To the Manor Bound Ch. 01

[Hey, just to be forewarned, this story focuses heavily on forced feminisation including aspects of BDSM and non-consent, so if that's not your thing this might not be the story for you. I also feel the need to point out that I don't agree with any of Lord Madison's political views: this is porn, not polemic. With that said, I hope you enjoy it!]

Chapter 1 -- The First Night

"I am of the firm opinion that not only was this country at its most prosperous and stable during the latter half of the 19^th century as a result of the system of patronage and servitude, but that it is the only route by which we may restore the glory of old England." Lord Madison, as reported in Hansard, House of Lords, 15^th March 20xx.

It had come in the middle of an unimportant debate, held late into the night, during a time of year typically set aside for parliamentary recess, so the speech given by Lord Madison attracted very little attention in the mainstream press. The manner in which it was reported in one or two of the lesser well-thumbed left-wing papers left little doubt in the mind of their readers that his Lordship was calling for nothing less than the return of the feudal system.

Half of the articles demanded his removal from the peerage, the other half called for nothing less than outright underclass revolution, but they all called for protest. Which is why, on a drizzly overcast Saturday, Peter Howe stood shivering with a lone placard in front of the imposing iron gates of the entrance driveway to Hambleton Manor, the country estate of Lord Madison.

Even at the time of its constructions it was widely recognised as being one of the finest manor houses in the whole of Borsetshire, if not all of south England. Grandiose and columned, the manor was split between the main hall and the two long wings that stretched around the well-manicured gardens. The history of the Borsetshire Madison's that have made Hambleton their home over the years however is much less dignified.

A full recounting of the sordid deeds that the manor house has seen over the years would stain the sheets of any paper: from its origins as a nunnery (widely rumoured to be satanic even at the time) prior to Henry VIII's reforms, through the stern corrective hands of the feudal lords, to the decadently extravagant parties of the late 19^th century which nearly bankrupted the family and briefly forced the conversion of one of the wings into a "private reformatory school for wayward young ladies" and its recent re-privatisation by the young Lord Madison.

The latest and last of his line, Lord Madison re-made both his fortune and his name through no small degree of expertise at the London stock exchange; rising in profit and repute in spite of scurrilous and hushed rumours of less than above board dealings with the far east and certain oil-rich sheiks.

But that was all in the past: at the age of 36, having restored his wealth and his family's name and estate, he promptly shocked the business world again and retired to the genteel life of the landed aristocracy. Over the past 4 years he had gradually disappeared from public life, save for a few duty-bound appearances in the House of Lords.

In fact it may have been his near complete disappearance from the society pages of broadsheet newspapers, and the scandal pages of the tabloids, that resulted in such a small turnout for the protest.

Peter shivered miserably. His clothes were soaked through and the wind was starting to pick up again. The only other protesters had left over an hour ago and still his ride home hadn't turned up. It was only when a branch above his head reached a tipping point at the weight of water it held and broke fully depositing a full litre of fresh rain down the back of his shirt that he looked up again towards the manor house. Through the mist and heavy rain he just about made out the flashing on of a pair of high-beam headlights.

He watched still as a muddy, dark-red Land Rover wound its way down the mansion's driveway and paused in front of the ornate iron gates whilst the motors ground into life to open them. Pete stood frozen to the spot for a second before he remembered why he was there and half-heartedly picked up his placard. The small crowd had seen neither hide nor hair of his Lordship all day and this was the first chance he'd had to actually get his protest across.

He therefore felt more than a little deflated when the driver leant over, opened the passenger side door and spoke to him, "You look like you could use a hot drink or a towel at least. How'd you fancy waiting inside?" Now in his early forties Lord Madison had a few flecks of grey peppered over his temples and a little more stubble than in any of the tabloid photographs but it was still unmistakably him.

Peter's mouth lolled open for a second and he was unsure what to do; torn between maintaining his protest in spite of the elements and the offer of any kind of shelter, he pouted. Seeing his discomfort Lord Madison smiled broadly and offered a hand to him, "Come on now, really, put politics aside for a moment; we can discuss the matter further back at the mansion and I'll try to clarify what I was trying to say. Truce?"

Peter looked at him, in his icy blue eyes for the first time, and gave up.

***

The dark-stained oak doors to the mansion opened with a creak and Peter followed his Lordship inside. His rain-soaked converse trainers sloshed with water as they crossed the cold front hall and ascended up the imposing central staircase, with its luxuriously thick carpeting.

Upon reaching the third floor Lord Madison led his shivering guest down a warren of corridors before pausing outside a richly appointed bathroom.

"Now, why don't you stop in here and have a good hot shower. I'll take your wet stuff and find you some nice warm clothes, then you can meet me in the grand hall whilst yours are drying."

Peter shivered an agreement and entered the bathroom. He stripped off whilst his Lordship waited outside, pausing only for a second to look over his body in the full length mirror. Not that there was a great deal to look at: he was nineteen now and in his second year of college, but there was still barely a hair on his slender, pale body apart from a little blonde tuft above his cock that really only served to highlight how poorly endowed he was.

Stepping into the shower he turned the jets on full blast and washed away the mud and grime in the hot streams of water that ran down his face. As he picked up an old-fashioned looking bottle of shower gel and sniffed at it he faintly heard the sound of the door opening and his clothes being collected. He could just make out the faint silhouette of his Lordship moving across the floor with something in his arms but he paid it no mind.

The gel smelt a little acrid but it felt strangely cooling as he rubbed it over his body, lathering up along his long legs and smooth belly and rubbing the suds over and around his balls. Finally he rinsed it all away with the water so hot it felt like his skin was burning a little and the air of the tiled bathroom felt incredibly cold.

Brushing the water from his eyes he looked around for the anticipated clothes but the only thing resting over the towel-rail was a short, light-pink dressing gown.

"Ah, you're finished." His Lordship's voice boomed through the door, "I'm afraid that was the only thing I could find that would fit you. I'm sure it's not what you were expecting but it's only for a little while. It belonged to a maid who recently left my service; one of the factors that provoked my little outburst in the chamber the other day."

Before Peter had a chance to complain he heard the sound of heavy footsteps leading away back down the corridor.

After drying himself as best as he could Peter slipped the soft, terrycloth gown around his slim shoulders and turned back to face the mirror. His face dropped in shock, the thing was a disgrace: it barely came up to halfway up his thighs and he had to keep tightening the belt around his waist to keep it from slipping open. It was deeply humiliating but he couldn't stay in the bathroom forever and there was little else that he could do. He stepped back out into the dark hallway.

Following the sound of a crackling fire Peter walked along the thickly carpeted hallways, surrounded by the flickeringly lit faces of long-dead viscounts and barons until he reached the grand central hall. A glow from a fireplace shone around the doorframe and Peter stood for a second unsure on how to enter before he leaned against the heavy oak door and pushed it open to see his Lordship languidly reclining in a high-backed leather armchair, a glass of brandy resting in his hand and a rack by the hearth where his clothes stood gently steaming.

"Ah! There you are! Come in, come in," Lord Madison waved him inwards and motioned towards a second chair facing the fireplace and the large mirror that hung above it, "Let me get you a glass of something warming."

Peter felt incredibly exposed as he squeezed past his Lordship to reach the other chair. The heat from the fire flushed against the exposed skin of his upper thighs. This humiliation only increased as he sat down, feeling the dressing gown ride up and the touch of leather on his bare arse cheeks. It was whilst he was adjusting the pink robe that he realised he needed to constantly keep his knees pressed together so as to avoid revealing himself.

"There you go." Peter looked up to see Lord Madison pressing a large tumbler of what smelt like brandy into his hands. He thought for a second that he saw his eyes flashing downwards with a smirk and it was at this point that he finally felt like he had been pushed too far; he was done being belittled by this man simply because he wasn't a member of the peerage, it was time to put his foot down.

Peter looked about the room, anger boiling inside of him just beneath the surface, with its dark ornate oak panelling, antique wooden chests and full grand piano the entire scene was enormous, opulent and entirely wasted on this aristocratic layabout.

Raising the glass tumbler to his lips he downed it in one. He scarcely registered the slightly-off, chalkish taste it had and putting it down to it being an older vintage than he'd ever tried before. Now he was ready.

"You think you're better than me? You think that all of this makes you better than any other human being?" Peter waved his arms about, "with even a quarter of what you've got stored away here entire villages could live on, all to perpetuate some kind of anachronistic bullshit about breeding and refinement!" He shifted about in the dressing gown again; his skin was starting to flush hotter than just from the fire and an itching was spreading from his ankles to his neck.

His Lordship raised an eyebrow and smiled curiously, waving him on.

"This entire ssysstem iss based on the antuqua, on the antiq, on the old idea of you being inherently ssuperior to mee." Peter could suddenly hear his own voice and how slurred it was becoming, how heavy his tongue felt in his mouth. "What digni dignity iss thereee in tryin' to to " He tried to stand to make his final point but his legs fell from beneath him and he collapsed back into the chair. "futhhherr morrre" his closing argument was lost in a sloppy mess of sound as his eyes glassed over.

His Lordship took another sip of his brandy and leant forward, "All done? Splendid, then I can begin." He downed his own glass with a gulp and stood up. A new kind of smile spreading over his square jaw: malevolent and slightly cruel. "Now having never tried chloral hydrate myself I'm none too certain of how conscious you are right now but hopefully you're still aware enough to be able to hear me."

Striding purposefully past Peter's openly lolling mouth and beyond his field of vision his Lordship picked up one of the heavy wooden chests that lay along the far wall and carried it over with ease past the fireplace and dropping it with a thud at Peter's feet.

"I don't owe you an explanation, why should I? Everything I'm about to do is fully justified in its own right, but, simply so as to prevent you from whining at me more than I can suffer over the next few weeks, I'll fill you in a little." His Lordship leant over and opened the dressing gown from top to bottom with a single finger and pulled it out from behind Peter, leaving him naked. With one hand Lord Madison dismissively brushed away the hair that was rapidly falling away from Peter's body.

"You see, my maid handed in her letter of resignation a month ago and it's becoming oh so very hard to find good domestic help anymore, in spite of the labour shortage." He slid along the arm of the chair and, moving his face closer to Peter's, wafted away his little tuft of pubic hair and whispered in his ear. "So I decided to train one myself: you!" with that he gave Peter's cock an excited little squeeze.

"I've come to the conclusion that there would be no better manner than this in which to prove the correctness of the old social order: that some men are simply born to be dominant and other men are born to be, to be . . . well, to be whatever it is I decide to turn you into." He said it with a smile, but it was cold and intimidating all the same. "Hence the little trick with the defoliating shower gel."

"Now, I know full well that your first thought is going to be one of escape, maybe even of running to the police, well let's put that right out of your little mind shall we?" He reached into the chest and pulled out a tall, stiff, leather collar that was lined on the inside with a steel band and on the outside with rows of lacy bows that hid a small black box with a little blinking light. Reaching forward, his Lordship wrapped it around Peter's neck and tightened it until it was as close as skin. Then there came a little click.

"Fits like a glove," He smiled. "Now, should you decide to try to venture beyond the bounds of the manor or its grounds this little box in front will provide you with 8,000 joules worth of electrical shock as a reminder of where your new place in life lies. Allow me to provide you with an illustrative demonstration." Picking a small, silver service-bell from the chest his Lordship gave it a tinkle and an instant shock ran all through Peter's body, though for the moment all he could do was twitch and give a little involuntary moan of pain. "Wireless technology! It really is quite the miracle invention and that was only a thousand joules to let you know that I need your attention. I need hardly tell you that you would not want to experience its full capacity should you try to remove your collar."

"So, let the transformation begin! I think I'll work from the top down." He ran a hand through Peter's mid-length thick blonde hair, "Good, but not good enough on its own yet, but good enough to avoid a wig. A natural blonde too. I think we'll put in some extensions." And with that his Lordship went to work, picking a set of straighteners and some clumps of long blond hair from the chest and moving behind & around the still unmoving Peter, weaving them permanently into his hair.

"Lovely, you're looking cuter already, see how it's already framing your face, speaking of which . . ." He bent down and picked up a make-up case, a cheapish looking one stocked with gaudy pinks and blues. "Now, in time you'll have to learn how to do this yourself, but since you're new to this kind of service I'll walk you through it."

He talked him through the foundation, and blusher, through the eye shadow and dark mascara and finally through the nail polish and the bright red lipstick that he smeared on with a little too much vigour, "Oops, I've got a little too much on now, oh well we'll see if I can't find something to wipe it off with later," he said with a grin.

All the time this was going on Peter's mind was raging inside. The taste of the drugged brandy was still filling his mouth and nostrils and although his thoughts were becoming clearer he could still not move his body an inch. He silently fumed and screamed internally with an impotent rage at the presumptuous arrogance of the man who was transforming him into god knows what, but as his Lordship continued his work he found his anger mixing with fear at how far it was being taken.

Lord Madison now ran his hands down Peter's finely feminised cheeks and onto his chest, groping at his skinny frame and then suddenly pinching and pulling hard on his nipples. "Not much here to work with," he sighed, "but then I always find a challenge makes it all the more fun for me."

Another capped tube came out of the box, this one a darker green in colour with a heavy chemical smell as Lord Madison unscrewed the lid and quickly began working it over and around Peter's chest in two circles. "This," He said, "is an epoxy resin. Once set it's then good and secure for about a month so you won't need to worry about these," he dove for the box once more and pulled out a pair of extremely lifelike breast-forms, round and bouncy, 36 C cups, "moving about too much."

His Lordship spent some time carefully positioning the fake silicon tits on his chest so that they lined up perfectly, matching the natural shape of his chest and tone of his skin. As the resin set Lord Madison kept his hands in place and looked Peter squarely in the eyes as he spoke. "These are, I assure, not my preference either. Merely a stopgap measure whilst I decide what size suits you best: you may go up but you'll never go back down again, especially after I decide what's best for you and you get some permanent implants in there." At this he grinned malevolently and Peter's eyes darted in every direction pleading with the world for some kind of exit or help.

After ten minutes had passed with his Lordship's weight pressing down on his chest he finally removed his hands and let the heavy breasts swing freely. The unusual weight felt strange on Peter's skin and his body twitched involuntarily until they settled.

For a second his Lordship stood back with hands on hips admiring his handiwork until his eyes fell further downwards. "Ah yes, which brings us onto this . . ." He ran a finger slowly up and down Peter's penis, stroking gently and circling the head with his thumb. "Now don't you worry little maid, you're not going to have to go under the knife for this. I mean, it's hardly worth it, is it? Not when it's this small." His Lordship's laughter echoed around the large ballroom. "No, I think I'll let you keep it, just as a reminder of who you once were and how far you've fallen."

"But that doesn't mean we can have you going around with that little acorn bouncing around freely now does it?" Lord Madison picked up a strange looking metal contraption consisting of some interlocking hinged steel rings attached to a slim curved steel tube which ended in a heart shaped lattice where a small little bell jangled. "I do hope this is the right size, it looks a little spacious for that little nubbin of a thing."

Desperately, Peter tried to move his groin away from the ensnaring metal tubes but his body still felt numb and beyond him and he could barely twitch his thighs as Lord Madison locked first one testicle and then the other, tightening the metal rings around them then clipping the larger ring all around his cock and sliding the tube up to meet it and gave it a little shake, the bell on the end tinkling in response.

At this final humiliation Peter managed to compose his strength and gave out a small gurgled moan in protest.

"Shhh now, I want you to hear this." Lord Madison looped a small titanium padlock across the top of the tube holding it place for a second. "Listen closely sissy, I want you to remember the sound of your manhood disappearing forever . . ."