosive growth. People always need to wrap meaning around what becomes possible through science, and now that one can literally become reborn, become a new incarnation of self, they feel a need to frame it in religious terms.
Me, I'm not ready for that yet. I want to remember who I once was, though I no longer much identify with the man I was born as. But I am willing to make concessions.
I'll remember who I was, but not my name. The name Sam Smith will mean nothing to me. Maybe the next time around, I'll be ready to be reborn fully - a new person with no memory.
But not yet.