a warlock has some guests
He seemed to be one of those obsessed fans. He owned posters, postcards, cut out pictures and articles from the yellow press, all showing Greg McArthur, model and actor. Not that one would find PR material of this guy easily. He was a rising start, but right after dawn as one could say. Minor roles in soap operas, guest on some red-carpet-events, some nice adverts in magazines. He was sure he would become a star. It was his looks. His brown, fully, wavy, shiny hair that he had in a kind of old fashioned long cut, both ears covered, some locks falling in his face, longer and very full in the back. His high cheek-bones, bright green, large eyes, lips that always looked like he had just put some gloss on, white teeth, a winning smile, a perfect slim-muscular well-tanned body. There was only one way to describe him: beautiful. Greg was the most beautiful young man he had ever seen – and he had seen quite a lot. He had seen him on an advertisement first and from that moment on something dragged him towards the young man, now 27 years old. He had searched the internet for more information and found some details. He even found some old video footage taken when he was in the school’s theatre group with around 18 or 19 years. He had watched all shows he had appeared in over and over again. He had visited boring fashion shows just to watch him walk, watch him talk with other people. Although not a star yet, he had this kind of aura around him, a shine that made him the centre of attention in every crowd. Yes, he would be a star…The only problem: He was a miserable actor. He was always just looking good. No talent at all. Nothing, he was like Madonna: When he appeared in a scene one was filled with shame and felt uncomfortable. He had three ways of looking into the camera, that’s it. He wanted to be gracious and watched the scenes over and over again, but no, really NOTHING.
That was something he had seen so many times. Young talent-free sunny boys arrive in the big city and while others who had worked hard for any chance, blessed with real talent but less looks, they just get the jobs, make the money. Not again…No, he had thought that someone should stop that, should put an end to all those talent-free actors only living from their good looks. His best friend Josh had been an actor, a really good one, but he has not been beautiful. He was just ordinary, with a bit of a belly, thinning hair, but once he opened his mouth one was fascinated. He could be the worst bitch or a beautiful angel in a matter of seconds, he was intelligent, smart, funny – and he never got a job. It was nearly impossible for him to find an agency willing to take him on as a client. After years of struggle, including diets, hair pieces and much more, he resigned. He took on a job in an office and since that day he stopped being funny, or smart. He became as grey as his surroundings, fading away… That was the saddest thing he ever witnessed and so he decided to be the vengeance for guys like Josh. He had worked on his plan for years and now he was in the final phase. He had prepared everything and he had done the first part two times already, so he could do it one more time… He smiled, grabbed the keys of the van he had bought, and left…
He had planned with seriously. Of course, he could not get all talentless but good looking young actors in town – it would have been nearly empty he assumed – but three was a start, wasn’t it? He had done his homework, learning as much about his boys as he could. It was no coincidence that he chose them. Beautiful they were, yes, and talent-free, but most important, they came from far away, only had lose contact to their families, no close friends in the city, living alone. No. 1 and 2 were easy. The first European, parents divorced, no contact to the mother, only some phone calls to Dad now and then, but not more than once a month or so, the second an illegal from Mexico. Both just hard started their careers and they were in need of money so he had booked them for a photo-shoot and the promise of a casting for a TV-advert. Using a fake ID for renting a car, driving to a place nobody knew for booking the boys in an internet-café, getting another car, pick them up and voila. This time it was a bit more complicated as his newest victim was a starlet already. Maybe he shouldn’t take him. The risk was much higher this time but also was the thrill. After several bad ideas, he found the solution. No fake booking this time, no staging, just good old kidnapping. He knew he was on a show now, in theatre, unbelievable as he wouldn’t be able to act like a dead chunk of wood… but ok, back to the plan. So, he knew he was in that show and that he was very slow when it came to changing and coming out. He had observed him for days and he was always the last person of the cast leaving the building. He had no car but parked his Vespa always in a nearby street. This street was right to the stage door, while the main street was to its left. The street was dark and a dead end. There were no cameras and it was not possible to see the street from inside the theatre building. He would park his van in that small street, blocking the exit…
Greg liked to take his time after the show. He had to wear a long-haired wig and it was always quite an act to remove it again with his own hair being longish. When the wig was off and all needles removed from his head he first always brushed his hair even before taking a shower. His shower always took around 20 minutes, then blow-drying the hair, 15 minutes, dressing 5 minutes, last look in the mirror, 6 minutes. This evening he took even a bit longer in looking at himself before putting on his shirt. He had perfect abs and tiny hips, all perfectly shaved smooth and tanned. He thought of training a bit more with the weights to build some more muscles but his agency told him that right now he was the perfect guy for the young lover and nice boy, he would look too masculine with more muscles. So, he liked what he saw anyhow. He brushed through his shiny and silky mane of hair and felt its tickle in his face and his nape. And he liked the theatre. It was so direct, very emotional and the entire cast was super friendly. The only thing that annoyed him a bit, was the fact that he had so shave his face every morning. He liked himself with a very short stubble because he felt kind of childish totally smooth. But he played a 16 year old in the play, so he had to be beardless. Some last look before he put his shirt on and arranged his hair – again. Grabbing his jacket one last look, and off he was. Like always he was the last one leaving the theatre. Only the guys from the security and maybe Helen, the woman from the cafeteria, where still here. The building was large and the hallway that lead to the stage door was not at all glamorous. It was an old dark alley of bricks that always smelled a bit funny. In a glass box next to the entrance door, Chuck was beginning his shift. “See you tomorrow!” Greg said, and like always Chuck only nodded. Greg nodded his head when he had passed the door. “Grumpy old sh..” he thought walking down the small street where he always parked his Vespa. He did not realize the van parking right in front of the stage door. Like always he grabbed his earphones, turned on the music and walked to his Vespa. It was an old machine and he always struggled to open the locks of the seat under which he had stored his helmet. Finally he could open the compartment, put the helmet on and sat down on his Vespa. In the moment he wanted to start it he realized that a van parked in the street and totally blocked his way. “Shit” Greg though and then screamed: “Hey, don’t you see I wanna pass?” No answer. He used his signal horn. No answer. He screamed again. No answer. He nearly lost his temper, put off the helmet and walked over to the van. When he reached the car he saw that nobody was in the cabin. So he decided to knock at the side door, but the moment his hand would have reached the metal, it opened. He didn’t really see it coming, but bahm, and all was black.
It was nearly mid-day the next day and the Van was still driving, lonely high-ways somewhere in the north. After some more miles on the highway, the car drove over a small hilly way, up a small mountain. The street – as one could call it one – was surrounded by trees. After some more miles the van finally stopped in front of a cabin. It was a large wood house, quite modern design, with a terrace, huge windows to the west. It was some struggle to get the unconscious and now bond Greg out of the car, into the house and then into his new lodgments. Down a wooden stair into the basement that was partially cut into the natural rock. There were several smaller rooms and one larger, nearly hall-like room that was divided into three cells with glass-doors. Two cells already had “guests” living in them, Gordon and Zack. He opened the door of the third cage and put the sleeping Greg into the small field bed and released him from the handcuffs and the duck-tape around his ankles before leaving him and closing the door.
Upstairs He had cameras all over the place, watching the cellars, the house, the gardens – even the road that lead to the house. He was sitting there, watching his guests - he wanted to regard them as guests. He would not harm them – not really, or… maybe a bit? He had done so much research over the last two years, he had tested parts of what he was going to do with friends and strangers alike – and all of it had worked. He just had never done all of it to one person. Or three, so to say although what he had planned for each of them was different and would take time, that was sure. He had spent a lot of money on this project, but money never has been an obstacle to him, neither was time. He looked like a very ordinary guy, short salt and pepper full beard, a very short black fringe that started to turn grey as the only hair left on his head, some belly, glasses, dressed in jeans a shirt. The only extravagant detail were the golden earrings he was wearing. Ordinary, normal. Nobody would have guessed that his father had been a very famous plastic surgeon with his own clinic while his mother came from an old banker’s family and brought millions and a lot of houses and parts of her father’s art collection into the marriage. But mum has not been just a rich daughter, but a famous biologist working in the pharmaceutical industry and in the end leading a big company herself. Money was really no problem for him. And he was a trained surgeon like his father with a broad knowledge in bio-chemistry and medication. The special work of a task force in his mother’s company had given him a good base for some of the things he planned on doing while his own experience as a plastic surgeon was helpful as well. When he had trained for this, he had been surprised how easy some of the things would work out in reality while others he thought working well and easy in fact needed more work and time as expected.
Downstairs He had picked Zack to be the first he would work on. He first had thought about doing all three at the same time but that was just not possible. The only thing he could do, was changing their nutrition. They had special food, concentrated and dehydrated. It looked a bit like muesli or things you give your hamster but they contained all necessary things. He had decided to give that to them because it had nearly no taste and he could change the amount of fat, carbs and whatever he wanted them to eat without them realizing it. Today as start he changed the calories, every meal 2,000, three meals a day. Steroids, testosterone and mass gainer included. He even put growth and masculine hormones in their water and in a spray, he used every half an hour to keep the air in the cells humid. He had put hormones in the soap as well, entering through the skin, in the toothpaste, they were just everywhere. The 6000 calories should work fast as their sportive actions were reduced to gymnastics and weights he had put in the cells. As he had them locked up for nearly two weeks now, they started to use the weights to pump away they frustration of being held prisoners. Everything in the cells worked automatically, from the food to the light and so talk to each other and do sports was all they could do. They did not see their common enemy, the guy who held them imprisoned. He was sitting here, upstairs, with a cup of tea and observing his guinea pigs down there. Two more weeks and Zack would be ready to start with…He had installed special installations in the cells, so he could fill them with narcotic gas in seconds. With that he made sure he would not be seen when he had to go down there every now and then. His first two guests had arrived 2 weeks earlier. Nutrition was already working on them. They had realized it around 5 or 6 days after their arrival but he had put appetite-stimuli in the water and the food, so even when they knew they should not eat the entire ration given to them, they found out it was impossible to do so. He had prepared a second room downstairs where he could work on his guests…
Downstairs They could hear each other but couldn’t see. They sat there in a kind of cell, 12 m², with a bed, weights (plastic filled with sand…), a toilet and a sink. That was it. One wall was glass and made the cell look like a kind of freakish aquarium. The glass was milk like, impossible to see what was going on outside neither did it reflect the image of the inmates. Greg had found out that the other two guys were Zack and Gordon, both 26, both models and both kidnapped during a supposed casting. He was shocked when he learned that they were here for around 2 weeks now, Gordon hast lost the track counting the days. Although they had nobody to talk to expect themselves, Zack and Gordon where not totally honest with Greg neither to each other. Greg had realized that over the last two weeks he had gained a good amount of body fat all over. His attempts of eating less did not work – he was always hungry. His hard work out with the weights seemed to make him even grow bigger, his shoulder grew wider as did his arms. That was crazy. He had done sports all his life and he knew how much work it was to make muscles grow and here, in this cell, they just grew like that. But so was his midsection. The speed of weight-gain was terrifying. He did not want Zack – and now Greg to be afraid too much, being imprisoned was punishment enough. Zack had experienced a similar thing without knowing about Gordon. His midsection looked swollen, it gave him the look of a pregnant. His fat was piling up at his belly and under his chin while his arms looked stronger than ever in his life. Suddenly they all heard the sound of the gas entering the chambers…
In the OP Zack woke up, spears of light forced him to close his eyes again. Blinking, he opened his eyes again, trying to get a look of the room he was inside. He was barely able to move his head and realized that he was fixed with a kind of leather collar as were his arms, hands and legs. He was way too weak after the narcotic gas to fight against the restrains. The little he could see made him afraid. The room looked like a OP in a very modern hospital and he was sitting/lying in a kind of dentist’s chair. Before he could react, a mask was put over his face and he felt the sharp pain of a syringe in his arm. He had prepared Zack for the first stages of his transformation. He checked his vital signs on the monitors, checked the oxygen and then removed the mask from his patient’s face. Bringing the chair in a nearly upright position, he checked the lights and then grabbed a strange thing he put into his patient’s mouth. It forced the mouth to stay open, come what may. He started his work. Cracking sounds could have been heard by anyone in the room. With a “clinck” the first front tooth was gone, several others followed. After cleaning his patient up, he lowered the chair. He checked the ring of fat forming around the middle of the guy. After some preparations, a sound like a vacuum-duster filled the room. It had not been easy to get the substance he wanted, clean and prepare it, but in a mixture with soda he had just what he needed. He worked around 45 minutes in that, observed his work several times and decided he wanted a bit more. After he had finished his work – a reverse liposuction – the guy in front of him had 5 kilos more around his midsection. He cleaned him up and then started step 3 of today. For that he had to change the room as it needed to be sterile. The special chair had wheels and all the cables and hoses were long enough, so he wheeled his guest into another room, smaller and with a large free-standing sink. That part was totally new territory for him. He had tested it, and it had worked but who knows. He placed Zack’s head into the sink and placed some towels around his shoulders and chest, checking that the bandage around the belly was still ok and then grabbed a comb and hairclips. With that he started to comb Zack’s long, blond hair and put parts of it aside with the clips. He moved his head to get a look from all sides before taking the next step. It was not necessary but made the process easier, he had learned that during a test. With scissors, he started to cut off huge chunks of hair, as it seemed randomly but observing the scene closer one could see a special pattern form on the clients head. The snipping took only minutes before he dusted Zack’s head off. He then grabbed a large can and opened it. It contained a white cream with a strong chemical smell. With a spatula, he put the cream to the areas of hacked hair. He worked slowly and carefully not to miss a spot nor to cover areas that shouldn’t be covered. After that he covered most of Zack’s face with the same cream. He changed his gloves and took a second can, containing a yellowish cream. The cream was put in a good amount to his face and hands, a bit on his neck.
Glove change, can change, cream change. This cream was put on the remaining beard, the eyebrows a tiny bit into the nose and the ears. He checked the vital parameters again. Ok, he needed around 30 minutes from now, after that Zack would wake up in a third room that would be his new home for the next days. He changed the gloves again and drank some water. After around 15 minutes he client was ready. He walked over to the sink and started to wash out the white cream from his patient’s head. With the cream, all hair came off, leaving nearly white, totally hair-free skin. After some minutes of fierce washing all that remained of Zack’s glorious hair was a fringe of now thin looking yellowish hair while he sported a super wide and deep MPB. He then removed the cream from his face, gone where the long sideburns and the two-week-old beard, leaving soft, smooth skin behind. Where the third cream had been applied, Zack now sported a full, long horseshoe moustache. The yellow cream on Zack’s face was a small miracle. The basic idea came from therapies for wound healing. One tried to accelerate the healing process with a cream that helped to dry out wet infections and so on. He had used that as a base for his cream – the nightmare of all beauty-parlors in the world. The “wrinkle cream”. The cream basically dried out the skin, starting a very fast aging process that was irreversible. Where he removed the cream, Zack’s once young face looked weathered, with deep lines from nose to mouth, heavy crow’s feet and lachrymal sacs. His neck looked aged, too. The hands looked much older now, a pity he could not create age spots with the cream, too. Last, he removed the cream from nose, brows and ears, leaving the once youngish looking Zack with a huge mono-brow and a good amount of nose and ears-hair.
After cleaning the patient up again, he rolled him over to the new bedroom and placed him in the bed to wake up. When he woke up, everything hurt. His belly, his mouth, he couldn’t say what kind of pain it was. He was still totally groggy, the only thing he really realized besides the pain, was the fact that he was lying in a comfortable bed in a room that looked like in a hospital. He was still fixated, with longer chains so that he could move a bit freer. He had a terrible taste in his mouth, like after seeing a dentist, and when he explored his mouth with his tongue he froze. Several teeth were missing, one right in front in his upper-jaw and two in his lower jaw… at least 6 teeth were missing. He was in total shock and started to cry. He couldn’t reach his face with his hands but still exploring his mouth with the tongue, he felt strange hair above his upper lip. H felt a beard, a longish moustache…what the hell was that??? Now looking down he saw his heavily swollen midsection in bandages. He screamed, he asked for answers, he bagged, screamed again, threatened whoever had done this, but nothing happened.
Upstairs He watched his patient and after some minutes turned off the sound. The patient got fed through a hose in his nose and he would change the bandages the next day. The operation was only a small one, only some minor wounds, but nevertheless. The transformation was already unbelievable. The shiny bald dome he had not even realized having, just a fringe of thin blond hair, the big moustache, the new wrinkles… yes The others realized Zack was missing but they were eaten up by their own sorrow. After one week, Zack was ready for round two. After drugging him, he rolled him over to the prepared OP. He had worked for this day over the last 5 days and nights. First, he inserted the strange mouth device again, before starting his work. While he left a hole right in front of the lower jaw, he filled 4 others with golden teeth. After observing his work, he grabbed a plastic can and smeared a good amount of a yellowish-brown cream carefully over all teeth in the young guys mouth, placed a special light above it and left the room for a break. In this period, the sleep of the patient was not as heavy as it was not necessary and made it easier for both of them to handle the long times under narcosis. He was moving slightly but that was normal. He had tested that sometimes before. Not exactly the same thing, of course. He had done teeth corrections for homeless and got really good in doing it. What he did here was not exactly correction but it worked more or less the same. Changing the recipe of the bleaching cream was a bit tricky but he had found a solution and he hoped it really worked. He had no chance to test that part before but was quite sure about its strength. He had some coffee while cream and light did their job. After half an hour he walked back into the OP and started to remove the cream. The result was great. His teeth looked yellowish, not too dark, just like chain-smoker’s teeth would look like, impressive result. He deepened the narcosis again and started a second round of retro-liposuction, this time 10 kilos. And some to the face, not much, just a little double chin. After this treatment, he worked on his patient’s nose. It needed to be flatter and broader… That was every day’s work for a plastic surgeon although the goal was quite the opposite of what most patients would want. Then he worked on something new, a technique he had invented himself but only in theory yet: creating a hooded eyelid. With full concentration, he started his work and 45 minutes later he was very pleased with the results. He drove Zack back to his chamber and started the wake-up process. Zack woke up and again, his belly hurt. He remembered the nightmare of waking up last time with less teeth in his mouth and in panic he searched his mouth with his tongue for new wholes finding out that most of the gaps had been filled. He had a really bad taste in his mouth and his face hurt like hell. It felt swollen and although he was not able to see anything or touch his face, he knew he had bandages on it. In a strange way he felt heavy, but his head was fixed tighter this time, not even allowing him to look down… Gordon and Greg did not speak much with each other. Both men were terrified what could have happened with the third prisoner. He was gone for a week or so now. The fear for him was not as strong as the fear that a similar thing could happen tom them. Gordon was shocked to see himself grow. He had no idea how much he had gained in the last week alone but his belly always looked bloated and he saw his legs and arms grow. Not only muscles but a lot of fat. He could feel his face getting chubbier – and still he could not stop eating all the food he got… Greg shared that concern, but he saw not only his belly slowly grow, but realized that his biceps was much bigger than ever before, like his strong legs or his growing neck… it all concerned him a lot.
Another week later In the second room, he grabbed a pistol-like thing and seconds later, Zack’s ears were pierced with small golden rings. After that, the fun part started. He had done that on dead pigs and had realized he had some talent for it. The high pitching sound of a tattoo needle filled the air and he started to work on his patient’s right wrist. He took his time and inked Zack all over his arms with tribals, a scorpion and a dragon that was sitting on his right chest, the tail reaching the neck and other stuff like skulls. All looking a bit home-made, like old tattoos done in some dark alleys in the 80’s. Now the last part of the transformation could start. He brought Zack back to his room and then placed a gas-mask over his face. Through a machine, cigarette smoke was blown through the mask, sometimes more, sometimes none, sometimes a lot. At the same time, he would be bombarded with hypnotic voice recordings. He had done that the other way around for some friends who wanted to stop smoking. After only two days they were healed from their addiction. He left Zack alone with the machine and the hypnosis. Three days later Zack woke up in the morning feeling totally dizzy. His face still hurt, his belly was ok, but for days his arms, his back and parts of his neck had burned terribly. This pain was nearly gone now. He realized that he was able to sit up and to move his hands quite free. On a small table on the right of his bed a saw a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and an ashtray. This small thing from the real world was strange to see and the only thing he could think right now was: Why not something to eat, I don’t even smoke!" With that thought he exhaled the smoke of the cigarette he had between his lips. What the hell… He was disgusted but finished the first and three more before he could finally stop himself. Now, Zack was finished. He needed his healing process but after that he was free to be on the big stage of his private before and after show. Now he could turn his attention to Gordon. He had observed his second patients weight-gain so far and he was impressed. Seemed like he normally did a lot of cardio to fight the body fat that came easily to him. He looked different from the day he had been captured… now he was here for quite some time and so he sported a nice, thick black full beard. His hair reached his mouth and looked like a mop. His decent body hair had come back. He already looked less-model like. Gas filled Gordon’s chamber as well as Greg’s and minutes later, the sleeping Gordon was wheeled into the lab. He undressed Gordon and placed him on his special chair. No teeth-work for him. He observed the weight gain again before he prepared him for the retro-liposuction. He worked hard on him, extending the belly with 12 kilos of fat. Then he stopped and cleaned Gordon up before wheeling him to the second room. He placed his head in the sink and started his combing work. When he was finally satisfied with the result, he took the scissors and long, black locks flew to the floor. The snipping took only minutes before he could apply the well-known cream. He covered the hacked area and most of his face with that cream, while the hair-growth stimulator was put to another part of the face and the eyebrows. Taking the skin-ager, he put quite a lot around his eyes and on his forehead but that had a good reason. After thinking twice, he drew two thick lines from the nose to the mouth. He had a coffee while he waited the creams to work. Finally, it was time to remove them. What once had been Gordon’s pride and joy was nothing but waste- The last remains of his glorious head of hair disappeared in the sink, leaving shiny, white-pinkish and virgin skin behind. The same happened to his thick and full beard. Absolutely no sideburns left, neither. Only a big and very full moustache was now sitting on Gordon’s upper-lip. His brows looked a lot bushier now, too. Carefully he brought him in an upright position for the finally shape up. He took his scissors and a comb and started working. He gave him a very traditional tapered fringe but on the right side he left four strands of hair in their original length to create a ridiculous comb over.
When he had finished his work, he carefully cleaned his client and rolled him back to the OP where he padded the face with some fat, some to his cheeks, a lot to his chin and even to his neck. Finally, he was done and could bring Gordon into the wake-up-room. He installed the feeding hose and left.
When Gordon woke up he did not know here he was. He was unable to move, he could only turn his head. What he saw looked like a room in a hospital, white walls, white plastic chair, small white table, white bed, no window. Maybe he had been rescued and now he was here for the shock? His body and his face hurt and felt like under total pressure, like somebody had pumped air under his skin… The next week he had time to heal while he changed some of the hypno files for Zack. The smoking affirmation already worked fantastic and he just kept rolling it because he wanted to be absolutely sure. The new files included clothing he should wear and it was implanting deep fears: he would never shave off his moustache or cut his hair in a different way. He hoped that in the end the files would have accomplished that, so that he would be terrified by those thoughts. He would find out later if they had worked but he was optimistic. Now, after the healing was going well, it was hypno-time for Gordon but first he rolled him to room 2, where he wanted to treat his hair and moustache with a very special dye. He had removed the bandages from the face. Although it was still swollen, one could see the good results. The wrinkled skin looked perfect now, with the fat beneath. He put the dye on hair and beard and left Gordon for the new preparations. Half an hour later he washed out the dye and revealed silver-grey hair with some black left in it, fantastic result. Back in his room, he placed a gas mask over his face, like had done with Zack, but here the machine was blowing in pipe smoke and the hypno-files would do the rest. Greg was totally alone now. He was terrified. And he got totally aggressive when he was not lifting weights. So that was, what he was doing all day. Eating, lifting, eating, lifting, sleeping. The changes to his body shocked him, his arms got bigger and bigger, as got his chest, his shoulders, just everything, including a swollen ball of a small belly that was growing even faster than the muscles. Zack had been allowed some freedom now and then. Several times a day he was free to move his hands and sit up in the bed to smoke. He knew he was a non-smoker but he needed that. It was the stress maybe? He had seen his swollen looking belly and he could feel his hair resting on his shoulder. He had been able to feel that his chin was hairless while it seemed he was wearing a moustache… But he had no idea of what could have happened to him. 6 days later Gordon found himself free like Zack had before. And like Zack he found something very strange in his room – a pipe and all you need for smoking it. He had never liked smoking and pipes were for old men, or for strange hipsters, he thought while the thick smoke of the pipe between his lips filled the room already.
Greg now really got concerned with his changes. He was a model but now he was turning into Hulk – with a pot belly that grew so fast he had the feeling he could watch it grow. In the middle of the thought, gas filled his chamber. He wheeled his third and last patient right into room no. 2. He had gained weight, a lot, his arms looked very impressive as did his chest and his very firm, ball-like pot-belly. His chest hair had grown and it was dark brown but not very thick. His beard was ok but not the fullest while his hair now looked really untidy. He undressed him and then put special vacuum pumps to his nipples. He started piercing with the septum, a big one, not easy to open without tools, then a PA and very thick, heavy silver rings to the ears. After some drawing, he started with the tattoos. Heavy, black, all over the arms and chest. After hours of work, he needed a break, but he would use it. He cleaned his client and then covered his body, his shoulders, his legs, his back with the hair stimulant. He combed and cut the hair on top and put the removal cream to his head, to a huge part of his head. The beard was covered in the removal cream as well while the growing cream was put to his moustache. The aging cream would give him nice crow’s feet and sharp lines from nose to mouth as well as some deep lines in his forehead and of course an older neck. 45 minutes later he felt refreshed and started to remove the creams. The body-hair was…impressive, nearly fur-like. The very hairy chest stood in hard contrast to the now totally hair-free neck and chin. The beard was history, only smooth skin with a big moustache resting on the upper-lip. The head, man, that was bald, the baldest possible, leaving only a thin strip of hair around the head, in the back just one finger wide, around two above the ears, with the hair starting far back. The wrinkles were deep and he instantly looked 20 years older. He buzzed the remaining hair very short, but still visible. With no surgery done, he could place him under the gas-mask ad hypno-files right away. The machine blew heavy cigar smoke in the mask and the hypno-files started.
4 weeks later The bruises were gone, the wounds had healed and now they were ready for the show. For Zack and Gordon, it had been 4 weeks in bed, after one week real food, smoking breaks, and hypno-files day and night. Both men knew something had happened to them, but not what. Greg had been allowed to work out but he was dressed in a tight latex-like suite that covered but his entire body. He was able to lift weights, but not to touch his head… All three men were sleeping. First, he walked over to Zack. He dressed him in worn out blue jeans, cowboy boots and a jeans-west, a golden chain around his neck, a cigarette behind his ear. He placed him in a special wheel chair, chained his arms and legs to it, placed the chair right in front of the back wall and left. He had some work lifting the now big, big Gordon. He dressed him in an expensive suit, silk shirt, good shoes, pocket watch and a little bag with his pipe. He placed his chair in front of the wall, too. Greg was dressed in the tightest leather jeans possible, only a leather vest for his enormous chest, and some cigars in the pocket. Heavy boots completed the look. All three men woke up and found themselves in the wheelchairs while a voice said: “Welcome, today is the day of the big revelation. You will finally find out why you are here – and the best of it, today is your last day as my guests as you will all leave me tonight!” They couldn’t grasp the meaning of what just had been said. “You are all little pricks. You are thieves. You steal jobs from people with talent, just because you look good. You think the world belongs, to you, just because you are beautiful. I thought that was not fair, so I decided to give you the chance to proof if you have any talent – even without any good looks! Zack, my friend, you are the first, and you two can watch!” Suddenly, the walls turned into huge screens. They saw a picture of Zack, the young, beautiful Zack. It was an advert for surfing clothes and so one could see his perfect six-pack, the nice, long legs, the tanned skin, the winning smile, the hair flowing in the breeze. “That is Zack, isn’t he beautiful? But now say hello to new Zack!” The picture changed and now the two men could see a live broadcast from the neighbor room. But what say saw made absolutely no sense. How could that be Zack? There was a man sitting in a wheel chair that did not look a bit like Zack. The guy had deep wrinkles in his face and a flat, broad nose. His greasy, thin hair was long but… most of the hair was gone… The guy suffered from heavy MPB. His brows were bushy and formed a mono-brow. He sported a VERY LONG horseshoe-moustache that covered most of his mouth and hung down his chin. The man had a huge beer belly, hanging over his low waist jeans. His body was covered in bad tattoos, even something on his neck. There was no sound, but they saw him screaming and trying to break free from the wheel-chair. One could see that some teeth were missing while he sported some golden teeth, too, one right in the front. They did not understand what was going on here, but Gordon was about to find out. The picture changed and now showed and advert of Gordon, showing him dirty and full of oil next to an old car. It had been used for a café… a gay cafe, of course. “So Gordon, ready or not, here we go!” Gordon held his breath and tried to close his eyes but he saw the pictures changed and had to stare. The man in the wheel-chair – HE – was big, with a big belly and a fat face. The face looked very puffy and shiny, the head was bald, but there was a disgusting comb-over resting in that glooming head. A thick, brush-like moustache in grey was sitting under the man’s nose. He was about 50 years old but what shocked Gordon was that when he moved, the man moved, too. That was impossible… how.. what?? Unlike Zack, he did not scream – he just stared. Greg realized that it now was his turn and he was terrified. A picture of him appeared on the screen, showing him in a swimming trunks. His hair wet, his body shiny, slim, muscular, a dreamy but sexy look in his eyes. Now the screen changed again and Greg saw himself for the first time. His arms were enormous, like his chest. He looked more like a bodybuilder now… His belly was big, firm and round, forming a huge ball in his midsection. All was covered in fur-like hair and he was nearly unable to see the heavy tribal tattoos. What he could not miss was the fact that his nipples looked huge and were pierced with heavy silver rings. His face looked weathered, much older, more like 50, with sharp and deep lines from his nose to his mouth that was covered by a jet-black and thick moustache, deep crow’s feet surrounded his eyes while small canyons could be found on his forehead… those wrinkles were very obvious as there was no hair to cover it up. Where once was shiny, dark brown silky and wavy hair, now only shiny, pink skin was visible. He was not able to move his head much, but he could see the sad, tiny ring of black and short buzzed hair that was all left from his glorious hair. He needed some seconds before he saw the big silver rings in his ears and the one in his nose. The moment he wanted to start screaming, gas filled the room and all three men fell asleep.
Waking up He drove around 250 miles, to a motel. His next three guests were already waiting to be picked up. He had booked a three bed-room and had checked that he could the guys get in unseen. He told the owner, an old lady, that his friends would go to a weeding close by and would surely be drunk when coming back. She said that she would put the key under a stone close to the room’s door. When he had parked the car at the back of the motel, he wheeled his patients into the room, one after another. Carefully he untied them and placed them in their beds. They got their wallets backs, their cell-phones and each a big sport’s bag full of clothes and things they would need. With a sigh, he left. It was a shame that he would not see them again soon… When Zack woke up in the next morning he did not understand where he was. The only thing he realized that he was in a different room – and most important free. There were no chains, no restrains, he could move freely. He had the most terrible nightmare last night… being transformed into the typical white-trash guy… he scratched his head and froze. No hair. Absolutely no hair… when he moves his nose he felt the moustache and now he looked under the blanket and saw the big beer belly and all those disgusting tattoos. He tried to stand up but that was not so easy as he had spent the last weeks mostly in bed. Finally, he managed to stand upright and slowly walk to the bathrooms. He saw the two other guys in the beds in the room and started to cry. It all had been real. A look in the mirror revealed the entire truth of what had happened. He had seen him yesterday but it was still a shock, something unbelievable. He looked like a different person. This face, that was not his face and it was at the same time. The wrinkles, the aged skin, the flat, broad nose, the big moustache… that was not his face, but in this mess, his eyes stared back at him, surrounded by a net of wrinkles now and under a heavy mono-brow, but nevertheless his eyes. He opened his mouth and nearly screamed like in agony. His teeth were yellowish and some were missing. Right in front of his upper row, a big golden tooth was shining, and he saw more golden teeth in his mouth. He looked at his belly, a thing he still could not believe. It was huge, round and full. He had some fat all over his body, but most around his belly. A globe. A barrel. A tub. A typical well-maintained beer-belly. The tattoos all over his body looked horrible, like made by a friend rather than a tattoo-artist. With shaking legs, he walked back to his room and found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With the cigarette burning between his lips, he walked back to the bathroom. He knew he was a non-smoker, but something in his head told him he needed to smoke… Greg and Gordon woke up shortly after Zack and both men experienced the same moments of shock and disbelieve. Gordon was sitting in his bad, rubbing his boobs and his big belly in total disbelieve. Sometimes a hand touched the puffy face and the shiny dome with the well-cut fringe. He was not looking freakish, not like Zack did anyway, he just looked like a big 55-year old businessman. The problem was, that he was a model in his mid-twenties. He was fat, surprisingly fat for the relatively short period of their imprisonment. His hair was grey and he had a comb-over, a very sad one that even accentuated his enormous bald had and big nape. The moustache was grey, too. A very conservative look… Not what one could say about Greg, who was rubbing his bald head and smooth chin before changing to the hairy chest. He looked a bit freakish, with the big muscles, piercings and tattoos. His belly looked bloated and was firm, round and hard. The moustache was big, heavy, shiny and black like the tiny ring of hair that encircled his gleaming bald head. Without really knowing what he did, he started smoking one of the cigars he wound next to his bed and played a bit with his enlarged and pierced nipples. Greg had fired a pipe, and so they walked to the bathroom, too, where Zack had just finished his 5th cigarette in a row.
Here they were, three models, kidnapped, imprisoned, transformed against their will. They did not talk for quite a while when Zack said: “I hate that moustache and hair!” Greg answered: “Cut it off, we are free now… I think…” He looked at Greg as if he was crazy. “Cut it off, no way, cut yours off!” Zack was surprised himself. He REALLY hated the moustache, but cutting it off?? No way, that was impossible… because… because …. Because one would not cut of an arm, would you?? Now Greg was the shocked one: “Shave the moustache, NEVER!” Wow, where did that come from?? Finally, the guys wanted to know if they were really free. Still naked they found the sport bags and their wallets. Everything was there, ID, driver’s license, their phones, everything. The bags contained clothes and other things. Zack found a lot of worn out jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, T-shirts with the arms cut off, jeans vests, leather vests and wife-beaters. The bag contained 30 packs of cigarettes and some whiskey, too. Greg found mostly leather and some rubber. One very tight blue jeans and heavy biker boots. Chaps, a harness and cigars. Gordon found a set of 5 nice and expensive looking suits, from brown to grey and deep blue, all with the fitting shirts, ties, belts and shoes. The bag contained a second pipe, tobacco and all you need for you pipe.
A bit lost, they started to dress in the most neutral way as possible. Zack chose a pair of jeans with a black shirt without arms, a belt with a huge bull’s head buckle and the boots. Without knowing why, he took the heavy golden chain he had found in the bag and placed it around his neck. Greg was dressed in the very tight jeans and chose a black muscle shirt, that was extremely tight, especially around his belly. Gordon chose the blue suit and dark brown shoes and already looked like a gentlemen. Zack, a cigarette in his mouth, two packs in his pockets and one behind his ear, was the first to test the door. Carefully he reached out for it as if it were a poisonous spider ready to bite him. The bastard that had held them prisoners could have done everything…why not an exploding handle, or an electric shock. He took a deep breath and then grabbed the handles, moved it… and the door opened, letting cool morning air into the room. All three now walked through the door and where standing on a parking lot of some motel in the middle of the forest. “Do you think he is watching is?” Zack nodded his head, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. “How can we be sure?” No answer. That moment and old lady walked over to the three men. “Ah you must be the gentlemen in room 5?” Gordon looked at the door and nodded. “Aehm, yes we are!” Now the lady looked a bit suspicious. What would that nice gentleman do with those two strange guys? “I was asked to give you the keys of that rental car over there!” Still watching the two uncommon men, she handed Gordon the keys. The lady left and all three looked at the keys, smoking. What a strange ending that seemed to be for all what had happened. They walked back to the room and re-packed the bags. None of them was planning on staying the way they looked now, but they needed clothes for a change and they had nothing better now. With their wallets, they would be able to buy new clothes on the way anyhow.
Still not really believing they were free, they sat in the car and, with a map, drove towards their home town. All felt unreal. They stopped for food, listened to the radio and watched the landscape. The nearly did not talk. Not about their time in prison, not about their transformations. It was a really long drive and they needed to find a motel in the evening. Greg was outside his room, alone. Zack was buying some beer and Gordon wanted to watch the news. So now here he was, really alone for the first time with himself, not chained, not drugged, not watched. And still, he was wearing a pair of tight leather jeans now with a tight leather shirts, he was still sporting the moustache and fringe. Even the thought of shaving it made him shiver in fear and pain. And he was smoking a cigar, the 10th today for sure. Why was he doing that? Why did he not buy clothes in the nearby Walmart and shave beard and head (shiver) or his body hair (double shiver). He should at least take the piercings out (nearly physical pain only caused by the thought) and surely stop smoking those stinky cigars (panic, pure panic). He looked down, seeing the big belly wrapped in skin-tight leather, his enormous chest, the fur… and he felt aroused. Oh god. Did he like what had happened to him? Maybe it was not that bad… no, no it was worse than that. It was a dream … no, a nightmare. He was NOT a 50-year old leather guy, he was not bald, he did not like moustaches, he hated smoking and did not even like the smell of leather… Leather that was covering his body like a soft second skin, that made cool sounds when he moved, leather that felt so good on his fury body. He rubbed the damned, ugly, soft, shiny, smooth and sensitive bald head. One hand on his head, one at his nipple, the cigar in his mouth he felt quite good right now… Zack still had no idea what was going on. Every time, he saw his reflection he was shocked. That constantly smoking white-trash guy could not be him. He did not drink beer from a bottle on the streets, he was NOT chain-smoking. How could he explain what has happened to him? Who would believe him? What was with his jobs…
Gordon, smoking his pipe, did not watch the news but himself in the mirror. He looked so old, so damned old. But, he looked mature, too, like someone to trust. His big belly was resting on his lap, now only in old fashioned wife-beater and an old-fashioned slip. Did he really wear suspenders at his socks? And why the pipe? He rubbed his belly and realized that he was hungry again. He had just finished a Pizza but he was still very hungry. And he could not put the pipe aside. And just thinking of shaving the stache was terrifying and he did not know why…He stood up and dressed. He needed to find some food although he should stop eating… They had decided to go to the police with their story while driving back. The situation was hard to explain and first the police did not believe a word of the story, of course. Finally, months later, a DNA test revealed that the three guys really were the three missing models but nobody really knew what to think about the story itself. There was some research done but nothing serious and although especially Zack insisted on getting informed about the investigations, some months later the case was put aside.
All three had to find a way to live with what happened. Zack and Gordon saw a therapist but Greg refused. They could not alter their behavior, something even some deep hypnosis sessions could not change. Zack was still chain smoking, keeping his hair long and his stache wild, wearing those silly clothes and drinking beer, Gordon was always dressed perfectly, his fringe kept in a tidy way with a once-a-week trim for fringe and moustache. His pipe was always ready. Greg dressed in leather and rubber, even in his daily life. He loved his cigars… wait, did he? It seemed he did, as he did not really try to change his habits. He is eating a lot, lifting weights – and gets jobs as a model. Now he is a kind of star, a special one for sure, but he made quite some money. He had realized very soon that he had never asked for that transformation but that he kind of liked it. He wouldn’t have liked to be Zack, Gordon would have been bearable but what he got was nearly a gift. He had realized that acting really was not for him, but modeling was. And now he was a very special model, and well-booked. By the way, Zack is back on stage, “playing” Tys on, a white-trash guy, in a one-man show. The show is a hit and everybody loves his imitations und sharp social critic in humorous ways. Everybody thinks his look is part of his role and praise him for his dedication. Some hardcore fans even started to copy his look! Gordon was happy that his father had forced him to study economy before he started full-time modeling and acting. He works for a production company now as accountant. At work, he fell in love with one of his co-workers, Jeremiah, 45 years old, moustache, shiny bald head and big belly. A guy he wouldn’t have noticed before his transformation. And man, what would he have missed as Jeremiah was intelligent, had a fantastic sense of humor, he was caring and honest. With his new love, he sometimes thanked the stranger who had transformed him.
The new list His list was much longer but he was only able to do three in a row. He already kind of missed his first three guests. He had been surprised of how easy it had been but thinking of his new guests who were already waiting for him downstairs, he knew those were new challenges. He had arranged to meet Peter, Franklin and Robert for a casting and the rest had been easy. The journey back to the woods had cost him a day but now they were downstairs, secured and the process could begin. He sat at his desk, watching his screens that showed him his three new guests, much more talkative and screaming as his last guests, that was for sure. Peter Arnold was 30 years old. He was sportive, with some impressive muscles, a smooth shaved chest, a perfectly smooth shaved face and stylish bald fade with short sides and long wavy top. He was a terrible actor but hot looking. He had been chosen when mocking an older actor in a very cruel way. His second guest was Franklin, silver-blond hair in a pomp, slim, clean shaven, 24 years old and already a damn racist. He had insulted several co-actors during a play because they were black, calling them nigga or bimbo. Bad boy. Robert, 30, short full beard in brown, curly, long hair in a man bun, sportive and muscular, was an old friend of Franklin and shared his hatred. In fact, he was even worse. But first, he had to handle with a guest he did not expect and that was now occupying his hospital-wing in the basement. He did not know much about that guy he had caught on his properties right after coming back with his three new guests. And that was one of the problems. Any guy wandering around in this part of the forest was suspicious. It was a remote place and wanderer randomly came close his land. The young man, around 20 to 25, was not only somewhere on his land, no he came very close to the house which means he had climbed over at least three fences to reach the building. He knew that some people in the town down the road, around 30 miles northwest, knew about the house and that some rich guy from the city had built it. In his first year here, some people had tried to break into his house, thinking he was not there. They had no chance with all the cameras and fences. And even if they had reached the house, it was an impermeable fortress. For months, nobody had tried to break in – and now that. He supposed it was a kind of test for bravery or some other stupid idea. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. He did not like visitors to come to close to his house for obvious reasons. But this one had chosen the worst moment possible to come sneaking around. He saw his head behind a hedge the moment he rolled his first guest inside, to the special lift he had built outside for reaching the basement easily. He had no other chance. He would tell somebody, surely, he would… So, he had grabbed his rifle and loaded it with a tranquilizing dart. He was a good hunter and with only one shot he had him.
Now he was here, downstairs, in the hospital wing, tranquilized and chained and he was thinking what to do with him. He couldn’t let him walk free. The problem was – did he tell anybody that he had planned to come here? He searched his wallet, a bit nervous, and found an ID and a driver’s license. The guy was a Thomas DeChavallier, 23 years old and Canadian. What the hell did a Canadian do here? Ok, but that was good. So, he was no local teenager doing some dare. It was most unlikely that he had told anybody about walking around here. Maybe he was no thief but just one of those nature guys, wandering around in the woods, maybe he had lost his way and searched for help… no, that all was the GOOD HIM thinking that, the one that wanted to be believe that all humans are good or at least have something good in them. When he searched his backpack, he found leather gloves, a black mask, a crowbar, several other tools including a glass cutter and a gas pistol. Mr. DeChevallier did not honor his name, he was no gentleman but a common thief. He was relieved. He was not in immediate danger. His project was safe. But now he had to do something about the guy that was here in one of his beds. He watched at a screen and saw his three guests in their cells. They were still talking vividly, for more than 12 hours now… man, they were really talkative. The best way to deal with his unexpected fourth guest was treating him like his other guests. In fact, he would start with him to make room for his other patients. They would need some time of adjustment and nutrition in the beginning anyhow as he had a master plan for each of them. With the guy he had here, in front of him, he could experiment. What were the limits of his abilities? An idea formed in his head and he thought that would surely teach that guy a lesson. He had undressed the thief and now looked at him very closely. He was average, everything was average. He was slim, but not sportive, he had a bit of chest hair in dark brown, nearly black, a sparse stubbly three-weeks-beard, the hair down to his chin, straight, not very thick and dark-brown, too. He deepened his sleep and went to the second room to prepare step one of the transformation that would be extreme, very extreme. He was done with his preparations around half an hour later. He placed the sleeping Thomas in one of his famous wheel-chairs and rolled him to the OP, right under the dentist’s lamp. He checked his vital parameter and then placed the mouth-opener in position. He let his knuckles crack before he started. Ok, that was quite some work here… The unpleasant cracking sound only a dentist can produce filled the room for the next 45 minutes. Man, that was hard work and he was sweating like hell, but finally had removed the last tooth from his patient’s mouth, leaving him totally teeth-free – yet. He then rolled the patient to the second room and took the skin-aging cream. He applied 2,5 cans all over the guys body, from feet to face. The work had exhausted him so much, that he decided to take a break here. He rolled the guy back to his bedroom, chained him and left, he needed a shower badly right now…
The three guys had realized that it was no fun, no bad joke. Nearly 14 hours. They were imprisoned in three small cells, unable to see anything, not their neighbors, not the outside world. They had found food in the cells, strange food but they all were very hungry and started to eat the dry, muesli-like nutrition in the bowls standing on the floor. The taste was not that bad, really like muesli, but very dry and that made all three of them very thirsty, so they drank a lot of water from the fresh-water dispensers. He watched them doing it and smiled. Two or three days and the special ingredients in their food would start to take hold. This time it was not the same mixture. Every single one of them got a very special diet as would be their transformations very special…
Thomas woke up and his head did hurt like hell. Where was he? It was hard to open his eyes and his sight was blurred. He had a bad taste in his mouth and his legs and arms were heavy. He only had experienced one wake up like that before – after an appendix OP he had as teenager. When he finally could open his eyes, he saw that he really was in a hospital. Damn, what had happened to him. He remembered overhearing that conversation about a rich guy’s house in the mountains in the bar, and then climbing over some fences. Wait, there was more, he had seen that man, rolling three men in wheelchairs into the house. Strange thing, as all three men looked young and healthy and as if they were sleeping… then… he remembered a sharp pain in his leg and nothing more. Maybe he had been shot by the owner of the house and he had called the cops… that would explain why he was chained to the bed as he realized now. And he realized, that he was wearing white cotton gloves and thick white socks. In this very moment, he licked his lips and froze. What was that? His tongue wandered around in his mouth – and there was absolutely no tooth. Nothing. How could he not have realized that before? He started to call for help, for somebody explaining him what had happened, but nobody answered his calls. Maybe he had been beaten up by the guy? Or hit the ground very hard? From his lab, he watched his four guests. He was working on Thomas now, but that would be a final gift for him: He had decided to let him recover for two nights and start working on him Tuesday. It was Sunday evening and he should finish his work, have a glass of wine and read a good book. Yes, that was a good idea.
Monday morning the three guys in their cells still talked a lot with each other but the screaming had stopped. They were exhausted and frustrated. They had their muesli again, water and then, Peter started to lift weights that he found in a corner of his cell while Robert did crouches. Franklin just sat on his bed and did nothing but staring at the milky glass of his cell. Thomas woke up after a night full of nightmares. Surely the police would come and ask for him, or a doctor maybe. He remembered that it had been Sunday when he walked to the guy’s house so Monday morning he would surely see a doctor… But the doctor did not come. Nobody came. He was thirsty, his mouth was dry and wanted something to drink. He called for a nurse, but again, nobody came. He saw the infusion in his hand and felt a hose in his nose, a very unpleasant feeling. He tried to sleep more, but could not find rest.
He watched him and felt a bit pity for the guy. He was conscious now, totally conscious and being imprisoned there in this room, not knowing what was going on was surely terrifying, shocking – and boring at the same time. Not long and he would stay in a half-consciousness state being under hypnosis. He was taping and editing the new files every free minute he had during his preparations for his other three guests. Tuesday came and now the talking nearly had died away. Peter was lifting and lifting, Franklin was staring, Robert was doing everything he could to steel his six-pack while Thomas was sleeping in his artificial sleep, being rolled over to the “cosmetics room” as he had started to call it. He observed his work from Sunday and was happy with the results that were already showing. Today he worked on the beard. He first took the hair removal cream and applied it in a thick layer nearly all over the guys face. Only a fine, small part was not covered. He checked, did some corrections and then changed the gloves and the can. The hair-growth-stimulant was placed into the guys nose, in his ears and massaged into his brows. After that he applied some to his chest and shoulders, but not too much. He had two coffees waiting for the creams to work. Around 40 minutes later he walked back over to his patient and started to remove the creams. Where the beard had been the skin look fresh and rosy- a contrast to the upper parts if his cheeks that already experienced a treatment with the aging-cream. What was left of the guys facial hair was a small Clark Gable moustache. He saw that it was a bit sparse. Ok, today would be a long day anyhow, so why not help nature here, too. The now hair-free face was adorned with longish eyebrows, a good amount of ear and nose hair. Now he worked in the aging cream, to all those parts of the face before covered by the beard. He waited 30 minutes before he removed it. Now upper and lower part if the face looked alike. He grabbed the first can, and started to cover the entire body again, front and back, all the face, the nape, the neck, a lot to his jaw, neck and hands. Then hair-stimulant to the sparse moustache. This time he waited around an hour, taping some hypno-files for his guest, before removing the cream. Wow, the result was stunning – and that was not the end yet, far not the end. Oh, what an idiot he was!! In all the work, he had forgotten the guy’s head!!! He sighed, grabbed the scissors, the comb and the hairclips and worked on the head, creating a very wide MPB surrounded by longish hair. The cream was applied and he realized he had to do some aging cream after that, too. Damn, he had planned for more…
He was tired already, when he had removed the guys hair. Now he was bald, very bald, with all his long fringe and wrinkled at the back of his head, right at the dip. He cut the hair bit shorter, in a line with the earlobe. Sighing, he grabbed a small bottle, new gloves and then a bigger bottle. What looked like hair dye was the same he had used on Gordon to create his salt and pepper look, but this time the mixture was different. He applied it to the fringe, the eyebrows, the moustache, the nose- and ear-hair, the chest, the legs, even under the arm-pits. Every single hair in his body had been covered with the cream when he finished the work. Two special heating lamps were installed above the guy and he left for one hour, taping files and eating a sandwich. He rolled the patient to a huge bathroom and started to wash out all the cream with warm water. He checked the vital parameter more often now, but all was fine. Where the cream came off, it was not white anymore, but brownish-black. He toweled him and then watched the results of today’s work. He was very pleased when he rolled him back to his room. He wished to have a day off, but he had not. He was behind his schedule already and so could not enjoy the luxury of a free day. He had to finish what he had planned to finish yesterday already so at noon, he was back down at Thomas’s room, who was sleeping again. In the cosmetic room he was covered in the aging cream all over again. In the time the cream needed to work, he prepared the OP. Wednesday, it was Wednesday, Franklin kept thinking. He did not want to get crazy in here and so he needed a bit of reality. Knowing what day it was, that was part of that reality. He had been kidnapped along with the other on Sunday. So it was 4th day of their imprisonment. He heard the other doing exercises and although he had weights in his cell and could do crunches easily, he felt numb and listless. He had no appetite, either. He ate maybe a third of his muesli over the day. He was a bit hungry, but still, he had no appetite. He drank a lot of water. And stared at the cell wall. It seemed that he was only staring, but he was trying to meditate, to think himself away from this cell… He rolled Thomas to the OP after he had cleaned him from the cream… wow. Now he was here, in the room that had created beautiful bellies. But that was not the first goal here. In Thomas’ case, it was real liposuction that took place, at his chin, his cheeks, his chest, his legs, arms and just some retro-liposuction at his belly. The same amount, that had been removed to be precise. Then he rolled the guy over to his room, placed the mask around his head and started the files.
It was Thursday, day 12 of their imprisonment, as Franklin kept telling them. Peter had no idea. 12 days, 12 years, 12 centuries… he was locked in this damn cell and nobody talked to them, nobody explained anything. That was not like in the movies, where the bad guy always reveals his mission… He was eating, and eating and eating. He got 6 meals a day and he had the feeling he grew in mass every day. After eating he was lifting, then eating, sleeping, lifting. Robert was always sweating, too, doing as much exercises as he could. He ate the three meals he got but was always a bit hungry afterwards. He realized that he had lost weight already and that his abs looked better than ever before in his life… 12 days of hypnosis and recovery had been enough for Thomas, he decided. It was time to go on with his work. First, he made him sleep and then looked at him closely. It was fantastic but not yet done. He rolled him to the cosmetic room, where he applied a thick layer of aging cream all over his patient, a big amount on his neck. Then he prepared the OP again. After 1,5 hours, he removed the cream. Astonishing. The OP he did now, was routine. He worked on hooded eyelids as he had trained on Gordon. This time, he was not so shy. Then he worked in the patient’s nose. This part was a bit tricky, but he had found a solution. When he was done, he bandaged him and rolled him back to his room. He had decided to let the nutrition, hormones and other ingredients work a bit longer on his other guests, he was excited to see how far they would come without his help. When Thomas woke up, really woke up, it was Monday again, day 16 to keep you on track. He was able to sit up – at least a bit. He realized that he was not really able to move his head freely and his arms and legs neither. He could turn the head a bit and saw that he still wore those strange gloves over his hands and the same white socks at his feet. His entire body hurt and was covered with a thick, heavy blanket. He felt a strange breeze at his head. His face did hurt. His nose did hurt. And still he had no teeth in his mouth. Franklin was losing weight, a lot of weight. He had been on the skinny side all his life but with some hard training, he had gained some muscles. Now, those muscles melted away like snow in the sun. He was sitting on his bed most of the time, not eating much, thinking, staring. The person who had imprisoned them obviously watched them. He had realized that Franklin was not eating much and so he had reduced his 2 rations. At least a sign, there really was somebody.
Peter would have been glad if he had lost any weight but instead he gained. He gained in a freakish speed. His belly ballooned. His shoulders exploded, his arms grew immensely. But as hard as he fought, in the end, he ate the 8 rations daily. Robert was in the best form of his life, it was shame he had only one fan who could admire him. Day 26 was the final day for Thomas. He woke up, sitting in a wheelchair, not able to move his head, not even a bit. He felt, that he was dressed. And that he had something in his mouth – teeth!!! “Don’t steal from other people, that is the only thing I need to say to you, Thomas!” a voice said. The wall in front of him turned out to be a huge screen and now he saw his ID-photo on the screen. He had taken the picture just some months ago. He wore his hair longish, finally. His mother had never allowed long hair in her house. Now he had it down to his chin. He saw his youthful appearance – a bit like a teenager with some beard-shadow. That was his plus now. They guys loved his youthful look and so he was invited to drinks and food. Now, then screen changed and showed a room, very similar to the one he had found himself being held prisoner in for the last weeks. There was guy in a wheelchair, too. Man, what kind of hospital was that?? And who was the doctor? Dr. Frankenstein? The man was shown in a large full body shot now. He was old, end of his 70. He had absolutely no hair on top of his head. The remaining fringe was white with a hint of silver in it. It reached the man’s earlobe and was shiny. The guy had been attractive once, and still had something, he thought. His face was very weathered, with deep wrinkles around the eyes, sacking cheeks, a prominent, bony skin, a white Clark Gable moustache and a really old neck, a had called that a turkey neck back home when he referred to his great-uncle Jeff. The hands looked a bit claw-like, skinny and old. The guy was slim, with just a little gut. Why was he showing him this man? One, two, three… no, wait… wait a second. Those eyes, those watery blue eyes… he tried to move his head and hand and the man on the screen did the same. No, that… he felt, that he had no teeth in his mouth, but dentures… full dentures… He screamed before the world went black for him. When he woke up, he was in a motel-room. He was alone. He was not chained. It was no hospital. It was a cheap but clean motel. He rubbed his face with one hand and froze. The sacking skin was rough, as was his hand. He felt every inch of his face, his eyes closed. The deep lines from the large and now much wider nose to the mouth, the sacking cheeks, the deep, deep canyons around his eyes and on his forehead. Then, the warm, hairless head. Even the head was a bit wrinkly, especially the four big wrinkles he had at the dip area. The hair was soft, much softer than it had been before. Feeling the bony chin without any stubble, the small brush-like moustache, the neck… of god, his own turkey-neck, his sacking chest, now covered in soft hair, his round, small belly, the slim legs. It was all real. He could even move the dentures in his mouth. With great caution, he sat up and then opened the eyes. He saw this strange body that looked old, very old. He saw the white hair on his chest, the strange belly that did not really fit the slim, nearly skinny, body. He walked to the bathroom and when he looked in the mirror, it was like a cold shower. There he stood, 23 years old, with a MPB head and a white fringe, a white moustache, sacking skin, wrinkles and a damn turkey-neck. He cried. Then he looked again. And cried again. How could he have aged so fast?? He walked back to the bed-room and found a sport-bag resting on of the arm-chairs. He opened it and found an envelope. With shaking hands, he opened it. A machine-typed letter was inside.
Dear Thomas, You have been my guest for 26 days. You earned that honor, the moment you set foot on my property. As you will find out – and partially you already have found out something – that I needed to make sure, you pay for penetrating my land. You will find out more over the next days and weeks, but just relax and keep going old chap. Oh, old chap, that reminds me of something. I had to change your look a bit. To take away any fears you may have right now: No, I did not really age you. That should be a relief, isn’t it. You look old, yes, but you are not. Somebody once said, that we spent most of our time as old people, I think in your case he is right. You will spend your entire life as an old man. I checked your body closely while you were my guest and as far as I can say, that will be a long and healthy life.
Thomas read the letter at least six times. And as strange it sounded, yes, knowing that he had only been changed optically to be an old man and not really aged did relieve him a lot. He searched the bag and found typical old man’s clothes. A suit, too. Golfing outfits. Trousers with pleated front. Slip-over’s. Cardigans. Cord pants. Old man’s shoes. And he found cigarillos. He found his wallet in the bag, too. And it had been filled… god in heaven, how much was that???? He decided to stay in the motel for some time. Searching the bag once more he had found a passport, not his passport, or maybe it was because it was his old face looking back at him. He was no Canadian anymore, as it seemed. And he was born 1931… Marmaduke Johnson. Strange, the name sounded familiar to him. He accepted that very quickly – that was something he had to think about. He accepted the strange fact of smoking exactly 5 cigarillos a day and eating cake every afternoon. With a tea. He hated tea. After some days in the motel, he woke up with a totally strange and silly plan in his head. It was the most stupid idea he ever had, but nevertheless he was sitting in a rental car now, heading to Florida. He would take the money (yes, it really was THAT much) and would open a beach bar for older and old gay men. To his shock, he had to think about all the bald, grey haired, bearded old guys all the time. And he liked the sight a lot…
But back to the house. Here we’re are still at day 26 or day 1 as one could say. Today was the beginning of the first planned cycle. He had thought about starting with Peter or Robert, but seeing their natural progress, he decided to go with Franklin first. After the three were narcotized, he quickly moved the wheelchair in and rolled Franklin to the cosmetic-room. He looked at his first patient. He was still very blond, his beard growth was surprisingly strong and nearly white, as was his body-hair. The hair looked untidy now, the bald-fade outgrown, not styled. But still shiny and very full. His brows formed two perfect arches of white hair above his eyes with long, shiny eyelashes. The guy had nearly milky skin, perfect, young, virgin. He grabbed the gloves and the hair removal cream and applied it, all over Franklin’s body, head and face. He would show his true self, that was the aim here. The cream needed 45 minutes before he could roll him over to the shower-room and remove it, all of it. Perfect, step one accomplished. He rolled the dry toweled man back to the cosmetic room and grabbed his piercing device. Zack, Zack, Zack, Zack, Zack, Zack, Zack… Septum first, a big one, as big as one can get with the first, snake-bites, tongue, nipples, PA, right brow two, root of the nose, and then gauges for the ears. He had seen that it was possible to reach 12 mm in one session. He found out 15 was possible, too. He fired the tattoo-needle and started that part of the transformation. 5 hours later, Franklin was done for the day. Under the gasmask and with hypno-files on he was left in his room.
Robert realized something really strange. He was tanning. Here, in a cellar, he looked tanned, his skin had a deep bronze tone as if he had spent months in the tropical sun. How could that be? While Robert asked himself, why he looked so damned hot, a chewing Peter cursed himself for eating again. His belly was always bloated, it was forming a ball and his big chest was sacking a bit now. His arms were bigger than ever in his life. But those were not the sculptured muscles he had trained so hard for, the ever-growing biceps looked soft, the arms growing into all directions… He observed that with pride and joy. All his plans worked so far. He thought of his first three guest again and asked himself what the future would have in hand for them. Thomas was different. He had felt guilty in the end, although he had been a thief, a bad boy. He had a clear agenda. He couldn’t start walking around, taking bad guys as prisoners and transform them. He was no Batman, or Baldman, giggle, no. That was the reason why he had given Thomas a new life, a new chance, and a good amount of money, too. As we remember, money has no importance for HIM. He would have been proud finding out, that his three first guests started new and fulfilled lives.
Franklin was under the machine that pumped smoke in his lungs while he was bombarded by hypno-files, so he had all time of the world he wanted to start with Robert. He would take some time, as he had to repeat several parts of the transformation.
Robert was now in front of him in the cosmetic room. He looked at him and smiled. First, he would apply the hair removal cream. He put it all over the guys body and most of his face. The full beard would be history in no time. Then he started a special process on the guys hair, dying and processing it at the same time. Man, what a smell! He took a razor und shaved the upper lip of the sleeping man. When he came back to remove the creams, he saw that the new hair lotion did really work quite well. It was a totally funny look. Back in the cosmetic room, he started to apply a strange smelling, nearly black cream all over Roberts body and face, cursed and whipped the cream away as fast as he could. He was getting old. Again, he had forgotten about the client’s head. Damn it. He mowed away all the hair with clippers before creating an extreme MPB with the removal cream. When he had removed the cream, he buzzed down the remaining fringe and then razor shaved it. Then, he applied the black cream again. He made sure that nearly all parts of Robert’s body were covered, expect the sole and the palm of his hands. Heating lamps were placed all over the guy and he had to wait again. He looked for Franklin in the meantime. The guy was half awake, half in sleep and listened to the files. Tomorrow he would test, if they already started to work, but for today, there was not much to watch. Peter was lifting weights and had his 10th ration of muesli today. Good, but boring as TV-program. He read a bit in a book. The cream needed a lot of time, around 2 hours – and he would do 3 rounds only today. Finally, he decided to go upstairs and eat something. He watched TV for the second round and when he saw the result, he was so impressed, he was excited to see the result after one more round. He watched a movie but could not think about anything else than Robert. When the third round was over, he really had to say WOW aloud. That had worked much, much better than expected. Although tired, he pierced the guys ears and nipples with small golden rings before bringing him into his room and place the mask over his face.
Two days later, day 28, Franklin woke up in his bed. After trying to find out where he was, he realized that he was dressed in a very strange, plastic like material, from his neck to his hands and feet. Even his head and face were covered by the latex, leaving only his eyes and mouth free. He was able to sit up and move his arms relatively free. The room was empty. There was his bed, some monitors and machines, a small chair and small table right of his bed. The smell was strange. It all looked very clean in the room, sterile. And one would expect that the room smelled like a hospital, somewhat chemical. But the room smelled of cold cigarette smoke, beer maybe and a hint of sweat. The sweat may be him, sweating like hell in this plastic thing. He looked again and saw three bottles of beer and a pack of cigarettes on the table, and next to it a nearly full ash-tray. With disgust, he looked at those things. He was thirsty, and his mouth was dry, His tongue felt very strange and he looked around if there was anything to drink except the beer. But there was nothing. No juice, no water, just the beer. He watched his fight. He saw him thinking. Finally, he gave in and opened the first bottle of beer with the lighter. He saw the surprised look in his face, as he had never done that before. He hastily emptied the first bottle, already opening the next. A big, loud belch, and the second beer was nearly gone. He saw him hold in for a moment and he saw his hand above the cigarettes, but he needed the third beer before he had his first cigarette. He did not finish it and stared at it as if it was a poisonous animal. Ok, he had to enforce the hypno-files. Robert woke up, dressed exactly like Franklin. He was totally free to move, what a surprise. He found some food in his room, healthy things, good. And he had to work out!! He started with sit-ups and then went on for three hours to steel his body.
Day 30 came and it was time to work on Robert again. He used the gas and minutes later he was in the OP. He had prepared the dentist’s lamp, placed the device in his mouth and took bleaching cream, a very strong one. After that part was finished, he made him ready for operation. Today’s schedule: Nose and lip injections. The nose was hard to do but he was able to create a very convincing example, VERY convincing. It already had changed the guy’s appearance totally. The lip injections were glorious. The result was stunning. He did not look a bit like the man he had been just some days ago. He was wheeled back to his room and put under hypnosis again.
Day 31 was the second experiment day for Franklin, and for some work on him, too. This time he nearly instantly drank he first bottle of beer and drinking the second he smoked the entire cigarette, a second with the third beer and a third after he had finished drinking. Then he fell asleep as planned. Wheeled to the cosmetic room, he removed, with some struggle, the latex-suit. The tattoos had healed very well as did the ears and piercings. He got more ink, today. A lot more. Then he went to the ears, he could reach 18 mm, not the end yet. Wheeled back to his room, Franklin had no idea what had happened to him.
Day 37, Peter was chewing while he was lifting now. He had so much food that he even he had problems finishing it. But although he had to fight hard, in the end he always won. And that was the problem. He was eating when he was not sleeping. He was even eating when working out. His jaws hurt from all the chewing. Mass piled on. Everywhere. And he hated the beard he had grown over the last weeks as he hated the re-growing body-hair. But that was really his smallest problem, looking at his pot-belly and massive chest, his big back-side and the small rolls of fat forming around his chest-muscles… That disgusting beard covered his starting double chin at least. But he could feel it, when he was chewing. He had learned from the last time. He had found a way to insert 10,000 calories to every meal he gave to Peter. He got three meals a day. He was evolving quickly and impressively. But today he had to finish some work on Robert. It was only six days since his facial operation but he had to check the result. It was all swollen and bruised, but as a good doctor, he already saw that the work was perfect. Totally convincing. After that he wheeled Franklin to the cosmetic-room again. Today he finished his tattoos and enlarged the gauges again, so 20 mm. That was still not the end, but now the ears needed some rest. The hypno-files seemed to work quite well for him now.
Day 50, already. He really took his time with those guys. Roberts face had healed totally now and he was ready for the last steps of his transformation. The fringe had grown back now as had the moustache. He rubbed some of the strange smelling lotion into the moustache he had used for his head and eyebrows already. Before he did that, he had already put in some hair stimulant to his moustache and had washed it out. Franklin reached the wished 32mm with his gauges and impressive 9mm with his septum and nipple piercings. His tattoos all healed very well and the rest of his transformation was the clothing and some new habits he would discover step by step.
So, it was finally Peter’s day. As the nutrition had worked so unbelievable well on him, he nearly needed no work here. The guy with the short full-beard and some body hair looked swollen, big. He checked and found out that he had gained around 100kgs in the last 50 days. Impressive 2kgs a day. Not all of it fat, as he had big arms, looking soft but hiding strong muscles in the soft fat. He already did not look much like the guy that he had met 50 days ago. And he would look a lot less like that when he was finished with him. That was sure. He wheeled him into the cosmetic-room and started his work on his head. All the wavy pomp was going to be waste in minutes. He really enjoyed snipping away the shiny, shimmering locks, leaving bald spots in short, destroyed hair. With great pleasure, he smeared the cream over his client’s head. Then he grabbed the hair-stimulant and put a lot all over the guy’s face, chest, shoulders, legs, arms, even hands and feet. While waiting he watch the sleeping guy. He was impressed by his ability to grow weight. He would be something between Gordon and Greg he had decided. He washed away the creams on his body around 50 minutes later but not in his beard. He left it work its magic there for more than 2,5 hours. When he removed it, it was…wow, again. He got a tattoo on his big arm, a Celtic tribal, not too big, not too small. After that he maneuvered him into a latex-suit, not so easy with all his mass. Then he placed him under the mask and the files.
Day 54 was the next treatment for Peter. This time a special dye was put to all his hair on his body and he got a neat trim to his fringe. That was all he had to do, now it was only waiting until the hypno-files showed results and they did quickly.
Day 60 was the day of the final reveal. The setting was put up exactly like last time as he thought that was good dramatic structure. The newly dressed men were sitting in their chairs and slowly woke up. He gave them some minutes to get their orientation back before he started the tape. It contained the same message as last time. “Now, who wants to be the first who will see his new self? Mhh, no answer, ok why don’t why start with Franklin. So, Franklin, be prepared for the show of your life!”
Peter stared at the enormous screen that showed a picture of Franklin on the cat-walk. He was one of those very slim, very blond models, a bit feminine for his taste and a bit too thin. But nevertheless, he was a damn good looking guy with his big eyes, his perfect mane of platinum hair. Then, suddenly the pictures changed and showed a guy in a wheelchair. The man was… totally hair-free. No hair on his head, no eyebrows, no hair in his face (if he had seen a close up he had have known that there were no eye-lashes neither), no hair on his arms. He guy was skinny, really skinny, and dressed in a worn out Fred-Perry polo-shirt, braces, bleached, rolled up jeans, heavy boots, a bomber-jacket was hanging over the wheel-chair. The guy had a cigarette behind his ear. Man, those ears. They were pierced, with tunnels, very big tunnels. He had put in two heavy metal-discs, that seemed to pull the ears further down. That was not the only metal, the guy had in his face. He had an enormous septum ring, snake bites, two “brow”-piercings and one could see the thick rings in his nipples through the shirt. Along with all those piercings, he was tattooed with colorful old-school tattoos everywhere. Anchors, crosses, sculls, spider’s web on both elbows, a similar one at his neck. A light-house, a ship, his arms were full of ink, as was what one could see of his chest. Even his hands were tattooed with a skull and a rose. Only his head and face were tattoo-free. This freaky gay skinhead was in a wheelchair like he was, Peter thought. He could not get the idea in his head. That could not be Franklin!! Before he could rethink the idea, the screen showed a picture of Robert, a very manly model with beard and man-bun, shirtless in the woods, only jeans and boots. Peter had heard about him, being a racist. But he looked damned hot, pity all these hot guys seemed to be idiots… But then the pictures changed again and now the entire scene made even less sense than before. Now he saw a black guy in a wheel-chair, wearing nothing but golden swim-trunks. The guy looked like an African god, perfect abs, perfect muscles, a smooth, hairless and nearly black, shiny, shimmering skin. His nipples were pierced with small golden ring as were his ears. His lips were very fleshy, even for an African and looked a bit humid and rosy in that very dark face with a very broad nose with wide nostrils. His eyes stood out like the teeth because of their perfect white. He had a clean shaved face except a well-trimmed moustache that accentuated his big, sexy lips. His head was totally, shiny bald but one could see a shadow of a MPB fringe when he moved the head. It was not easy to see, as the skin of the guy was really dark. Now, he gulped, as the screen showed himself. Smooth, sportive, muscular, no beard, the hair perfectly styled. He knew that he had gained so much weight… so he had no great interest in seeing himself in that devastated. When the pictures changed it was worse than he could have imagined in his worst nightmare. The men on the screen, he himself, was bald. A very wide MPB greeted him, with a neatly trimmed fringe in dark grey with some white and some black in it. He had some deep wrinkles on his forehead and his brows were grey as his “hair”. To his shock and disgust he had a full-beard. Not an ordinary full-beard, but one that reached his belly-button. It was grey, with some strands still nearly black and other nearly white. He sported a cotton shirt with the first buttons open so that he could see the fat and furry chest and a bit of the big ball of a gut. He had jeans on and heavy shoes… Before he could even realize what had happened him, he passed out. He had decided to use a different motel this time. Not only another hotel – but exactly the opposite direction, 7 hours away from the lodge. He was able to put the three guys to bed, undressed them, placed the bags in the room and left without any notes.
Franklin was naked under the blanket and what he saw showed him that all that had been real, no nightmare, but bitter reality. He had been slim all his life, but no he was not much more than bones and skin. All his muscles were gone, those muscles he had worked so hard to gain. And the milky white body was totally hair-free. Like in trance he looked at the tattoos. Heavy tattoos all over his body. A big ship on his chest, the word skin-head in large gothic letters over his belly, a light-house, some anchors, birds, stars, boots, an English-flag, the word “Oi” and much more covered his entire arms from shoulder to wrist. The right hand had a skull on it, the left a rose. His knuckles showed the word “SKINHEAD” again. He saw the enormous nipple rings pulling down his nipples and he saw the big, silver monster of a PA. Moving his tongue in his mouth he realized, that he had a piercing there, too, like he had one in his nose. When he moved his head, he could feel the heavy metal discs in his ears moving, swinging forth and back. Shaking, he touched his face, felt the strange piercings at his lips, the root of his nose and at the place where his brow used to be. All just metal and skin. No beard, not a hint of shadow, no brows, no hair. He really needed to see himself. He walked over to the bathroom as it was the only room with a mirror in it. The reflection showed him, that he entire look was even more horrible than he had thought. He looked totally freakish – like a skinhead. A bald, tattooed and pierced gay skinhead to be precise. He observed all parts of his body, the disgusting tattoos, the heavy piercings, the enormous holes in his ears. One could see his rib-cage and his arms were very thin, skinny, like his legs. There was still a bit left of his six-pack, but just a hint of the former glory. His hair-less face with all the metal in it gave him a strange look, somewhat brutal and somewhat submissive. And kind of stupid. What to do? That was his first thought He could not stay like that, that was the only thing he was sure about. He would need to get all those disgusting tattoos removed… oh god, no he could never… but, he needed… but no, that was impossible, he could not let them be destroyed… burned away. But he needed to look like his normal self again, so there was no other chance… but no,. removing them was somehow not an option he could really think of. Neither could he remove the piercings. In fact, he really could not remove them without heavy tools, but he could not even finish the thought of removing them without sweating a cold sweat of fear and panic. When his hair would grow back, that should help maybe. And the clothes, too. He could cover up most of the skin-tattoos with some shirts… but he would need to wear polo’s…wait, why would he need to wear them…because they looked good with bleachers. No, he had no bleachers… why should he have skinhead pants??
He needed a smoke now – no, he did not, as he did not smoke. He did, obviously, while held prisoner, but that must have been the nerves. But that would stop right now and right, he swore this to himself, while he relaxed, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. He walked through after storing a cig behind his ear and observed the other two guys. He did not recognize them, not a bit. He found the huge sport bag sitting at the end of his bed. It had a small sign that showed his name. He opened the surprisingly large and heavy bag and found his personal belongings in a small plastic bag. The rest was not his, surely not. Bleachers, 4 pairs, all a bit worn out, a bit used, two camouflage pants, three pairs of heavy boots, 30 holes, one pair black, one red and one dark blue. He found a base-cap with the name LONSDALE tagged on it. The bag contained muscle shirts with words like “Oi” or “SKINHEAD” printed on them. Several polo-shirts, Fred Perry, Lonsdale, Ben Sherman, all used, second hand. Socks and underwear- it was clean and smelled fresh, but looked like second hand, too. Down, at the bottom of the bag he found a latex polo shirt and latex shorts… Next to the bag, a plastic shopping bag contained beer, booze and cigarettes.
While he searched through the bag, the two other guys woke up. While Peter had problems in waking up fully, Robert was already screaming while looking down at his body. His perfect body. A wide, muscular chest, a perfect six-pack, all muscles well defined and trained, rock hard. A thing, he would have killed for some weeks ago. The problem: Gone was all his body-hair he loved so much and the damn body he saw was BLACK. The skin was very dark, the type like some of those east African athletes have. Black!! He nearly jumped out of his bed and stormed to the bathroom. There he was, a damn African!!! His face was not his face anymore. No more long, prominent nose and a small, hard looking lips. Now he had a broad nose with enormous nostrils and god, what a mouth. His mouth looked swollen and a bit humid, with big, big, big rosy lips in his nearly black face. The moustache that rested above the bulbous upper-lip accentuated its volume even more. Without the beard, the broad nose and the fat lips, he actually looked like an African, not just like a tanned European guy. His moustache was very curly and black, while he normally had wavy brown hair. His head was mostly hair-free, glistening in the bath-room light. When he touched the dark brown, smooth skin in disbelieve. When he explored his head, he realized that it was not totally smooth all over but in fact sported a fringe of very hard bristle that was just nearly invisible due to his super dark skin. While he cursed the world for this, Peter finally had managed to get up.
He was as fat and hairy as the picture had shown him. It was strange, but he never thought it had been just a nightmare. He had seen himself growing fatter and fatter in his cell. After seeing what he had done to his two “friends”, the bald head, beard and body-hair he had got, was really the least painful transformation. A plan already formed in his mind. Diet. Sports. A full body and head-shave. In a year he would be his old self again and he would forget about that story once the bastard who did this to them was in jail. He had put on a shirt he had found in his bag, jeans and shoes and stepped outside the room, he wanted fresh air. And he had smoke a cigar… WHAT??? Half way through it he realized what he was doing. He wanted to throw the thing away, but he couldn’t. So, he finished it while he checked the money in his wallet and walked some meters to a gas station with a little shop. He entered and searched for an electric razor, razors and shaving cream. He found all what he needed and dropped the things in his basket. When he walked back to pay, he looked again in the basket and thought that it would be crazy to shave the beard. No, he could not do it … it was because… because, one would see his double chin. And maybe hairy fat was less ugly than smooth and fat?? Yes, first he should start to work out again and lose them weight- Which would be hard, as he needed food right now. Instead of buying the shaving devices, he bought some hotdogs (12…), some chips, beer, chocolate and ice-cream. He thought that he needed to adjust his body slowly to the diet and right now his nerves just needed fat, salt, sugar and some alcohol.
The next morning, the three guys got dressed – boot, bleachers, polo and bomber-jacket for Franklin – man, he really needed braces and a Harrington jacket, NO, damn, he did not need those things…., the tightest shirt ever seen on a living person with fitting jeans for Robert, a nice cotton T-shirt and jeans for Peter, and his pipe and some cigars- and so they searched for a rental car and the next police station. They reported that they had been kidnapped but even after officer had called in their home-town, several federal states away…., nobody had reported them missing. Nobody seemed to care. And the story of three models being kidnapped and transformed to a black sex-god, a skinny skinhead and a bearish man in the end of his 50’s sounded a bit too crazy for the officer. He made a fake report to calm down the three weirdoes and told them they should return home and wait to be called by the police.
They drove back, they needed some days and in the meantime, they got really annoyed by each other. Franklin was constantly cursing, spitting, belching, farting and smoking. He always excused himself immediately but it seemed to get worse over the time. He had no shower in the first two days and had to be forced to take one the last night they spent together as especially the smell of his feet had become unbearable. Robert annoyed the other with his mania of eating healthy and working out. He even stopped sometimes in the middle of nowhere, just to work out. Peter was not annoying anybody. He was calm. Although his mind was in full speed and he was very close to freak out, nearly every time he smoked or ate all the things he ate, he looked like Buddha, resting in himself. They were lucky, when they could say good bye. All three went home and all three decided the same night, that this was not the place to stay.
The thought was like a flash and whipped away the fear, the panic. All three still waited for the police to call, all three did not wish anything more than being their old selves again. But somehow, they all knew, nothing of that would happen. So, all three followed their (implanted) ideas. Franklin works in a fetish-club now, as bar-keeper and boy for everything. He enjoyed being surrounded by other freaks. He shared a huge flat with some (nobody knew how many) gay skins and here, nobody forced him to shower, or not to curse, free to spit, to fart, belch and smoke, always a beer in his hand. That had become his life. Working in the bar four nights a week, the rest of the time with his filthy mates. Robert had become a gay porn-star and activist for the rights of black gay people… Sometimes his old thoughts about blacks crossed his mind. How silly he had been. Peter moved to Florida, where he worked for a social project. He had a nice small flat, lovely neighbors and one day, he discovered a newly opened gay bar, right at the beach. “Grey and GAY”, sounded like something for him. He became a regular visitor and one evening met Marmaduke, the owner. He was a fascinating person. He was… no idea, 75 maybe? – but moved, talked, jumped and danced like a guy in his mid-twenties. After some weeks of constant talking to Marmaduke, he realized that he really liked the guy. That was strange. He was 30, even when he looked more like 60 now, and so the guy was at least 40 years older than him. He should still fall for the young, sportive boys. He fought his feelings for some months, but finally gave in. He had a lovely date with Marmaduke, followed by other dates. And some more. Finally they were in bed together and again the old guy surprised him as he was strong, creative and all worked VERY well down there.
**Two years later ** Around two years after their imprisonment, Gordon and his husband had decided to have a long week-end in Florida. When they arrived at Miami Airport they saw an announcement for a stage show. Gordon did not believe his eyes. Zack was staring down at him, a broad smile in his face that revealed the golden teeth. His moustache was as long as he had remembered it to be. Still a shiny bald dome with the long, yellow fringe, the tattoos, the hillbilly outfits… he now had a shows called “WT II – white trash returns” and it was here in Miami, tonight. His husband looked a bit surprised. “Haven’t you heard about that guy? He had become quite famous at the east coast and had a huge TV show last summer. I heard, it is really funny. Maybe we should take the chance and see it!” Gordon was still like in shock. Zack. It really was Zack. “Aehm, yeah, why not?” While they drove to the theatre in the evening, Gordon’s heart pumped hard. After moving away and finding his new love, he had tried not to think about that time, two years ago. And now, here in his holiday, he was confronted with all that. “Ahm, darling, I have to confess, I do know Zack, personally, but I did not know he had a show—”. His husband seemed to be a bit surprised but just nodded his head. “Ok”. The show was great, fantastic. Zack looked like white-trash, but he was smart, intelligent, funny and sharp. People totally believed him his character, he even smoked on stage. After the show, he wanted to congratulate his old… friend. They walked to the stage door and there he bumped into a muscular guy with a big, hard belly, dressed totally in leather, a thick, firm moustache in his manly weathered face, a cigar in his mouth, a shiny bald head with the tiniest fringe possible. “GREG?” Gordon nearly screamed like a school girl. The big guy looked at the big, fringed man with moustache and pipe and hugged him. “Gordon, what are you doing here?” They talked to each other, Gordon introduced his husband and Greg a guy, he had met at a shooting. It was Robert, a quite famous “actor” and activist for the rights of gays in general and black gays in special. He had read something about him in a magazine. When Zack came out, the three guys hugged each other, jumped and screamed. It was funny to see those three bald man acting like teenage girls.
Finally, they decided to have a drink. Nobody had an idea where to go, and the gay app only showed one bar close, so they walked to that place. They realized, that the only person dressed for the occasion as it was fetish bar. Nevertheless they decided to have a beer (water for Robert). Gordon’s husband had ordered the drinks, but it was Robert who wanted to carry them over from the bar to the table, when the bartender was looking right in his face. “Is that fucking you??? Damn what fucking shit!!!” The heavily pierced, tattooed and hair-less skinhead nearly jumped over the bar and Robert and Franklin hugged each other. His shift would end 20 minutes and after that, he would help them find another bar, something more suitable for the gentlemen.
Zack, Gordon, Greg, Robert, Franklin and Gordon’s husband walked through the warm air of the night. They talked and talked and talked. Finally, they reached a nice bar, right at the beach. “Grey and gay, seriously?? Oh, thank you!” Zack said but they walked in. The atmosphere was relaxed and “hip” although most of the guest were over 60. They sat down at a table and waited for the waiter. He came and …screamed. “ROBERT??? FRANKLIN????” the waiter was only a helping hand, in his normal life he was street-worker… An enormous man, with a big gut, a hairy chest, a bald head and a monstrous full beard, and nobody but Peter. Moments later he had introduced his husband Marmaduke to his old and new friends and all were talking until Gordon’s husband asked: “So, where did you meet the first time?” While everybody was thinking like in panic, Franklin belched, light a cigarette and said: “Oh, we three in a fucking cell. Some cunt had kidnapped us and then transformed us!” Gordon laughed hysterically, hahah, yeah, what a story. He felt Zack, kicking him under the table and he saw the expression of total shock on Greg’s and Marmaduke’s face alike. “Nah, dat’s no story, it’s the fucking shit of the truth!” Spit. “Please, tell me more!” now Zack said. “Not much of a story. We have been models and bad actors. Some crazy cunt wanted to punish us for that and kidnapped us. He held us imprisoned for I don’t know how long and then he transformed us, with surgery, with tattoos and he has fucked up our mind, didn’t he boy? You don’t believe me, sure thing, sounds hard to believe that Robert here in fact is a white racist, eh??” “O shut your mouth! I have changed, I really have!” Zack looked at his friends’ faces. “Was it a basement? Three small cells? A hospital?” Now the second groups looked shocked but Peter nodded his head. “A guy you never saw? Strange nutrition?? Yeah, fucking around with our minds, that is exactly the word to describe it!” Marmaduke grabbed his lover’s arm. “I know nothing about cells and strange nutrition, but I know about wheelchairs and a hospital without windows. I know, that I am 25 years old and … Canadian.” The first thing Peter thought was not “OH MY GOD” but: WOW, that explains a lot. And wow again, as he would have a long and happy life with his YOUNG lover. Now they all talked about their imprisonment. Long after the bar had closed, they were still sitting together talking and finally Gordon’s husband said. “I think I met the same guy… around 3 years ago. I was unhappy with my life and searched for a total change… You see, I am 27 years old and I let him transform me. He said it was part of a medical study, something like that. I was not imprisoned and my nutrition did not work out the way yours did, but he had used hypno-files back then, too.” They found out that the guy really was a surgeon, and a biologist. Very rich and quite famous. Their first reaction was calling the cops, or driving all the way to his clinic and shot him, or kidnap him or whatever. But after thinking a lot about all what had happened, they came to a totally surprising solution.
Zack was very successful now, more than ever before, Marmaduke/Thomas was his own boss now, earning honest money with the love of his life by his side, a man he would never have met without both of them being prisoners of HIM. The same was true for Gordon, who really loved his husband. Greg was successful, too. And he had found out, that he really liked all that leather and cigar stuff. Robert really meant what he said, declaring that he had changed radically. Even Franklin was happy (although a tiny part of him told him that this was part of the punishment and of the hypno-files). Nobody had cared for them in their old lives. Nobody had noticed they were gone. They decided not to go to the police and not to see HIM. What they decided was to meet every six months, right here in Miami. On the flight back, Gordon, happier than ever before in his life, thought about HIM for the first time without fear. Maybe he had gone on “punishing” pricks like he had been one, and opening a door for them, they did not even know existed.
** New Guests **
Here HE was, standing in his living room and watching the screens, showing him his newest guests. Before he had brought them in he had to clean the house and the cells properly. Now three new guests finally rested in deep sleep in his house, ready to be transformed and punished. The house had been empty for several months now. And that had happened like that: Although he had planned otherwise, he had not gone on as planned. Two rounds of punishments were enough, not for ever but for some time. Like his guests, he had been a prisoner to his house in the mountains. After releasing his last three guests aka patients, he felt numb, empty and exhausted. He decided to return to his town house, work, read good books and see people again. He tried very hard to relax and not to think about his plans but it was nearly impossible. He craved for information about his last six guests, what had happened to them? How did they deal with their new bodies and therefore new life? And he kept seeing pricks all over the city, guys who really needed a punishment. So, after three months, he was in his lab again, the one he had in the city. He had already planned a round 3 but after doing the fantastic racial change on Robert, he had changed his plans. He wanted something different now. And so, he had to adjust the tools and research other things. After two more months, he was done with his preparation work and he decided to go fishing, some hundred miles to the north. He loved those tiny villages there. He enjoyed a nice long week-end doing nothing but fishing, eating and reading. Every evening he took a walk through the nice little town thinking about his next project and if he really was able to do it. On his way back home, he had to stop for gas and there he met Ole. He was a surfer type guy with long, blond locks, down to his chin, a slim, brown figure, a tank-top, shorts, flip-flops, very tall, short, dense blond full beard, blue eyes. The guy was a bit older than he had thought, closer to 30. He was talking with the guy in the small shop. He had an accent, something Scandinavian he assumed. He tried not to look too obviously in his direction but overheard the he had with the guy of the shop. The young Swede, he decided he was Swedish, explained that he had been in Canada and was now travelling south to Florida. He had all time he wanted as his parents had passed away some time ago and had left him a good amount of money. He liked to keep things simple while travelling and so he hoped to find someone to give him lift to the next town with a bus-station. While saying that he looked in HIS direction but HE just nodded his head. He bought some cookies and paid for his gas and left the station.
Around one mile down the road there was a bus-station and so he parked next to it. As expected the young guy came down the road only half an hour later. It had started to rain and the guy was running to reach the bus stop that looked like a small wooden shag. He waited until he had passed the small side way he was parking in. The next bus would not come soon and so he waited a bit longer before slowing driving past the bus stop. He stopped some meters away, opened and door and screamed through the now heavily falling rain. “Hey, changed my mind, why don’t you just hop in?” The guy grabbed his backpack and ran through the rain. Soaked, he jumped in to the car. “Thanks man!” And off he went. The two guys talked a bit, Ole, 31 years old and enjoying some free time. He was from Oslo – so not Swedish, but liked the sun, liked the warm seas. HE asked him what had brought him to Canada than, but he just explained that he met some old friends in Vancouver. Now he wanted to go south, first California, later Florida. HE told him that he was a lucky guy, as he was heading to California. He offered him a ride for the entire journey. “See, travelling alone is quite boring!” he said and Ole luckily agreed. When night fell, HE decided it would be better to sleep some hours and they found a nice cozy motel. They shared a room with two beds and HE offered some drinks. Ole gladly agreed and HE went to the machine in the hall to get some beers. They drank and chatted quite some time before both men fell asleep.
They had breakfast in a small diner and while Ole was peeing, he dropped something in his juice and his coffee. Ole insisted to pay, finished both his drinks and 5 minutes later they were back in the car. Ole seemed to be a bit tired. “The night was short and I had not slept well the last days, so I could close my eyes a bit and…” and gone he was. When Ole woke up 18 hours later he found himself in a bed – at least it felt like a bed. He wanted to move – impossible. He wanted to see something – impossible. A mask and a strange-feeling hood was all over his head and face. A tube or something was inside his mouth and his throat, making it impossible for him to speak. He was in total panic and shock, a fear he had never experienced in his life until this very moment. While the hypno-files were already entering his mind, he tried to fight the chains holding him down. HE left him there for 30 days, immobilized, blind, gagged and only able to listen to the hypno-Files. All his body-functions were under his control and automatized. He had to check on the guy every 10 or 12 hours but in between he was freer than before. That made it easier for him to spent such a long time on one single transformation. The hypnosis needed to be VERY strong this time a he planned more than just a change of habits, no this time it was much more.
He did not want to spoil his joy and so he had not planned to test an entire transformation but parts of it on this guy, creating something unique but not typical for him. The guy had been slim and lean when he had arrived and now he had less body fat and looked slimmer. Still a nice six-pack, but kind of wiry. He was sleeping a deep dreamless sleep while he carefully removed the mask with the tube and after that placed him into the famous wheel-chair. He already had prepared the cosmetics-room already and placed the wheel-chair in the middle of the room, took some lamps to have the perfect light and looked at the undressed man. A blond Viking. Blond body-hair, blond full beard (now longer of course), blond fur on his arms and legs, still some rests of tan. Not that these points mattered anymore - at least not after he was done with him. He had thought and thought about the guys transformation and as said before, he decided against a full test. What he really needed to know were two things: did the new recipe of the permanent tanning cream would give the results he wanted, did the hypno-files really work? Those were the most important things – but in the case of Ole he was not thinking about HIS dreams of transformations, of bearish guys, gut and mpb’s… no, this one would be different.
He grabbed his latex gloves and the large can of hair removal cream. With both hands, he started to smear it over the guy’s entire body, leaving no part of it untouched, most of the beard was covered, too, as was the head (this time without snipping away the length, he had strengthened the formula again) and his eyebrows. One could think he would re-create a kind of Franklin, but no, that was not the case. He looked at the guy, all covered in the white cream that would dissolve hair, eat its roots, leave him as smooth as one could be. The stronger formula needed less time to work and it dissolved the hair itself, just like a normal hair-removal cream. With some rough towels, he could remove the cream, leaving clumps of yellowish mud-like cream in the tissue and smooth skin behind. He started at his legs and worked his way up until he reached the neck. All smooth now, shiny and soft. No traces of the fur-like blond hair. With the beard gone, his moustache looked like drawn with milk on his upper-lip – but not for long. Right now, the left brow was cleared away, followed by the left. That did not change his face to radically as the brows had been very, very light. What massively changed the guy appearance was the hair on his head. Once shiny, long blond locks already had transformed into nothing but yellow mud stuck to his hair. It easily came off when he rubbed it with the towel. There he was now, nearly totally hairless with only a stache left. He washed the body before changing the gloves and the can, now applying the new formula of a tanning serum he had developed. The smell was different, too. The cream looked nearly golden on the boy’s body. He made sure to have all areas covered before he started the lights above him to help the cream work its magic. 20 minutes later, Ole had developed a bronze tan, not too dark, just what he had planned for the guy. Nice, the cream worked and so he was sure he could reach what he had planned for his next real guests. As the creams worked quite effective he decided to make some minor changes, too. He styled the remaining moustache in the way he had planned it, two separated small lines of hair on his upper-lip. Then he grabbed for new gloves and carefully covered the remaining fine stache with his permanent hair-dye. After piercing both his ears with huge fake diamonds, he decided that this was it for today. He rolled the now well-tanned and mostly hair-less guy back to the room, installed the mask again that made him blind and deaf for the exterior world and installed the guy back to all the machines that took control over him.
10 days more the guy spent in a fog of hypno-files before finally he was transferred to the OP. He had to do some major face-sculpting in this case, no trace of a Viking face would remain. The OP took hours and was hard work but there was nothing a good surgeon could not solve. For an amateur it would be impossible to really see what he had done as the face was swollen and full of bruises but he was an trained and experienced surgeon and so he knew he had done a great job.
21 days of hypno-files followed, but now, every second day, the mask was gone and with a tight latex suite and gloves on he was able to sit up, read and eat normal food. His arms were chained to the bed and he was not able to touch his head or face. The face felt numb and had a strange plastic mask all over his cheeks, nose and chin while the latex suite covered his head and ears. He was still in panic but what could he do? He screamed the first two days he was able to do it, with no results. Day three he saw the cameras and started begging, still no answer. His food was served automatically, as was his water. He saw nobody, heard nobody. And every second day he was still attacked by the hypno-files. He had weird dreams he remembered sometimes, very strange and realistic dreams that made absolutely no sense to him. The problem was, that he never remembered the hypno-session and he had no idea that he was in this house for 61 days already. For him he was imprisoned here for several days now…
The 22nd day brought the last revelation of the new facial features. He removed the mask the final time. He had seen the results before, when washing his guest and checking about the operation wounds. Now the bruises were gone totally as was the swelling. Nobody would recognize the guy now, that was for sure, and he was not done yet. Back in the cosmetics-room he was placed under a strong lamp and HE got the designs he had planned for him. He placed the paper with the required patterns all over his body, removed it and left the stamp of the pattern before he fired his tattoo needle. He worked several hours, the same the next day and the day after that and the day after that before Ole was done… 10 days later in a hotel room in some hot and dusty place…
Ole is in a bed. Waking up he realized that he was no longer in the hospital room. Like hit by an electric stroke, he sat up in the bed. He was naked under the blanket and he removed it. What in heaven??? That was not his body! When he touched his head, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Where he was used to long locks, there was nothing like skin. That could not be true. What had happened to him??? He left the bed, still touching the denuded head and looking in disbelief at his body. He walked to the bathroom to get a look of what had happened to him. That all made no sense. Back from the mirror, a Mexican gangster stared back at him. The guy in the mirror had a hook-like nose, not a straight one like himself. The guy was clean shaved with only a small pitch-black moustache resting on his upper lip. The stache had been carefully carved, two perfect beams of black hair, separated by a small gap just in the middle. The large, almond shaped eyes gave the guy an exotic look. But the guy was not just a simple Latin guy. No, far from that. Instead of eyebrows he had two tattoos resting above his eyes, re-creating the shaved off arches of hair. It was a text on each side, all written in a very artistic way and hard to read. The one “brow” said “La Familia” the other one “Lealidad”. The guy was bald, very bald but one could see the dark, black shadow forming a cap of shadow around his head. His hairline was clearly visible although the head was beamingly bald. The man in the mirror had to big fake diamonds in his ears and tattoos everywhere. Praying hands on the left upper arm, a large Madonna on the left. A huge Mexican eagle on the chest, some text he was not able to decipher (yet), a huge skull at his back, roses on his hands, more smaller designs everywhere. The guy had golden eyeteeth. What was totally strange was the fact, that the guy imitated all movements Ole made. The thought was just too strange. That man could not be him. How. He had been captured for only a few days and that was not possible. His entire face had changed, nothing, really nothing looked like before. His skin – if it was his skin – had turned into a caramel color, the moustache was black, the entire facial features that of a Latin man. He was from Norway! He was a Viking!!! But the man in the mirror that had to be him. Not that the thought really reached his brain but he was about to understand the fact that there was no mysterious Mexican living in a mirror-land. He touched the body that was his – or not. He touched the denuded scalp. No stubble, just skin, although one could think it was rough already. The denuded brows, the little moustache… the diamonds in his ears. He touched the tattoos – not that one could feel them but seeing his reflection doing the same made them more… real?? After one hour, he walked back to his room. He discovered some bags in the room and decided to have a look what they contained. Two contained clothes – but surely not his. One contained shoes, sneakers mostly, neither his. A small bag contained several heavy silver rings and chains and without much thinking he put on boxer briefs and the chains and already felt a bit better. A third back contained a bunch of documents, cigarettes and beer. The last bag was a backpack and it contained… money???? A lot of money. But strange looking money. Looking closer he could identify the money as Mexican currency. And now he observed the documents again. He found his passport – no, that was surely not HIS passport. He smoked a cigarette – why, he did not smoke! – while reading the documents. Birth certificates, school references, a social security card and a passport. The date of birth was right, but that was it. This strange document had been written in a town with too many ch and x to pronounce, somewhere in south Mexico. It said that his name was José Manuél Rodriguez Martínez, his father unknown, his mother a certain Maria with the same family names. He had visited a school in Mexico City and then worked in a company that sold cars. He knew that all was not true, but a voice in his head told him that it WAS his past. He dressed in a very wide and long shirt and baggy pants his purse in his back pocket with a silver chain. At least, he had not found any records about him, no gang member as it seemed, no time in prison.
When he left the room, he found himself in a hall way of a hotel. He went downstairs to the hall and wanted to ask who had brought him here. He asked the guy sitting at a desk and he answered in a very fast Spanish. “No idea, pero la habitación ya está pagado!” While he wanted to explain to the guy that he did not speak a word of Spanish, he answered fluently in the same language. Stunned he stepped back. Wait a second. He walked over to the bar and ordered a coffee, asking the guy about the weather… although he thought he was speaking English, out came perfect slang Spanish. He talked to the guy and he had not to think - just out it came. He went back to his room and looked again at the documents. He realized that he had been reading in Spanish all the time… There was a smartphone in the bag, too. Charged. And there was his address, in Mexico-City, and a document explaining that he had just bought a huge garage for tuning cars. He was surprised all the time. He counted the money and was more shocked than surprised. The bag contained a fortune, a small one at least. 250,000 Dollars… man, what was going on here. He grabbed the bags and left the hotel. He was in a small town and asked his way to the police station while googleing the place he was. The place was a village near Tuxtla Gutiérrez, State of Chipas, South Mexico, so far, far away from the US. The place he was at was called Chiapa de Corzo and there was one huge road, the Carrer Internacional, he had stayed in the hotel San Sebastian at the main road. The police station was very small but only a few hundred meters away. When he entered to tell the officer, he had been kidnapped somewhere in the northern USA and woke up here in Mexico, he concentrated to really speak English this time. When he opened his mouth, and started to explain what happened, he had a very hard Spanish accent and made several errors. It was obvious, that Spanish was his mother tongue. Of course, the officer thought he tried to fool him and screamed at him he should leave. So, he grabbed his things and took a taxi to the state capital, only some miles away. He tried his luck again at the police station, and failed again. His idea of taking a flight back home came to his mind. There was an airport nearby that could bring him to the capital and from there he would get a ticket to Norway and leave that nightmare behind him. But his passport. He had no passport. But back in Norway he could report to the police there. A thought formed in his mind. What if he was not able to speak Norwegian anymore???? He grabbed his phone and called the Oslo police. The guy asked something and in total panic he realized that he was not fully understanding what the man was saying. When he tried to answer, it was as if the words melted in his brain, he was only able to say a few words in Norwegian, he forgot the moment he pronounced them. He nearly threw the mobile back into the bag, close to tears. After nearly one week in a hotel in the state-capital Tuxtla, he took a flight to the capital. It seemed that he had a flat there… and that would be his fortress while thinking who he could get his old life back. The flat was surprisingly spacious, with three rooms, a roof terrace and it was situated in a nice barrio of the city. His garage was modern, well equipped and he had a team of trained mechanics, all hired via internet. He could not stay home all day and so he started working in the garage. And he made friends with his workers, most looking like him. It was weeks now since his release and there was still no hair on his head or body, neither did his brows grow back. But he always kept that 5 o’clock shadow at his head as it had been tattooed to his head. Between all those bald, moustached and heavily tattooed men, he did not feel like a freak. It felt like La Familia.
After receiving his three new guests, he was watching them as always. That was part of the show for him, part of the joy. The men now down in his dungeon were chosen according to the transformations he had in mind. His test with his latest client had shown him one thing: The hypno-files needed a lot of time to sink in as deep as was necessary. Therefore, he did not plan in letting them stay too long in their cells. Only one guy, Pablo, would have the honor of staying quite some time in his cell. The guy was already very muscular, with dark chest hair, curly black hair to his shoulders and a strong three day’s stubble in his face. The man in his late 20’s was furious being captured in a cell and he hammered against the crystal with his strong fists, his big biceps bulking, his impressive chest covered in sweat.
Kevin, his second guest, was just sitting in the bed, staring. He was around the same age, red mop of curly hair, nearly no body hair on his milk white body with lots of freckles, only a bit of red fuzz in his face, large, green eyes. He was a bit feminine HE thought, with a six pack but a very lean figure close to skinny.
Roland, his third guest, was the oldest, 32 years old, muscular, with dark blond hair in a longer style, reaching nearly his shoulders, totally straight, full and shiny. He had a bit of bear stubble, golden and shiny on his rock-hard chin. Due to a lot of work-out and a strict diet he was well built. HE was already very excited thinking about their changes as they would be different again, very different indeed. As the guys had not eaten anything for nearly two days, he gave them their first ration, already spiced – a lot for Pablo, only a bit for the others. He had installed speakers in the cells, hidden, but nevertheless very strong. He would start the hypno-files during the first night already and hoped they would work – at least help the later bombardment in the hospital wing. That was a new addition and he was not sure if they would work at all. He hoped so.
Roland was still sobbing. How could that have happened to him?? It had been a normal casting and he remembered stepping into a small cabin to change when suddenly a hissing sound filled the air and a gas or something had filled the air. After that, nothing, only blackness and darkness. He had seen two other guys, a slim ginger and a well-build Latino. He was not able to see the other men in the cells next to him, but he could hear somebody hammering with his fists against the crystal, screaming and cursing in English and Spanish, so he assumed that the Latino was here, too. Surely the red-head was here, too. He was not sure, of course. Maybe the guy had been part of the plan? Maybe he was not a victim but somehow involved in all this. Why would one kidnap him? He was not famous, not rich and he had no wealthy parents. He feared that whoever did that to him would harm him – just for fun or to pleasure a strange sexual perversion. A strange clacking sound disturbed his thoughts. A muesli-like food was inserted automatically in a large bowl right from his bed. He was very hungry and so he started to eat the strange food. It did not seem to be poisoned and the taste was ok, although it was a bit hard to swallow as it was very dry. So, he drank from the sink in his cell, a good amount of water.
Kevin started. He was not able to think. He could not figure out what had happened to him. Had he been watched? Chosen for a reason? Or was he just a randomly picked victim of some crazy cunt??? He had no idea. He heard the same clacking sound and saw the same strange muesli food being inserted into an empty bowl – but he did not touch it, although he was very hungry. One would not guess, but normally he was a good eater. He looked at the bowl for a second and then stared again.
Five hours of screaming, hammering, cursing, more screaming and hammering had left Pablo totally exhausted. Covered in sweat he finally sank to his knees, pressing his face against the cold surface of the crystal wall. Finally, he could get up again and realized the food in the bowl. It tasted like shit, but it was something to eat and so he started chewing away the muesli.
HE had stopped watching some time ago as he had to prepare two rooms in the hospital wing for his first two guests. He would start with Roland as he would need to stay quite some time there, longer than Kevin for sure – although what he had planned for him was a big transformation, too. After preparing the masks and all the devices that would take over the control of all body-functions he tested the hypno-files, checked the cosmetics-room and the OP and then went to bed. He needed to be fresh and strong over the next days.
Pablo tried not to sleep but finally he gave in and fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep until he was woken up by a cry or something. It was Kevin who woke up from a night-mare just to realize that it was the terrifying reality. Roland did not wake up – he was gone already, in a deep sleep in the hospital wing while HE installed the masks and restrains. The hose that would feed him, the other hoses to keep him clean. A huge machine was connected to the mask and the hose. The machine looked like a pump, with two large cylindrical containers with some strange looking creamy liquid. HE pushed the start bottom and the engine started to work. From now on a constant flow of cream would fill Roland’s belly. The first set of hypno-files was started and HE left, ready to fill cell 2 with the narcotic gas and transport Kevin in a similar room. The guy was much easier to carry and the mask and hoses were installed. The machine connected to his mask contained a different liquid, clear and not a bit creamy. Now he needed to wait some time. Pablo woke up again with a headache and he was hungry again, so he ate the muesli. He tried to make contact to the other guy or guys held prisoner with him but there was no answer. After screaming again for quite some time, he started to do crunches, press-ups, pull-ups and other exercises until he dropped to his bed, totally exhausted, and just in this moment a second ration of muesli entered that he devoured in seconds. That became his routine over the next weeks. He was eating, sleeping, working out. He lost all feeling for time (it was 18 days already) and he still had not seen any other person – not his torturer nor his cell-mates.
That was no wonder, as Roland was in the hospital wing as was Kevin. Roland was already changing a lot, only laying there, totally immobilized and filled up with 20,000 calories a day. He was filling up, even faster than HE had expected. That was a nice surprise although it would not change the schedule as the hypno-files would need a lot of time.
As Roland was filling up, Kevin lost weight. Now he was skinny already, not unhealthy, but close as he only had 760 calories a day. He observed Pablo doing his workout in the cell and thought about his next steps. Should he start with Roland already or better with Kevin? As Kevin’s facial transformation was somewhat harder to achieve, he decided to look at his designs again, re-read his plans and start with him next week. Pablo started to get bored. He should be furious or in panic or whatever one could expect once one is in a cell for over three weeks now but the fear kind of disappeared as nothing had happened to him so far. He had enough food, enough water, nobody mistreated him but he had nothing to read, nothing to do but working out, eating and sleeping. He had strange dreams, really strange dreams. He was wandering through icy landscapes, snow around him, sometimes dark, deep forests, sometimes a wavy sea, all frosty, all cold, all…he did not know. He had never been to Alaska but that was how he imagined it – or maybe Canada. He had no ideas where those dreams came from. What made him really think about them a lot was the fact that they seemed so detailed, so real. Scary in a way but not really as nothing bad happened in those dreams. In fact, he liked walking through the snow… Now it was day 29 and Kevin was ready for the next step. The milky white red-head was very thin now, just as HE had planned. He removed the hoses and the mask and rolled him to the cosmetic room. Undressed, HE placed him under the light and grabbed a large can of tanning cream, placed it on a table, then grabbed the depilatory cream as well and some other tubes and cans and a strange looking tissue. HE first snipped away a lot of the length of the hair on top his head before he carefully started to cover a huge portion of his guest’s head with the new, very strong depilatory cream. HE made sure that the pattern was perfect and did a bit more in the back and a tiny bit here and there before he put the heating light into place. He rushed to put the aging cream in his face, quite lot, some on the chest, elbows, knees and hands. Then some depilatory cream to his face – not much to remove there, but nevertheless, it had to go for what he had planned – and a reddish stubble would really look funny in the end. He waited, drinking a tea. Finally, it was time to wash of the creams and so he rolled the sleeping guest into the large shower room where he started to wash his head. The red locks now were nothing but creamy, reddish-brown mud that came off in big slimy clumps, leaving most of Kevin’s head totally smooth and white, just as the milk-toned skin of his face and body. Within minutes the sad stubble was history as well. The aging cream already had done a lot to change his feature, but that was only a minimal start…
When HE had dried him, HE went back with Kevin to the cosmetic room. A cream was applied to the remaining hair that had a very strong chemical smell to it. At the same time, HE placed the strange tissue over his mouth and then smeared the hair-growth cream over the tissue, as HE did at his eyebrows. Then, the tanning cream came to use. It had a different color than the one he had tested on his last client, but the recipe was nearly the same. HE had a lot to cover as all parts of his body needed to be tanned in the new tone. Again, some waiting and again some showering later, the naked guy was back in the cosmetic room where he started the last round for today. The cream was again put in his hair, massing it in, same to his eyebrows and upper-lip. HE looked at the new beard-style and nearly started to laugh while HE rolled him back to his room and installed him once more to all the machines, hoses and hypno-files.
While HE was preparing Kevin for the next step three days later, a sharp alarm echoed to the hospital wing. It was Roland. He was waking up, shit. HE rushed over and saw that the guy was already awake, in total panic as he was now feeling the mask, the hoses, everything, Shit, shit, shit. His new body-weight, damn it. HE had not calculated that he would need much more sedative with all the new weight added. With a syringe, HE brought the heavily moving Roland back to the land of dreams (or nightmares?) and then adjusted the machines, calculating the new mass of his guest carefully this time. Sweating, HE decided that he was to nervous now for any operation and brought Kevin back to his room. HE went upstairs and watched a movie to relax…
Pablo would have given his right hand for a movie. It was so damn boring, he thought he would lose his mind down in his cell. Only the workout kept him going.
At day 30 HE finally felt good and strong enough to re-try the operation on Kevin. Roland seemed to be sedated just right and so HE was safe. The operation was hard work, mostly on HIS guest’s eyes, but not only. The cheeks, too, the lips, and some other minor things. But the eyes, that was really hard to do. Finally, 6 hours later, he was done and yes, the result was quite good but he was sure that Kevin would need a second session. Exhausted HE installed him back in his hospital room. HE needed to sleep and rest – this was hard work!
As Kevin would need healing for quite some time, it was enough time for Roland now. Here, the surgeon’s work would only be minor, there would be some for sure, but compared to Kevin it was nothing really. He stood in the room of his guest and looked at him. 35 days of daily 20,000 calories really had changed his body already, a lot. It was very amazing. Not moving and just energy fueled into the body – that was something to watch. It was quite a struggle to get him into the chair. Finally, he had managed to roll him over to the cosmetics rooms. The guy had some nice body-hair to work with and now a golden full-beard. His dark blond hair was getting too long to look good but that was just what HE needed, it really was. He had to start with the hair, as always. He grabbed the scissors and a comb and started to part the long, strong, shiny and strong hair carefully. After that he grabbed the scissors again and hacked away some of the length. The long hair would stick in the drainage of his shower – even after the cream. So, that made work and especially cleaning up much easier. He smeared a good amount of the depilatory cream over the soon to be hair-free areas of his client’s head and then he did the same with most of the beard. It was nearly a shame to remove that damn thick hair on his cheeks and chin but what had to be done had to be done. A good amount of hair-growth stimulant was added to the rest of the beard and all over his body, his chest, belly, shoulders, arms, and even his back. He waited the obligatory period before rolling him to the shower. The once shiny golden hair was now yellow dirty mud that came off easily, leaving the head shiny and pink and the face looking much puffier and rounder. Not much left of the rock-hard features here… the hair growth stimulant had done what he had expected, nice, but on the other hand he knew that it meant more work him in the next hours. Back in the room he first grabbed a can that he had used before, but with a different formula now so that the result would be slightly different. He covered what was left of his head-hair with the strong-smelling cream and then started to use tanning lotion all over his body. With all the new body-hair he needed to rub it in hard, but finally he was done. He could now already wash out the cream in his hair and the result was even better than he had expected it to be. Second shower-round half an hour later and the tanning lotion was gone, leaving the once Caucasian man already looking very different. HE sighed as he was not finished yet. He rolled him over again and now covered all the hair – ALL the hair, in the special dye he had used so many times before. He was happy that it only dyed the hair and did not leave color on the client’s skin. Waiting, washing. Then the tricky part of today’s work started but he knew he could do it. He grabbed latex gloves and placed a very strong lamp right over his client’s face. A high-pitched sound filled the air for nearly two hours before he was finally done for today and rolled back the guy into his room and re-installed all the hoses, masks and machines.
Pablo was looking at his reflection in the crystal of his cell wall and saw that he was looking good – not that there was anybody here to admire his swollen chest, bulking biceps and perfect form all over. He put some strands of sweaty hair behind his hair and drank some water. The dreams were still there – snow, wind, ice, strange looking landscapes… he sometimes had the smell of salt-water, cold wind and snow still in his nose when he woke up… 6 days later he did the small facial corrections needed for Roland – really nothing compared to Kevin and done in some hours. His guests were heading fast on their route of perfection. He decided it was time for Pablo as well to join his “friends” in the hospital wing – and he really needed reinforced hypno-files!
As the narcotic gas streamed into his cell, Pablo tried to fight it, but he had no chance and only 20 minutes later he was laying naked in front of HIM. Pablo’s hair had grown, like had his beard. He was hairy, all full of black curly body-hair. Like always, HE started with the hair on his client’s head – with the know technique and result. Most of the head and beard were covered in the depilatory cream only 15 minutes later. To save time, he applied the hair-growth cream in some parts of the former beard and then grabbed a can with a VERY strong-smelling lotion he worked into his hair – in all his hair again. He had to wait nearly 2 hours to let the chemicals work their magic before he rolled him into the shower room for the first time. Off cam the muddy black slime that once had been perfect and healthy hair and then h washed off the liquid – wow, VERY cool. He rolled him back to the room, applied the same strong-smelling liquid to the remaining beard and then grabbed a large can with a similar smelling cream that minutes later covered his entire body. HE had not used that one before and he hoped that it would not cause any kind of chemical burning but after leaving it on the body for nearly two hours and then washing it off Pablo showed no signs of any skin irritation whatsoever. HE brought him to his room and now installed him to machines and hoses as well. After that, he checked on his two other guests that were breathing rhythmically under their masks and one could hear the whisper of the hypno-files.
He let them rest for another then days before he proceeded with Pablo again. The heavy operations on Kevin needed some more time for healing and there was not much he needed to do on Roland. He rolled Pablo into the cosmetic room again, and with the lamp above he grabbed the device he needed and started his work. After more than six hours, he rolled him to the dentist’s chair and worked a tiny bit on him here, too. After 7 more days, it was Kevin’s turn again. The second operation was a minor thing compared to the first and now he saw that his last work had been fantastic, so not much more to do.
20 days more hypno-files and the third round of punishment was done. He had thought about the dramatic reveal but that had bored him somewhat the last times and so he decided not to give them the full show. HE would bring them to three different hotels this time and let them wake up there, bags and letters included…
The first guest who left the house was Pablo. He woke up in a comfortable king-size bed in a light and nice looking hotel room. He was so shocked not be in his cell anymore that he was just staring at the ceiling for quite a while. Was he really free or was that just another prison, more comfortable surely. He was not sure and so after around 15 minutes without moving, he decided to give it a try. He walked to the door, the blanket wrapped around him. With shaking hands, he tried the handle of the door and… the door swung open, allowing him to see a totally average hotel hallway. Wow, freedom, it seemed h finally was free. He did not understand why he had been held captive, by whom, where, how long, nothing. He closed the door again and then, with disbelief looked at his hand. What was that? The blanket fell to the floor and he gasped. Not only his hand, no, his entire body. What the hell??? He saw a mirror in the room and walked over to see what had happened to him.
He stared and his mouth dropped open. His body was in the best shape of his life, his chest broader, his six-packs more defined than ever before and his arms looking strong and very well built. That would not have been a shock – a pleasant surprise, yes, but no shock. But, he was Mexican, so he had a caramel toned skin all his life, in summer even darker, a chocolate brown – typical Latino. Now his skin was… very light, nearly white and rosy. Not only his body, his face too. Gone was the Latin tan. And with it, all his black hair. Not that he was smooth, not at all. It seemed that he had grown even a bit more hair on his chest, but the once black hair was no silvery blond with a hint of gold in it. It covered his chest like silky fur, his arms, his legs… Gone was the bluish stubble, replaced by rosy and smooth cheeks and a square chin he never had in his life. On his upper-lip sat a very full, longish and very thick horse-shoe-mustache in a golden tone that matched his blond eyebrows. His once longish nose was much smaller, shorter, rounder. His once almond shaped dark brown eyes now looked rounder – and were icy blue!!! The forehead seemed to have no end, as his top was totally hair-free, glistening bald and rosy. There was a fringe left, golden hair, super straight and it was put into a braided tail in the back. He realized that both his upper arms were adorned with black tattoos, first he thought it was a kind of Maori-style but then realized it was more a Viking-style tribal. Not too much, easy to cover up and very well done, he had to admit that the second he seen them. Viking… the word echoed in his bald head. Yes, he looked very much like a Viking, but how could that have happened?? … Around 300 miles west, Kevin woke up, too. His hotel was not as fancy as Pablo’s. It was small room with some Chinese decoration in it and the noise from the streets and a smell of fried noodles and pork filled the air when Kevin opened his eyes. He remembered the cell – and after that, nothing. He did not know that he had been imprisoned for a long time and lost all feeling for time and space. He just knew that he was NOT in the cell anymore – and that he was not at home either. He felt groggy and had urge to pee. He nearly ran to the bathroom and when he sat on the toilet with his eyes closed, he put his face in his hands – and froze. What was that??? His eyes still closed, he examined the face and then jumped from the toilet and looked into the mirror. “WHAT…???” was the only thing he could say. That was not him in the mirror. The man was skinny, with a yellowish skin and some wrinkles. But that was not the shocking thing. The guy staring back at him was a 60-year-old Chinese! Not only a Chinese, no, he looked more like one of those Dr. Fu-Manchu-characters from a 60’s movie. Typical Chinese eyes, a Chinese nose, a thin mouth – and a ridiculous Fu-Manchu-moustache. The middle part was hairless while then a sparse, very long bard started that hung down at his chin in two grayish black strands of fine hair. His eyebrows were long, too, Not only bushy, but really long. His head was bald, mostly bald, only a VERY thing fringe of long, straight hair in the same black and grey covered his skull on the sides and back and ended in a kind of braided pig-tail. His neck looked old, turkey-like, one could see his rib-cage and his arms and legs, hair-free, looked stick-like. Staring into the mirror, tears streamed down his face and he felt like frozen in shock…
250 miles to the northeast, Roland woke up and he instantly felt that something was terribly wrong with him. He always had a good feeling for himself and his body – as h was easily gaining weight he knew when it was time for more work-out and eating less. As model, he needed his perfect body and so he knew always what was going on. He felt bloated like he had never felt before in his life and when he looked down he saw that indeed something was terribly wrong. Instead of lying flat to his stomach, the blanket bent in a semicircle and blocked his view further down. In total shock h jumped out of the bed – or at least he tried. To lift himself up he needed a lot of concentration and energy. The blanket slid away and he saw what he had felt now. His once hard gained flat stomach with that nice six-pack was gone, replaced by a big, spherical belly. An enormous belly. A barrel of a belly already sacking downwards, forced to the ground by gravitation. On top, two big and fat tits were resting, moobs, with nipples enlarged grotesquely. His thighs, at least double size of his old one, were forced to spread to make way for his gut. His arms were fat, too – even his hands looked puffy. And that was not all. In agony, he touched that soft tissue, tanned in an olive tone and covered all over with curly black hair. He had a forest of hair on his chest and belly, on his arms and legs and even his shoulders. That had to be nightmare and told himself to wake up, pressing his eyes together – but when he re-opened them he still saw that toned, hairy and fat body. Now carefully, he managed to stand up and felt the enormous new weight he carried pulling him down. His belly sacked even more and now covered his best pieces. Walking, his tights rubbed together and he felt himself wobble everywhere. He could feel his balls bouncing against his legs and when he looked down and saw nothing but his gut, he grabbed them and to his shock, they hung much lower than before and felt bigger – and of course hairy. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his face and he walked over to the large mirror at the rear side of the room. The man that greeted him from the surface was as fat as he had expected – no – even fatter. He was enormous. A fatso, a hairy slob. His face, oh my, his beautiful face. Now he had a double chin… in fact he had one large fat neck that started at his chest and ended where once his chin had been. His cheeks were puffy and his eye looked much smaller embedded in the soft tissue of fat and skin. Like his body, the face had an olive tan and he saw the heaviest beard-shadow he had ever seen on a man, bluish-black but when he touched his cheeks with shaking hands he felt nothing but sweaty and soft but ultra-smooth skin. His upper-lip on the other hand was decorated with a VERY bushy, VERY full strong and jet-black moustache with longer tips at the corner of his mouth. It covered his entire upper-lip and rested under a nose that did not look like his. It was… rounder and looked… broken maybe. Gone was most of his blond hair, too. He was bald, shiny, sweaty and olive toned bald. Only a sad fringe of greasy looking locks – black, totally black – surrounded his head, combed and slicked back. He tried to get a look of his back – fat rolls, hairy back, fat neck and a large, wide shiny dip. He looked every bit like a fat, hairy moustache-wearing bald ARAB!!!
Pablo was still in shock. His transformation was so extreme and he had no idea HOW one could manage that. He had looked at himself for over an over now. The funny thing was, that it was shocking and hot at the same time. He was a totally new person, a blond Viking instead of a black-haired well-tanned Latino. He was fucking MPB and had a moustache like Hulk Hogan. But his body was in the best shape of his life… so…maybe once shaved clean and with a decent short haircut… no, never… he could never shave off that perfect braid!!!! Opphs, where did that come from?? He finally managed to walk back to the bed where he found three big sport-bags. He opened the first and found clothes, normal clothes mostly, jeans, shirts, some more … special, like very tight leather jeans, leather bracelets, a leather harness, chaps, heavy boots. He found sporting clothes as well. He found some jewelry, too. A Thor’s sledge in bronze, some heavy silver rings. The second bag contained personal belongings like moustache wax, his cell-phone, a wallet (some money inside as well) and strange looking pass-port. It was a Norwegian passport and showed him but with strange and alien name Olaf Thormundson, born in Bergen, now living in Oslo…and owing a fetish-leather store… He realized that the documents he found were written in Norwegian… what was going on here???
Kevin found a passport, too. Here it said his name was Liu Bo, born in Chengdu, People’s Republic of China, 1961. What the hell was going on here’?? He dressed in that strange silk clothes he found, making him look like an old Kung-Fu fighter or Tai-Chi-Teacher. Without realizing he had grabbed that strange looking, long pipe and smoked it while he left his room to find out where he was. He realized that he was in San Francisco, in China Town. Where else he thought for a second. He read the sign of the Hotel “Golden Dragon” before passing the man sitting behind the desk in the hotel. A Chinese who greeted him and asked him if his room was alright. He answered that it was ok but that he needed some air. He left and was now standing in a crowded street, full of Chinese people and tourists, a market, with shops and restaurants. What should he do now? He was hungry, that was what he knew for sure and the smell of Chinese food made his mouth water. He went to a small restaurant and ordered some food, sitting at a table outside and eating it. Then he realized that he ate with chop-sticks. He could not eat with chop-sticks… and he could not speak Chinese. Why had he ordered food in a restaurant with a Chinese menu only???? Over the next hours he realized that he could read and speak Chinese fluently but had real problems talking in English. He could speak it, but with a heavy accent and he had a hard time remembering the words…
Roland, who had found a passport of the Lebanon with the Name Said al-Matar, could speak English, but his Arabic was far better… he now sat on the small balcony, smoking a cigarette – he had been a non-smoker all his life – and read all the other documents he had found in his bag. All in Arabic and all no problem for him… that all was getting stranger and stranger here. He was a legal immigrant to the US owing a Falafel-restaurant in NYC.