"I hope you are not too uncomfortable. You may be restrained like this for a long time, for you must be trained." Several seconds passed, and then she felt his hands encircling her ankle, below the cuff, and slowly working their way down her calf, massaging her muscles. "Relax. You cannot move. You cannot resist. There is no point in tensing up; you will tire yourself. You must just relax and let what happens happen." His voice was calm and somehow reassuring. She tried to relax, resigning herself to whatever would happen. Lying there, unable to see, she could not help concentrating on his touch. There was nothing threatening about it. It didn't hurt. He did each leg, then her knees and thighs, stopping inches from her sex. There was a pause. Perhaps she heard him undressing. She felt his fingers meander toward her breasts, but he stopped short, only touching her armpits and tracing her ribs and drawing his fingertips along the periphery of her girlish hemispheres. He touched her forehead, traced the edge of the blindfold, caressed her cheeks, traced the line of her lips. She felt his breath on her throat, and he toyed with her ears. Only then did he touch her breasts. He sort of snuck up on them. He was sliding along her flanks and just happened, almost, to touch the side of her breasts. He stroked her belly, circling her navel, and then "accidentally" slid along the crease where her breasts rose from her chest. Then, quite deliberately, it seemed, he blew on her nipples, and she realized an unfamiliar feeling as the air rippled past them. Were they standing up? Yes, his fingertips ever so lightly touched the tips of her nipples, moved back and forth a few millimeters, and she felt her nipples bending to their touch. For hours, it seemed, he very gently toyed with her nipples. Yes, they were standing tall, and felt different than she could ever remember. Some times his fingertip would spiral from the crease at the base of her breast up the little mountain until it met the summit, the nipple. Sometimes his fingers would stray to other places, her thighs, or even the fringes of her pubic hair, while he blew on or licked or gently sucked her almost bursting nipples. She seemed frozen in the present, focused on the strange sensations, oblivious to the passage of time. She had never realized.

Then he got rougher, began kneading her breasts, forcing his fingers into their softness until the inner ductwork rippled under the pressure. 6409 began whimpering, seemingly complaining, until she burst into giggles. "You see," her trainer whispered in her ear, as he squeezed both breasts, "you have wasted these all these years."

"I never knew." The training and the giggles went on for some time, until she whimpered and said, "They're sore, now."

"Phase two," he said. A mist of warm water fell across her breasts, and the mist became a drizzle, then a hearty rain. The gentle percussion of the drops seemed to soothe her. He misted her all over, and soaped her skin, and rubbed and rinsed, everywhere, her feet, her legs, her arms, her body, her belly, her breasts, her belly again, her crotch. She felt the water puddling beneath her on the plastic covered padding. She heard it raining on the tile floor. She felt a more vigorous spray pelting her skin. It began to beat on her labia and inner thighs, run sluicing down over her anus, which her trainer soaped and rinsed and fingered. She giggled, so sensitive it felt.

She had little sense of time, but it seemed she had long ago forgotten her anxiety about this stranger having total power over her. He was now an old friend (though she didn't even know his name) who thrilled and amused her with the things he made her body do, quite without her willing it. She had never had such fun, not water skiing, not riding a roller coaster. It was one surprise after another, the feelings he elicited in her previously inert body. He began again to massage her feet and ankles, then her calves and knees. He applied a creamy liquid with his hands. It smelled and felt like hair conditioner. Gently, he covered her, from her ankle bracelets to her navel, not neglecting to spend a lot of time rubbing it into her raised buttocks. 6409 decided it felt rather nice, though there were moments of anxiety when he kneaded her soft flesh and even fingered her anus. That was such a private place. Yet, somehow, it was exciting, to have this strange man touch her there. Then she felt the razor, starting high up on her elevated ankle. The man worked slowly and gently down her left leg, removing all the fine hairs, and then did the same on her right leg. It took a long time, as he frequently stopped to rinse or replace the razor. Of course, there came a time when the only hair left was her pubic hair. "That didn't hurt, did it?"

"No, Master." She remembered the instruction to call clients master, or mistress, as appropriate.

"I'm going to use a straight razor, as the silly disposable will clog. Be very careful not to move."

"Yes, Master." She felt the razor just below her navel. It was sharp and well lubricated, so she didn't feel much discomfort from its scraping. She was, of course, very aware that her pubic hair, which she had prized ever since it began to grow, was being taken from her. It was a very intimate act, but, somehow, it didn't really matter. He had bought her, and bought her hair. She felt the razor moving in short strokes, until it began to slide over her outer lips. She held very still, and the man was very careful not to nick her. To get the last bits of hair, he had to take hold of one or the other labium and pull it taut, while he made very careful, short strokes with the razor, even, it seemed, around her anus. Concentrating, as she was, on the removal of her hair, it hardly occurred to 6409 that another milestone had been passed. For the first time, a man had seen inside her cleft, her pink slit. Except once, when she had guiltily used a hand mirror, even 6409 had never seen inside her.

Now the man went back to the spray, and he thoroughly rinsed her from toes to navel, sliding his hands over her wet skin, as he washed away the lubricant and the few hairs which clung to the skin. For some reason, she thought of the Christian doctrine of baptism, the washing away of sins, so one can be born again, innocent. Then the gentle spray changed to a solid stream of tepid water, about body temperature, and the stream played up and down between her legs, one moment washing her anus, the next her mons, and then - she burst into giggles - it spurted between her sensitive, newly naked labia. She felt him place the nozzle - it must have been adjustable, like a garden hose - just at the apex of her labia, and the stream coursed downward like a river in a canyon, racing turbulently over something very sensitive just there at the juncture of her inner lips.

"You like the hydrotherapy," he said softly, as the water raced over her clitoris. She had never imagined, never realized her clitoris was so sensitive. She felt the sensation build - Giggle! Giggle! - and build again and again, to be released in little explosions of electric excitement. She found herself laughing out loud, and then she went, "Uh! Uh! UH-UH-UH OH GOD!" Her whole body spasmed, but especially her insides, down there, where it felt as if some wild animal was struggling in her belly, and her brain short-circuited. In spite of her blindfold, she saw stars. And then it was quiet, but for her panting breath, and the echoes of an earthquake which slowly subsided. "Did you like that?" she heard, as if from elsewhere, and she nodded her head.

For a while (a few seconds?) nothing happened, as she slowly recovered strength and awareness of where she was. Then she felt something being placed over her wet breasts, a kind of ring, encircling each breast. The strangest thing happened. Her breasts seemed to swell, to tingle, to. whatever. "What's happening?" she called out.

"Call it sensitivity training. I have placed cups over your breasts. They are such nice, pretty tits, like halves of oranges. I am applying suction, which will stimulate them, improve circulation, and it actually make them grow, in response to the tension, the same way muscles and bones grow under stress. It's not painful, is it?"

"It's very powerful but it's not exactly painful. It feels as if my nipples. I don't have the words to describe it." She didn't have time to reflect further, for the water, the "hydrotherapy", had begun again. Suddenly, she focused on the intense sensations in her clitoris and in her vagina, as the water pulsed in and out of the little opening, forcing it to open wider as the hydraulic pressure built up within her. When the stream diverted to her clitoris, she almost screamed, and her vaginal muscles squeezed the water out from within her body. The intense stimulation continued, alternating between her protesting vagina and her screaming clitoris, all accompanied by a chorus of sensations from her expanding tits. She was panting, grunting, babbling, unable to think of anything but the crescendo of sensation, the earthquake, the thunder and lightning, the storm within her pelvis, even more intense than before, if that was possible. Before she could recover, she felt him forcing his way into her tiny vagina. As her whole lower body shuddered and quaked, the penis forced its way deeper and deeper, stretching her, threatening to turn her vagina in on itself. Then the push became a pull and a push and her vagina was moving like a jackhammer! "Oh, so good, so tight, OH God!" she heard through the storm of another earthquake orgasm, and it seemed as if, this time, she blacked out.

She awoke to find her vagina empty, a kind of anti-climax, as if the final curtain had come down, but she wanted the play to go on. And then she realized her breasts were screaming for relief, and she called out, "Please, my breasts." And, in response, the suction was relieved, and someone removed the cups from her swollen breasts and left them, aching, tingling, to recover. She heard people moving around her, dragging and footsteps. Finally, her blindfold was removed, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw face of Captain 5997. "Are you all right?" said the captain.

"Yes ma'am. Where is my trainer?"

"Gone."

"Will I see him again, captain?"

"No, they've taken him to a hospital. A heart attack. I think you have killed him with pleasure."

"I'm sorry, captain."

"No need to be sorry, private. You accomplished your mission. It would seem you completed your training, too. Welcome to womanhood."