“William, I see we will be competing...” she says.

Janet looks you over, riding crop in hand, stance formal and rigid. There is something cold and angrily aggressive about her that makes you quail. She is shorter than you. Dark haired and olive eyed. Her complexion is Mediterranean. Hair in a half shaved asymmetrical cut. A military tattoo on one shoulder. Her small body is toned and muscled, slimly curved and oddly large breasted and large assed, assets eccentuated by her tightly cinched gossamer black corset. You smell a hint of gender neutral after shave... She must visit the gym a lot. No doubt the X-change she took made her small, weak and exaggeratedly curvaceous and she’s been struggling to assert her former masculinity upon its daintiness. She sees you looking at her. “Hmmm. Rather bold. I think this one needs to learn her place. I can train her...” You blanch and look at her feet. She wears thigh length high healed black leather boots - with spurs no less - and you reevaluate her height. Four foot nine. Tiny. She was a tiny fuckpet playing a dominant role. She looked more like a sub. But her demeanour and anger were pure Domme. In fact they made her even more intimidating. Small man syndrome with added emasculation issues.... scary.

You realise that she would never have chosen such a small form. This must have been the work of the X-change plus she’d been administered. You grew more concerned for yourself. What if...? A tiny sexpot sub...

Janet strutted about you, a little dictator, riding crop in hand as she used it to inspect you with a clinical, almost military precision. It hit your inner thigh and **** your legs apart, sliding up from behind to glide along your sex, forcing you up on your toes as it sat between the lips of your sex. It slid back and then with quick efficient slaps she had your shoulders even further back, breasts up an out, back straight, chin up, and body at attention... except for you bound arms.

William grins. “You know I’d love to play lance corporal to your privates Janet.”

Janet turned and like a cat she moved, swift and decisive, grabbing Williams crotch in her slim fingers and pressing into him threateningly. “No man is ever going to do that. If you want to keep this feeble excuse for a cock you’d best forget such thoughts.” She growled as she squeezed.

William winced. “You’re fighting the inevitable. Those surrogate slaves will date you for only so long...” he said despite his pain.

Janet eyed him dangerously. Then she let him go. “I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.” She turned and stalked off.

“She’s pissed. I don’t envy you if she wins the auction....” William said with a wink. “At ease ****...” he turned and left as others came to inspect you.

You put up with the demeaning attention. Hands squeezing your breasts, nipples, peeling back your hood to expose your clit, fingers sliding along your lips or into them, a thumb in your anus, hands on your ass cheeks, fingers outlying your ears, lips, nose... in ones and twos they came and inspected the merchandise.