Transforming Allison Ch 01

Allison awoke with a start and looked around in disbelief at the stark room. Aside from the cot where she now lay, the only piece of furnishing was a doctor's examination table, complete with the stirrups familiar to all women. In the corner, she noticed a toilet and small basin. She remembered little of how she came to be here. Casting back in her memory, she remembered only leaving her home to meet with friends at the local coffee shop. Obviously, she had never made it. She was naked and had a foul taste in her mouth. Drugged, then, she surmised, but why, and by whom?

"Monitoring systems indict activity," a male voice filled the room. "You will now make the necessary ablutions and present yourself on the table provided."

Clutching the blanket to her, Allison looked around frantically, trying to discern the source of the voice, but saw no one.

"Who are you?" she spoke into the empty room. No response.

"Where am I?" she asked to no avail.

"You will now make the necessary ablutions and present yourself on the table provided." the voice repeated.

"Who are you?" Allison demanded of the voice, still clutching her blanket and looking about the room.

"I am The Guardian," the voice responded at length. "You will now make the necessary ablutions and present yourself on the table provided."

The Guardian? What was that supposed to mean?

"Where am I?" she tried the question again with no response except the same rote instructions repeated. Allison felt the panic rise in her throat.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

There was a long pause before the Guardian responded to that query, as if it was consulting with someone, but at length the disembodied voice again floated into the room. "Clothing is forbidden to your station. Your will comply with your instructions now...or compliance will be forced upon you."

A threat? Allison thought. No, not from a machine, for surely the Guardian was simply a monitoring device, albeit a sophisticated one. The Guardian was just informing, not threatening, but the implication was enough to get her moving, her mind whirling with plots and plans of how to make good her escape. Anyway, she thought wryly, her bladder was the true, unsubtle threat that she was responding to.

As she padded over to answer the call, she carefully studied the room. No windows, a single door which she assumed would be locked, the ominous-looking exam table and small toilet area. That was it. Or was it? There was an odd tickling of an idea, something she had noticed, yet had not. It took her a few moments to pin it down. There was nothing in the room that could be picked up, nothing loose, nothing that could be used as a weapon. Allison glanced back to her place of waking. What she had mistaken for a blanket had proven to be an envelope of sorts, like an elaborate sleeping bag. It was all one piece and that was bolted firmly into the wall. No weapon at all, then. And naked, she reminded herself, as if she needed reminding. Despair and his buddies, Hopelessness and Vulnerability jeered at her from the alleyway in her mind. She gave them the finger. She would figure a way out of here, you just wait.

But when she raised her eyes to the polished metal square that served as a mirror above the basin, they rushed her.

"My hair!" she cried, unconsciously lifting her hand to where the long chestnut locks has been. "My hair," she said again, this time in a whisper.

It was gone. Not cut or cropped, but sheared, like a sheep, with only a fine dusting of deep brown left behind. Totally overwhelmed, she crumpled into a sobbing heap of confusion and fear. At length, when her crying had reduced itself to hiccuping spasms, her helplessness and frustration gave way to anger, quickly replaced by rage. She let it come. It was all she had left.

"What is this place?" she shouted.

No reply.

"Why am I here??"

Silence.

"What is happening to me?" she screamed. Then, in the softest of whispers, as despair crowded against her on all sides, "Please. I just need to know what's going on."

"You are instructed to continue with the necessary ablutions and present yourself on the table provided." The voice made her want to howl with frustration. Just as she felt the scream rising in the back of her throat, the Guardian continued, "All will be explained at that time."

A trade, then! She could live with that. She would "make the necessary ablutions" and in exchange, she would receive the information. She felt as if her sanity hinged on finding out just what the hell was going on with her.

Now that she was complying, the Guardian was full of instructions. The water for bathing, she was informed, was kept at 105 degrees, but could be adjusted to her personal preference. The Guardian would note that preference and her bath would be at that exact temperature ever afterward. Toilet articles were dispensed from the spigots protruding from the wall. Body soap to the left of the shower head, shampoo at the right. A curious square of material was dispensed from above the small basin and Allison was at a loss as to its purpose until the Guardian instructed her in its use. Looking at the swatch doubtfully, she brought it to her nose and sniffed. It certainly smelled like toothpaste.

Shrugging, Allison carefully wrapped the swatch around her finger, wet it, and poked it into her mouth. Instantly, her mouth was flooded with the taste of mint and, as she used her finger to scrub vigorously at her teeth, the little square disintegrated into a loose paste and then dissolved into nothing.

Satisfied that this had gone well, she stepped to the shower. The water was indeed the perfect temperature for bathing, she noted, as she went about dispensing soap into her palm. Washed and rinsed, she stepped out of the comforting warmth of the spray. The water cut off immediately and she stood dripping.

"Umm, Guardian?" she said into the air. "How do I dry off?"

"Please step to the center of the bathing area," came the response.

A small light, like a soft spotlight, illuminated the designated area and she obediently stepped into its circle. At once she felt warm air moving all around her, drying her skin. It was scented lightly with lavender, her favorite. Under ordinary circumstances this would have delighted her, all the gadgets, the lavender, even the obviously artificial intelligence that was the Guardian. But these were not ordinary circumstances and Allison's brain did little more than register each sensation or piece of data.

One thing that did register was the enormous amount of money that must be tied up in this place. The cost of developing something like the Guardian alone was more money than she could imagine. Whoever was running this place must be loaded, she concluded, and they had certainly spared no expense. With no little amount of trepidation, she walked to the table.

"You will present yourself on the table in the customary fashion," the Guardian instructed.

Well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, Allison thought as she eyed the stirrups. The table itself seemed to be manufactured like all others of its ilk, not that Allison had had much opportunity to be schooled in their usage. A closer, more thorough scrutiny revealed leather straps and metal rings she was sure had been absent on other models she had seen. Their purpose was all too obvious. Her terror folded in on itself, doubled, trebled, and she found herself involuntarily backing away from the monstrosity, shaking her head, her eyes never leaving the large metal rings that were so obviously meant to hold her legs up and open. Manacles. She forced her mind around the word. They, whoever they were, they meant to shackle her to that thing!

"You will present yourself in the customary fashion," the Guardian repeated.

Allison had backed up as far away as the small quarters would allow her, back against the wall. "No," she whispered, shaking her head, her young face a mask of fear. "No."

"Refusal is not an option," the voice replied in its same instructional tone. "You will comply."

"NO!" louder this time, her body shaking with fear. "I can't let you do that."

"Forced compliance is deliberately unpleasant," the Guardian warned without emotion. "It is not a logical option."

"And I tell you I can't get on that thing!" she screamed. "I can't let you tie me to that thing." Her voice broke into a sob at the last word.

Instantly, she heard an audible click and two clear walls emerged from the ceiling to effectively cut off the bathing area. At the same time, her little cot was swallowed up into the wall. Now there was nothing but that awful, terrible table. The floor beneath her bare feet grew warm, then hot, then burning. The partition to the bath was steaming within seconds. She was awarded a long, painful blister on the outside of her left foot before she could make the few strides to the only place left available to her. She had indeed been forced to comply.

"You will present yourself in the customary fashion," the Guardian repeated once more.

And though she had to force each muscle to obey, though her mind shouted warning after protest after plea, she complied with the Guardian's instruction, knowing there was no alternative. Knowing now, beyond all doubt that her compliance would be enforced, and that forced compliance was, indeed, unpleasant. Even now her foot throbbed in rhythm wit her heartbeat. Resolutely, summoning the last remnants of her will, she placed her knees in the stirrups. When her wrists were cradled in the lower portions of the manacles the mechanism was activated. In fascinated horror she watched as the top pieces moved to complete the circles and she was bound helpless to the table.

It seemed to Allison that she lay there, muscles tensed, nerves raw, for quite some time before the woman arrived, carrying a Styrofoam cup with a straw protruding from the top. She took no notice of Allison's circumstances, as if she saw nothing amiss at the sight of a pretty young woman bound against her will to a table and spread wide. She put the straw to Allison's lips.

"Drink," she commanded.

"What is it?" The cup's lid obscured any clue Allison might have gotten as to its contents. The woman gave her such a look that Allison did not have to be told a second time. She drank the cup empty and its bearer disappeared almost as quickly. It wasn't until the drug had taken its full effect that the next visitor arrived.

As she entered, the room was filled with her presence, or so it seemed to Allison. She moved with the commanding grace of one used to being in control. The floor-length gown billowed around her tall, slim figure as she moved purposefully to the table. She smiled down at the girl, but its wasn't a comfort. The woman's eyes glittered with avarice as the crawled over Allison's nude form.

"Nice," the woman commented. Placing a hand on the inside of the young girl's thigh, she stroked upward, not quite touching Allison's private parts, up over the abdomen to her breast. She gave the nipple a flick of her well-manicured nail. "Very nice, indeed."

"Who are you?" Allison whispered, terrified despite the sedative.

"The proper form of address is 'My Lady'," the woman replied coldly. "Now rephrase your question in the appropriate form."

Fear drained from her in the face of such an unfeeling response. Allison fought the influence of the drug to glare her defiance.

The woman's smile deepened to one of true pleasure. She captured Allison's nipple and pinched it hard, sustaining and increasing the pressure until the girl gasped. Still, she did not release it.

"Rephrase your question using the proper mode of address," the woman repeated calmly.

Even though the pain in Allison's nipple was now white hot, it took everything in her to keep from crying out. She sensed that this would only bring the woman more pleasure. She gritted her teeth against the pain. The pressure increased and the pain grew to a level Allison would have thought to be impossible without fainting.

"Who are you My Lady?" Allison blurted out, breathless with the pain. The nipple was instantly released.

"Much Better," the woman's smile changed to one of approval. "No doubt you have many questions. It would be very unnatural otherwise."

The woman paused to glide her hand down the center of Allison's torso, between her breasts and down her stomach, again stopping before making more intimate contact. Allison cringed at her touch, but the woman was not bothered by this. In fact, Allison was sure she was pleased by it.

"So," she said at length, "We will begin at the beginning. Do not interrupt," she cautioned. "All will be explained to your satisfaction and you will come to realize that you are exactly where you are supposed to be."

"I doubt that," Allison stated flatly.

Quicker than Allison would have believed possible, the woman had her nipple again, twisting and pulling so viciously that she cried out instantly, her earlier resolve forgotten. But the woman did not relent. Her eyes glittered brightly with pleasure as Allison's own eyes filled with tears.

"I believe you were told not to interrupt," the woman said softly, continuing to torment the tender flesh. "Do so again at your peril. Do you understand?"

Not trusting her voice, Allison nodded her head in vigorous agreement.

"ANSWER!!" the woman shouted into Allison's tear-streaked face.

"Yes, My Lady," the girl sobbed.

"Good," She released the nipple and returned to her narrative as if the incident had not taken place. "Now. We begin at the beginning."

"Your parents are very successful business entrepreneurs. This was not always the case. Many years ago, when your parents were first married, they entered into a business venture. They poured every dime into their new business, all their earnings, all their savings, everything. They borrowed from banks, friends; they took on investors. Despite all their efforts, the business would not show a profit. Convinced that their business sense was sound and that they only needed time, they came to us."

"We are a -- consortium, I suppose is the most apt description. Our members are influential people, wealthy and powerful beyond imagining. They are, let us say, silent partners of the institution. Thus it has been for generations, for the Conclave is old, older than any of us now living can know. The oldest of our records are all but dust with age."

Allison eyed the woman warily. She knew this to be true. She had heard the story of her parents' struggle for success, how they had found a mysterious benefactor to back their first ideas, but it had never seemed real to her. She had been raised with every advantage, but they had wanted her to know that it was due only to their hard work that she enjoyed such privilege. That was called to her attention at every turn.

"But I digress," the woman continued. "So, eventually they came to us. And the Conclave loaned them a huge sum, enough to pay off all the other debtors, so that the only claim was through us. Along with this support came guidance and the patronage of the most influential of our numbers. Your father's designs became much in demand and grew into the successful fashion house with which you are familiar."

"The payment for such assistance is simple enough. The debt is wiped out with the delivery into our hands of the first-born child. That would be you, obviously."

"That's a lie!" Allison spoke with no thought of consequences. How dare this witch! Her parents loved her! They would never have agreed to something so loathsome!

Instantly the woman's hand came down hard between Allison's spread legs, not once or twice but many times in quick succession. Allison screamed in shock and pain, but the woman cared nothing for that as she continued the beating. Allison grew light-headed and thought she might faint. Involuntarily, she felt her eyes roll back in her head as she struggled to remain conscious.. Tears flowed unchecked down he sides of her head. She was powerless to stop them, just as she was powerless to stop any of it.

"I do not lie," the woman stated, letting her hand fall hard on the sensitive area once more. "This will be proven to you." The woman's eyes grew even colder. "Interrupt me again. I would like that very much."

Allison remained silent, seething. She did not believe this vicious, totally preposterous fabrication.

"You will believe," the woman said, as if reading Allison's thoughts. "Are you ready to listen now?"

"Yes, My Lady," the girl whispered.

"Good. Now, let me see...ah, yes, your parents were young and somewhat naive, as all young people are. 'What if we have no children?' the young wife asked, 'because we have never wanted children. We decided early on not to have any.' And they were told that once she was past the age of child-bearing and still childless, the Conclave would accept monetary recompense of the initial loan, with no interest. The only condition being that neither one would undergo a sterilization procedure to insure that they remained childless."

"But they were young and healthy and accidents do happen. They did, in fact, abort her first pregnancy, but that is not allowed you see, under the conditions of the contract. It forced them to now provide a child to the Conclave, the child that should have been theirs, the child that was aborted in secret. But nothing is secret from the Conclave. Again, that would be you. With your delivery into the hands of the Conclave, their debt is paid in full. You are exactly where you are supposed to be, as I promised you in the beginning." She gave Allison a very self-satisfied smile. "You may ask your questions now."

Allison was silent for a time, thinking how to form any comment so as not to receive a punishment. She finally gathered what courage she could muster and spoke.

"How can you think to get away with this?" she asked as calmly as she could manage. "My family will search for me. They will notify the authorities."

"Search? Why would they search? The know where you are. We sent word to them immediately we had you in custody. And as for the authorities, well, that is unlikely, since it is just as illegal to sell a person into slavery as it is to buy one. They have given much for the success of their business. They won't throw it all away at this late date, and face imprisonment in the bargain. No, I can't see any help coming from any quarter. No help at all."

But Allison's mind had seized on only one word.

"Slavery?" she whispered.

"Well, that's not truly accurate," the woman smiled. "Of course, that's how the contract reads, but its really an indentureship. You'll spend one year in training and four years in service and then that's it."

"Five years? And then I will be free to go? Is that what you're saying?"

The woman nodded amiably.

"Just like that."

"Yep," the woman nodded, still smiling. "Just like that."

"How do you know I won't go to the police as soon as you release me? What's the catch?"

"No catch," the woman assured her.

Allison let it go. Five years looked like five centuries from where she sat right now.

"I still cannot believe my own parents would have any part of this, this...arrangement."

"Yes, well, it usually comes down to that, doesn't it?" the woman shrugged. "Guardian," she said into the air. "Open a phone line, on speaker, please."

Immediately, Allison heard the familiar sound of a dial tone.

"State your home number, including area code," the woman instructed. When Allison hesitated, she nodded, "Come on girl. They're waiting for the call."

Allison called out the numbers for the Guardian with reluctance. For all her brave words, she knew in her heart that it was possible her parents had actually done this thing. The business was everything to them. Ruth, the housekeeper, had been more mother to her than the woman who birthed her.