The Lost - Part 3

By M. Greene published January 13, 2019

More transformations

The Lost

**Part 3

Oxford, England:

Hood gasped in ecstasy as the pace of its ass pounding increased. It had been placed in a kneeling position at the foot of the Masters’ bed and was being relentlessly fucked; the Professor’s long, hard cock thrusting in and out of its wet chute like a steam piston. Its pleasure sensors were working overtime flooding its brain with synthetic endorphins and causing thick anal lube to line its hole to assist Master in his glorious task.

From an armchair in a corner of the bedroom, Rupert watched the hot action with only the slightest tinge of jealousy. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack, you silly old goat,” he remarked dryly as he repeatedly stroked their pet cat’s silky fur.

Angus laughed and fucked the slave’s ass even harder and faster. “Not now, I won’t, Dunce,” he cried triumphantly. “Not now I’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old!” Pausing momentarily to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he playfully slapped one of Hood’s bubble-shaped buttocks and renewed his passionate assault.

Rupert chuckled and shook his head. ‘Dunce’ was the pet-name Fraser had given him soon after they had met back in the noughties. It was archly ironic as Rupert was the author of several highly acclaimed, ground-breaking scientific papers and possessed a mind at least as brilliant as that of his husband. Or at least he had until recently. Now approaching eighty, Rupert was becoming more and more forgetful. He sighed and stroked Misty even harder with one of his pudgy hands. The beginnings of Alzheimer’s was yet another problem of ageing to add to his sad collection which already included diabetes and a chronic heart condition. Hopefully, his transition, scheduled for tomorrow, would succeed and, like Angus, he would be completely rejuvenated. Watching Angus pounding away at their slave reminded him of how they had fucked together when they were both young men. In those days it would have been his ass enjoying Angus’ beautiful cock, not Hood’s. Ah well… Perhaps in a few days’ time he would also enjoy sex once again. Right now, even though sitting here was like watching hot live porn, his sad little old dick remained as limp and shrivelled as ever. Rupert could not remember the last time he had experienced a decent erection. It had to be at least fifteen years by now…

Angus bellowed as he climaxed, continuing to thrust his dick in and out of Hood’s velvety hole until after several powerful spurts, his synthetic sperm sac finally ran dry. After a moment or two resting on top of Hood’s silky, muscular back, he withdrew and watched as their combined juices, unable to gain purchase on their completely smooth plasticised skin, flowed quickly into a puddle on the carpet. It was late, so once Hood had cleaned that up, he would put the slave on standby so that he and Rupert could go to bed and have some quality time together. Although he no longer required sleep, Dunce still did, and he wanted his husband in as good a condition as possible for tomorrow’s ordeal.

Hood happily carried out its final duties of the evening: licking Master’s cock clean, wiping His hairless skin down with a damp cloth, drying Him off with a soft towel and then dealing with the mess it and Master’s juices had made of the expensive Persian rug at the foot of the bed. The young slave had little or no memory of the twenty or so years of its life before it became synthetic. It could not remember its friends, family, education, crimes, incarceration or even what it was called before. Hood did not care; it was stronger, faster and fitter than an Olympic athlete. It would never get old or fall sick. Its sight and hearing were greatly enhanced. It had no need to eat or drink. It only breathed in order to facilitate speech and it now very rarely needed to speak at all. It did not perspire and felt comfortable in all weathers wearing only minimal clothing. According to Master Angus, it would have complete functionality in temperatures ranging from minus twenty to over fifty degrees Celsius and could even survive in extreme conditions outside that range. Hood might be Master’s property and a mere thing, but it was superhuman.

Hood went to stand on the landing just outside its Masters’ bedroom door. It had been ordered to prepare breakfast for Master Rupert at six am, so set its internal alarm for an hour before that. It then shut itself down for the night, its body freezing in position like a stature. Although most of its consciousness was now dormant, its eyes and ears continued to function so that it could guard the Masters and their property from any nocturnal intruders. Master Angus had programmed Hood with a series of security protocols, including a knowledge of martial arts and the efficient use of firearms that its former criminal personality would have envied.

In their bed, Angus and Rupert enjoyed a cuddle and the occasional kisses which had formed the basis of their marital sex life for the past twenty years.

“You’re absolutely sure that this is what you want, Dunce?”

“The transition?”

Angus shook his head. “No – the added obedience programming. You don’t have to do this, you know. We can still be equal partners like we’ve always been…”

Rupert chuckled. “We’ve never been equal partners, Angus Fraser, and you know it. You’ve always been the top to my bottom. You’re a bossy bastard and always will be.”

Angus laughed and tickled Rupert’s neck. “So you want to be my slave boy, like Hood?”

Rupert moved a hand down to his husband’s groin and felt the strength of his erection. Angus was even leaking pre-cum. “See? I know it’s what you want too…”

“Yes…” Angus kissed Rupert’s cheek. “As soon as you’re transformed I’m going to fuck the ass off you, Dunce…”

“I want that to be my slave name.”

“What? Dunce?”

“Yes. Not Rupert anymore. Just Dunce, your obedient sex slave.”

“You’ll keep your memories, intelligence and academic knowledge though,” Angus said. “I insist on that. After all, I still need you as my assistant in our work, even if the idea of you being my slave really turns me on…”

“Yes…” Rupert said, smiling and closing his eyes.

“Okay, sleep now and save your strength for the morning. Good night, Dunce…”

“Good night, Master…”

One afternoon, the following week, Prince Hassan answered Professor Fraser’s summons and arrived at the house accompanied by Ali, his secretary. The front door was opened by what looked like a living statue of one of the male gods from Ancient Greece. The young man was completely hairless, his smooth skin gleaming like rose-tinted alabaster. He had sparkling blue eyes and his incredibly muscular body was clothed only in a pair of leather sandals and extremely tight gym shorts which left little to the imagination. A thick leather collar encircled his neck which was secured at the back by a steel padlock. A small silver disk hung down from this collar with the word ‘Dunce’ engraved on it.

“Prince Hassan – what a pleasure to see you!” the Greek God said. “Master is expecting you. Please follow me…”

Slightly bemused by the presence of what was obviously a house slave in leafy, suburban Oxford, the two middle-eastern gentlemen were shown into a large Victorian conservatory which ran along the back of the house overlooking Professor Fraser’s beautiful and well-maintained garden. Another slave, brown-skinned this time, dressed identically to the white one, bowed low to them as they entered.

“Hood here will provide you with any refreshments you may require,” the first slave said. “If you will excuse me, I will go and inform Master that you have arrived.”

Hassan admired the beautiful young man’s rounded buttocks until he was out of sight and then asked the black slave to fetch him a glass of wine.

“I have some very good news for you, Your Royal Highness,” Angus said, greeting his guest a few minutes later.

Hassan could not help but stare, awe-struck, for a few seconds at the incredibly rejuvenated Professor’s appearance. Although this was the second time he had met the man since his transition, he could not get over how astonishing the changes were. The Professor’s long white hair and goatee beard had vanished, but thick stubble was already growing back, black with not even a hint of grey. While the shrewd green eyes looked much the same, Fraser’s body had metamorphosed from that of a stooped old man in his seventies to one of a fit and athletic young male in the prime of life.

The Emir of Kurabadh pulled himself together, placed his empty wine glass onto the tray Hood was holding and, taking another drink, smiled and raised it in a toast to his host. “Please, we are good friends now – you must call me Hassan.”

“Very well – Hassan - I am almost totally certain that I have managed to isolate your correct DNA sequence from that of the cancer presently affecting so many of your internal organs.”

“So the operation can proceed?” the Prince asked. “I very much hope so, as I fear that I am running out of time…”

Angus could not but agree. Although only two weeks had passed since their last meeting, when he had taken the blood and DNA samples, the Emir looked much thinner than he had before and today, his handsome face appeared drawn with pain and discomfort. “I have almost finished the computer programming work, so it should be possible to begin the procedure tomorrow morning, if that is convenient to you.” He glanced over at Hassan’s secretary, who stood by the open French doors blowing cigarette smoke out into the garden. “I would suggest that you send Ali back to your hotel to fetch at least some of your personal effects so that you can spend the night here at the house with us. We have several guest rooms for you to choose from, so I promise that you will be made very comfortable.”

“May Allah bless you, my dear Professor – you have saved my life!”

“Angus – you must call me Angus - and please remember that this process does involve some degree of risk…”

The Emir smiled. “Indeed. Yes, Angus…” He gazed warmly at his host. “The fact that you have survived your experiment so brilliantly fills me with great hope and confidence. If I may say so, you look fantastic!”

If Angus had still been comprised of normal flesh and blood he would have blushed. “Yes, the procedure has been totally successful in my case. I was not sure, you know, whether my DNA sequence would not be too old or damaged to replicate satisfactorily, but I seem to have copied it correctly, and, as you see, I am completely restored to the health I enjoyed in my youth.” He pointed towards the white slave who had shown them into the house. “You probably did not recognise him, but this is my partner, the former Doctor Granger…”

Hassan stared in amazement. The improvement in Doctor Granger’s physique was even more marked than that of the Professor’s, perhaps because he was wearing fewer clothes. Almost overnight, it seemed, he had gone from being eighty with severe health problems and a fat paunch to having the body of an Adonis. Hassan again noticed the collar locked around the Doctor’s neck. “But you have made your partner into a slave! Why was this?” He questioned.

Angus shrugged. “It was entirely his choice – what he insisted he wanted.” He smiled. “I suppose I have always been the dominant one in our relationship and being my slave was something that Rupert wished to continue and deepen in this new phase of our lives. His memories and academic knowledge are still all there, of course. I merely applied an obedience protocol to his programming.”

Hassan laughed and shifted rather uneasily in his wicker chair. “I trust that no such protocol will be applied in my case…”

Angus bowed. “Of course not, Highness – Hassan - I would never think of doing such a thing to you…”

Ali was incredibly bored. Miserably, he stared at his employer stretched out on the hospital bed before him. The Professor had instructed him to watch for any signs of movement or distress and he felt like he had been sitting down here in the laboratory for hours. He would absolutely kill for a smoke, but there was no indication that another member of this strange household was coming to relieve him anytime soon. Ali sighed. It had been three days now and the Emir had not moved a muscle since Fraser had sedated him. The Prince had a drip-feed inserted into his right wrist and his bare chest was wired up to various complicated looking machines arranged around the back of the bed. The various lights winking on and off and the monotonous bleeping sounds the monitors made were about the most interesting things in this god-forsaken basement, he reflected. Desperate for something to do, he stood up and leaned over the Emir, examining his unconscious body more closely. The Prince was now completely hairless and looked almost unrecognisable without his thick black beard. His pale skin was baby-smooth and had a strange sheen to it as if it had been coated in transparent plastic. Although the monitors betrayed no signs of an emergency, the Emir did not appear to be even breathing. Ali shook his head sadly. What with the cancer and this crazy quack medical procedure, he doubted that Hassan would make it out of here alive. Soon Yaqub, one of the Prince’s younger brothers, would be the new Emir and Ali would almost certainly lose his job. This was highly inconvenient as he had been about to marry one of his pretty second cousins…

Just then, Ali noticed that the Emir’s eyes had opened. The Prince’s lips trembled as though he were trying to speak. Ali pressed the alert button on the wall next to the bed. Within seconds, the Professor and his two hulking servants arrived. Ali wrinkled his nose with distaste. It was unseemly even for slaves to walk around almost naked like these ones did. “I think he’s regaining consciousness,” he said.

Angus checked one of the monitors and saw that the Emir’s increased brain activity suggested that Ali was correct. “You may take a break now,” he said to the secretary. “We will take over from here…”

As a grateful Ali hurried upstairs to feed his nicotine addiction, Angus and Dunce undid the straps securing the Prince to the bed and disconnected his drip-feed and wires.

“He is like us now,” Hood whispered, viewing the Emir’s plasticised body with approval. The Emir’s physique had been greatly enhanced by the Master’s programming and his enlarged penis made the black slave’s mouth water.

Angus lifted the Emir’s left eyelid and examined the pupil within. “He looks as though he’s made it…” He leant down and spoke softly into the Prince’s ear. “Hassan? Hassan… Can you hear me?”

Hassan opened its eyes. “Yes Master, it is activated. What are your orders?”

Dunce shook his head and gave his husband a look of slight reproach. “I distinctly remember you promising him that you were not going to programme in the obedience protocols…”

Angus smiled. “I lied.” He shrugged his shoulders. “After all, one never knows when one will need the assistance of those in high places…”

Dunce rolled his dazzling blue eyes. “You are incorrigible, Master… How can he rule Kurabadh in this state?”

“Don’t worry; I’m going to tweak his programming so that he will not even be aware that he’s really my slave. I had to lay the basic foundations of obedience though, so that we know we can rely on his complete cooperation if we should need it.”

Dunce sighed. “I guess you know best, Master…”

“Trust me, Dunce; indeed I do…”

The following morning, the Emir sat fully dressed in the drawing room waiting for the taxi cab that would convey him to the airport for his flight home. “I will miss eating and drinking immensely, of course,” he said, “but I shall certainly not mourn the loss of my cancer. I am eternally grateful to you for everything you have done, Angus…”

“I was only too happy to assist you, Hassan. Your benign and enlightened rule is a beacon for all middle-eastern nations.”

The Emir bowed his head gracefully at the compliment. “Since I awoke yesterday, I have been thinking deeply about you and your work, Angus,” he said. “I believe that this procedure of yours has the potential to make you the richest man on the planet. Not only can you create willingly obedient soldiers and slaves, but you can also promise something approaching immortality to those who can afford to pay for it.” He stood up and excitedly caught hold of the Professor’s upper arms. “If you should wish to move to Kurabadh I would provide you with every possible facility to assist your work as well as the freedom to operate without tiresome rules and restrictions…”

Angus smiled. “You are most kind, Hassan, but I enjoy living in Britain and so does my partner. We are from here, after all, and it suits us both. I am not exactly what you might call a patriotic person, but I feel that I owe my country the right of first refusal when it comes to this project. It is, I’m sure you will agree, a historic landmark for civilisation in terms of its possible applications. As it happens, I have an important funding meeting scheduled for tomorrow with a Government Minister and several Oxford University dons…”

The meeting was, like most these days, held via the Internet in individuals’ homes. The large computer monitor screen in Angus’ study was divided into eight rectangles, each of which showed the face of one of the delegates. In the top-right corner, the Bishop of Oxford looked so angry that Angus hoped the idiot would soon start frothing at the mouth and tearing at his clerical robes.

“This whole project of yours is a total blasphemy,” the Bishop said, his sharp, penetrating voice gradually rising in volume. “The idea of converting flesh and blood into what amounts to inorganic matter would completely rob people of their humanity. It beggars belief, Professor, that someone of your undoubted wisdom and intelligence would have us turn our loved ones into soulless machines!”

“Yes, Colin, we all clearly understand the point you are making,” the University Vice-Chancellor said calmly. “You have reiterated it on several occasions in the last twenty minutes. However, we also have to consider the possible medical benefits of Professor Fraser’s important work…”

“Precisely…” Angus stood up and, adjusting the camera, dramatically tore open the front of his dress shirt, causing several small buttons to skitter across his desk and onto the polished wooden floor. “Look at how magnificent my physique has become since I underwent the treatment…” He pointed to the well-defined contours of his washboard stomach. “For the first time in my life I have an eight-pack.” He pointed to Dunce who was standing just behind him. “Most of you will remember this individual as Dr Granger. Before the treatment he was an unfit man approaching eighty with sugar diabetes and the beginnings of a serious heart condition. Now look at him! Like me, he has the face and body of a twenty-two-year-old athlete…” Angus called Hood over from his humble position beside the door. “Step forward a little more so that my colleagues can see you… That’s it…”

Hood, who, like Dunce, was already stripped to the waist, approached the camera and obligingly flexed his bulging arm and shoulder muscles for the benefit of the committee members.

Angus swept his hand from Hood’s head down to his waist. “See how incredibly clean and clear his skin looks? Not a blemish on it, yet he was heavily tattooed before he underwent my procedure…”

“I hope your two associates signed disclaimer forms,” Dr Wendy Hope, Oxford University’s chief legal advisor, remarked. “I wouldn’t want us to be placed in a situation in which we could be sued…”

Angus shook his head. “They are both my property. There is no possibility of any financial liability.”

“If only it were possible for your procedure to be limited to particular organs or parts of the body,” Professor Lambert from the Medical Faculty interjected. “Then I am sure that we could all agree that your project should be awarded maximum possible funding. The benefits for replacement surgery would be incalculable.” He sighed. “As it is, you have already informed us that, when subjected to your procedure, every single cell in a person’s body undergoes nanotechnic transformation…” He shook his head. “It all just seems a little too drastic for my taste…”

“It’s inhuman!” The Bishop shouted.

Angus sat down again and his slaves moved to stand motionless behind his chair. “The three of us who have undergone my therapy can no longer be affected by virus or disease. Our synthetic bodies quickly repair any damage and we are not subject to the aging process. Not only do we not require food and drink; we are practically immortal…”

The Bishop interrupted him. “Again, I say that this whole project is blasphemous. Only the Lord should determine when our time has come. To delay any human being’s death in such an artificial way is totally against nature!”

Angus treated him to his most winning smile. “Have no fear that I would ever seek to postpone your departure from this life, Bishop…”

The Vice-Chancellor cleared his throat and held up his hand to preclude any further acrimony. He looked at the smartly dressed woman visible in screen five. “Minister; you have been silent up until now. What are your views and those of the Government on this matter?”

Baroness Taylor, Minister for Science and Technology, frowned. “Quite apart from the very considerable ethical considerations, I must confess that my cabinet colleagues and I are somewhat bemused by Professor Fraser’s exact legal and academic status at this particular point…”

Angus looked at her sharply. “What on earth do you mean?”

The Baroness smiled thinly. “According to your paper and to what you have said today, you and your two associates no longer need to eat, drink or even breathe.”

Angus nodded. “That is correct.” He looked at the other faces visible on the screen, many of whom were former colleagues with whom he had worked very closely. “I beg you all to think of the benefits to humanity which those facts alone bestow…”

“Indeed,” Baroness Taylor continued, “I think I am right in saying that not a single organic cell remains in any of your bodies…”

“Yes, that is correct…”

“Then, presumably, it could be argued that, legally speaking, the three of you are not actually human beings any longer.” The Baroness cleared her throat. “Vice-Chancellor - technically, Professor Fraser cannot really continue in his present position as, according to the statutes of your university, only a human being can occupy a professorial chair…”

The Bishop grinned triumphantly. “Yes! Indeed, it could also be maintained that it is impossible for Professor Fraser to hold any job, own property or even a bank account, as he cannot really be said to be actually alive!”

Baroness Taylor nodded. “Not only that, the ramifications of Professor Fraser’s work are so alarming that I have alerted MI5 to the certain dangers it poses to national security…”

Angus banged the desk with his fist. “This is ridiculous,” he said crossly. “I will not waste my time listening to your spurious and inane arguments any longer. If you will excuse me, I have some serious work to attend to…” He pulled the power and the screen went blank.

Angus swivelled his chair around so that he faced his two slaves. “Hood – move this console and the one in the basement to the trunk of my car. Dunce – go pack a variety of clothes for the three of us along with anything of financial or sentimental value that’s not too large.” He began furiously punching his banking code number into his wrist-com. “Meanwhile, I will transfer as much money out of the country as I can, but it will probably be only a fraction of what I own. The important thing is we all need to be ready to leave here in no more than 20 minutes.”

Hood bowed to its Master, disconnected the Professor’s computer and carried it out of the room, but Dunce lingered behind for a moment. “Where are we going, Master?” he asked.

“Kurabadh, of course, Dunce. The Emir invited me yesterday and I think it will be a lot safer for us than the UK at the present time.”

“How will we get there, Master? We haven’t booked a flight…”

Angus nodded. “I know. Hood has no passport either. There is nothing for it but to take the car.”

Dunce looked dismayed. “But its flight computer won’t work outside British airspace, Master!”

“Yes – once we’re over the channel I will have to fly the thing manually. If we take a few spare power cells we should have enough juice to reach Tangiers in Morocco, after which we can hop to Kurabadh across North Africa.”

“It’s going to be very dangerous, Master…”

Angus sighed. “I know, my darling, but there’s nothing else for it. The Government has involved MI5, so they will stop us if we try to leave from an airport or harbour. Don’t forget to pack all the special project items from the lab – I don’t want to leave any of our work behind for those bastards – they don’t deserve to have it. Quickly now, Dunce! We need to move fast!”

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