The Bitchmaker Club

A rather extreme sequence, although I'm curious how many people prefer these extreme examples.

The Bitchmaker Club

Cody had always enjoyed the thrill of dancing. The music, the bass vibrating through the soles of his feet, the flashing lights that made it seem like the whole world pulsed along with him. Tonight, the club was crowded and the energy was electric. He was leaning into the rhythm, enjoying himself more than he usually did. Maybe it was because he had a new dancing partner tonight—a sultry bunny girl whose hips moved like they were made of liquid. Her name was Lacey, and she had one of those flirty laughs that made Cody's fur stand on end.

"You're a pretty good dancer, you know that? I can barely keep up!" Cody laughed, panting slightly as they swayed together under the flashing neon lights. Lacey smiled at him, leaning in close, her breath hot against his ear.

"Oh, come on, you're doing just fine," she purred, her voice dripping with something that Cody couldn't quite place. It wasn't just flirtation. It was something deeper, a promise that made his stomach twist—or maybe it was the drink she had handed him earlier. "You might even have a future on stage here, Cody. You just need to loosen up a little more."

He blinked, the edges of his vision blurring. "Whoa... I feel... a bit... sleepy..."

Lacey's grin widened, almost predatory. "Don't worry, darling. Just relax. You're gonna have the time of your life."

When Cody awoke, everything felt wrong. His head throbbed and his arms were aching, stretched above his head. He blinked, trying to focus, his eyes slowly adjusting to the cold, sterile light that replaced the chaotic neon of the club. He was strapped down, his wrists bound to some sort of metal frame. Panic spiked through him, sharp and immediate, and he pulled at his restraints, the metallic clink echoing through the room.

"Good morning, Cody. Or should I say, Cody-girl?" A voice crackled through a hidden speaker, and Cody twisted his head, looking for the source. His heart pounded harder, fear flooding his veins. The unseen voice had a lilting, mocking tone, and Cody's ears flattened instinctively. "You're in a facility that specializes in refining raw material... and lucky for you, you fit the bill perfectly."

"Mmmph?!" Cody tried to yell, but his voice came out muffled, his mouth dry and uncooperative. He felt the chill of the air against his bare skin and realized with growing horror that he was only wearing a pair of lacy panties, his chest bare, and nipples exposed. His body shivered, a mix of cold and terror.

The voice continued, almost chipper. "They all say that, but just you wait. You're so pumped full of estrogen that the Boob-U-Lator will get you settled and busty in no time. We always need new club girls!"

Cody's eyes widened, a muffled scream bubbling up from his throat. He tugged uselessly at his restraints, but it was no use. He could feel it now, the invasive pressure in his chest, the soreness that prickled under his skin. His body was changing, reshaping itself without his consent—without even his understanding. They were doing something to him, transforming him, and he couldn't stop it.

Days blended into each other. The room was filled with strange devices, electrodes attached to his nipples, wires leading to machines that buzzed and hummed, their intent terrifyingly clear. His hips widened, his ass growing rounder, plumper under the influence of hormones, his waist narrowing. His chest swelled, the weight of his new breasts pulling at his shoulders, aching in a way that made tears prick at his eyes. And then the final indignities—the surguries.

First his voice, then altering his bone structure to give him massive hips and a smaller waist. He cried, his voice girlish and horse, but the worst part was it was just so sexy it actually turned him on. But he wouldn't have to deal with the arousal much longer.

The pain blurred into something beyond comprehension as they removed his manhood, erasing his hardness and leaving him with the softness of a vagina. And they wouldn't leave it alone. They wanted him to feel every fold and curve.

"Oh... Oh fuck... OH FUCK!" Cody gasped, his body arching against the restraints as the machines brought him to a horrible, shameful climax. His new anatomy was foreign, terrifying—and horribly sensitive. He hated how his body responded, hated how the voice from the speaker praised him for being "such a sweet, wild girl." His cries were muffled, his shame raw and overwhelming, the invasive pleasure forcing him to acknowledge what he'd become.

The voice never stopped mocking. "I can tell by the way your cute new pussy keeps opening and closing that you must feel better without all that manhood weighing you down. Probably much softer too."

"Please! I don't like boys! Don't make me do this!" Cody's voice broke, the tears falling freely now. His thoughts were filled with the shame of having to show this horrible new body off to a room full of... men. All of those dicks...

"Oh darling," the voice responded with a cold amusement, "you just have to dance. What you do with the boys is no concern of mine."

Later, Cody stood on stage, bathed in the flickering lights of the club. The crowd cheered as she moved, her new body bouncing and swaying, every step designed to entice, to seduce. She was wearing a tiny bikini that barely covered anything, her new breasts jiggling with each step, her ass shaking as she gyrated her hips. Her ears flattened in shame, but her body moved on its own, guided by the training that had been drilled into her. She was just another club girl now, her old life fading into something distant and irrelevant.

Weeks Later

The club lights blazed down on her—Cody was a 'her' now, she had no choice in that. Her breasts strained against the thin, glittering fabric of her top, her hips swaying rhythmically to the music, each movement carefully calculated for maximum effect. The audience roared their approval, eyes hungrily following her every move.

Meanwhile, Lacy and the owner of the club had a little chat as they watched from the clubhouse. "Cody really is doing so well as a dancer. She's practically built for it. The way she bounces for the boys every night, you'd think she'd been practicing for it her whole life."

The club owner grunted. "Well, she'll be good for a few years at least. I'm so sick of the girls running off to get married. Maybe turning a few more boys into club girls will slow down the turnover rate."

"Don't worry," Lacy reassured, a twisted note of amusement lingering in her tone. "It will be years before she starts thinking of boys the right way... I'm sure she won't be eager to escape until then."

And Cody kept dancing, her heart heavy, tears threatening to spill—until she forced herself to push it all down, to lose herself in the rhythm. The only way to survive was to keep smiling, to sway her hips as they had trained her, to be the pretty little doll they wanted her to be.

For now, at least, there was no other option but to be a good little dancer girl, nor could she silence the part of her that responded to this new life. And so she danced.