Raifu Suitchi 17

Chapter 17: A New Life

Over the ensuing weeks, Allen’s time was earmarked for his recovery within the confines of his hospital room, guided by Saito, who turned out to be both a physiotherapist and a trained nurse. The rigorous daily regimen of exercises and stretches was designed to strengthen his withered muscles from the prolonged period of inactivity. Additionally, Allen underwent vocal training. Speaking now carried a persistent scratchy sensation in his throat. More distressingly, his voice had permanently shifted to a higher pitch, making any attempt to reclaim his former masculine tone futile. His new voice was perpetually high, reminiscent of an overenthusiastic little girl.

This arduous routine persisted for three weeks until Jin Watanabe, along with an accompanying man, came a calling. By then, Allen, significantly stronger and more alert, eyed their arrival from his bed. His complexion bore more colour, and despite his lean frame, he presented a picture of considerably improved health.

“Hello, Allen. You’re looking much healthier. How do you feel?” Jin asked, his smirk visible as he eyed the former man.

“How do you think I feel?” Allen retorted, his anger and frustration evident. “You’ve turned me into a fucking woman!”

Jin stepped closer to the bed. “You seem dissatisfied with the results of my labour,” he calmly stated, his expression turning stern. “If you'd like I can arrange for some further changes to enhance your figure. Or perhaps if you continue to speak with such foul language, the doctor can remove your vocal cords altogether,” he suggested, the menace clear in his tone.

“No, please. Don’t do that. I’m sorry,” Allen quickly responded, worry crossing his transformed face.

“An apology never feels the same unless it’s accompanied by a smile, especially from such a pretty girl,” Jin replied, his demeanour serious. “Why don’t you try again? This time addressing me as Mr Watanabe, and showing respect.”

Allen narrowed his surgically altered eyes and forced a smile. “I’m sorry, Mr Wantanebe,” he said, then quickly lowered his eyes, filled with shame.

“That’s better,” Jin said, patting Allen on the leg while nodding. “From here on out, you will always address me as Mr Wantanebe and never show anger towards me. Is that understood?” Jin demanded, seeking confirmation from Allen.

“Yes, Mr. Wantanebe,” Allen responded, his voice tinged with timidity. A surge of loathing flowed through him, but he was careful not to let it show. He recognized that as dire as his situation was, antagonizing Jin could make it exponentially worse.

“Excellent. Now, let’s discuss your future,” Jin continued, casting a glance at the other man in the room. “You’ve recovered well, and today, you’ll leave this facility. You’re about to begin a new chapter in your life at a new home.”

“New home!” Allen echoed, the words catching in his throat as a surge of anxiety overtook him.

“Yes,” Jin affirmed, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “As part of living with the consequences of your choices, you will now have a new role in life.”

“And what would that be, Mr Watanebe?” Allen inquired, his voice barely above a whisper, bracing himself for the reply.

“I’ll let Mr Nikushimi here fill you in,” Jin said, gesturing toward the man who stepped closer to the bed. The man, tall and slim with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, exuded a commanding presence in his striking purple suit.

“Thank you, Mr. Wantanebe. I’ll handle things from here,” Mr Nikushimi stated, taking control of the discussion. “Our clients will certainly find this one appealing. Those captivating blue eyes will make her quite special amongst the other Japanese girls. Payment has been transferred to your account. You may leave.”

Terrified, Allen watched as Jin Wantanebe's demeanour changed. His mouth hung open in disbelief as he noticed even Mr Wantanebe seemed uneasy in Mr Nikushimi’s company.

Jin bowed respectfully. “Of course, sir,” he said, showing the utmost respect. He then looked towards Allen, a malevolent grin spreading across his face. “You now belong to Mr Nikushimi. It would be in your best interest to comply with his demands. The Yakuza have a low tolerance for disobedience.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, observing Allen’s look of sheer terror. “This is the price you’ll pay for the harm you caused my precious daughter. Goodbye, Allen Dolberg. We will not meet again.” His voice was grave and filled with menace, chilling Allen to the bone.

With one last bow aimed towards Mr Nikushimi, Jin departed with a shadowy flourish, leaving a tangible coldness in his wake. Mr Nikushimi, now alone with Allen, mused aloud with a dangerous calm. “Allen doesn't suit you anymore, does it?” He paused, the gears turning in his mind before a cruel smile played on his lips. “Ah! I have the perfect name for you. One that mirrors your new, doll-like existence. From this moment on, you shall be known as Dori.”

Allen was paralyzed, a statue of despair as he stared into the abyss of Mr Nikushimi's gaze. Every muscle in his body was seized by a primal fear, tears threatening to betray him as he grappled with the harrowing reality unfolding before him.

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Allen's new home in the heart of Tokyo's bustling Kabuki-chō district was far from luxurious. His room, more akin to a prison cell than a suite, featured a lumpy mattress and a cramped bathroom.

On his first day, the abrupt sound of the door swinging open jarred him awake. An older Japanese woman, her face heavily adorned with makeup, stepped into the room. "Rise and shine, Dori. There's much to do," she announced, her tone brooking no argument.

Blearily, Allen met her gaze, taking in her overdone appearance. "Up, Dori! Now!” she reiterated.

"And you are?" Allen inquired, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"I'm Aiya," she responded crisply. " My job is to take care of you, and keep you looking presentable."

Desperation creeping into his voice, Allen pleaded, "Please, Aiya. I have to get out of here. Can you help me? I’m not supposed to be here."

Aiya's reaction was a light, dismissive laugh. "None of us chose to be here, dear. Yet, here we are, each with our role. You can either embrace your part gracefully and cooperate or resist and complicate matters for us both. What will it be?”

Studying Aiya more closely, Allen could see the weariness etched into her features beneath the cosmetic facade – a clear sign of her own struggles. It dawned on him that she too, was most likely trapped in this life, not by choice but by circumstance. With a heavy heart, Allen conceded. "I'll cooperate," his voice a mere whisper as he acknowledged his seemingly inescapable reality.

Allen rose sluggishly from the bed, trailing Aiya through a maze of corridors awash with a striking shade of pink, to a room that bore a striking resemblance to a beauty salon. Starved, he quickly consumed a cereal bar and downed a glass of water while seated before a mirror that reflected his heavily altered appearance.

The hours that followed seemed to vanish as Aiya worked diligently, transforming him into a figure scarcely recognizable as himself. By the end of her ministrations, Allen's hair flaunted a vibrant shade of red, echoing the colour of the elongated acrylic nails at his fingertips. His face was meticulously adorned with makeup to craft an exotic look. His outfit was an all-black ensemble: a lacey top revealing a slender waist and mountains of cleavage, paired with sheer black tights and a micro miniskirt that accentuated his augmented hips and backside. The ensemble was completed with knee-high boots that, thanks to surgical adjustments to his calf ligaments, felt eerily comfortable despite their towering heels.

Before Allen could fully process his changes, Aiya ushered him into a room designed for seduction. The sight of a double bed strewn with rose petals, a heart-shaped sofa, and a table set with champagne, chilled Allen to his core. He turned to face Aiya, standing by the door, searching her expression for some hint of what awaited him next.

(See image 47)

“This... this is a love hotel?” Allen whispered, his voice barely audible as his gaze darted around the room in disbelief. “I don’t understand,” he uttered, a tremor in his voice.

Aiya met his gaze with a look tinged with sorrow. “You will, Dori. Soon a man will come through that door. It’s in your best interest to do what he asks of you,” she advised, her voice laden with unspoken truths.

Allen’s response was a mix of horror and disbelief. “What! You mean? No, I can’t. I...”

“You must, Dori,” Aiya firmly interjected, cutting off his protests. “If you resist, they'll have no further use for you. Survival here means doing as they wish.”

“But I... This isn’t where I belong,” Allen stammered, his voice cracking as the horrifying realization that he was now a Japanese call girl dawned on him.

With a gentle yet firm step, Aiya approached him. “Now, we can’t afford tears. There is no time to redo your makeup. You must be strong, Dori. Put on a smile and let your mind wander elsewhere. Upon the client's arrival, stand confidently, bow gently, and greet him with, ‘Good evening, Sir. It’s an honour to meet you. How may I please you tonight?’”

As Aiya stepped forward, her embrace caught Allen off guard, but he found himself clinging to her. The warmth of her hug, even from a complete stranger, brought him a fleeting sense of comfort amidst the unending turmoil he had endured. When Aiya gently kissed him on his forehead, Allen felt a sliver of courage. "You can do this, Dori. Everyone is scared their first time, but it will pass, and life goes on. Remember, do not talk back to the clients. Speak only when spoken to. I'll be here to help you clean yourself up afterwards. Do you have any questions before I leave you?"

Looking down at the overtly provocative attire clinging to his feminized form, Allen raised his eyes to meet Aiya's. "Can I go home?" he whispered, almost inaudibly.

Aiya sighed, a mixture of sympathy and resignation in her gaze. "Thoughts like that won’t help. There's alcohol in that cupboard," she indicated, attempting to offer a small comfort. "It might ease your nerves. Be brave, Dori," she encouraged, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before exiting the room.

Alone, Allen found and hastily consumed some of the liquor, hoping to dull the looming dread. He paced nervously, quickly realizing the gravity of his situation and frantically searched for an escape. The door was securely locked, and the window, although a glimmer of hope, proved futile with its view of a daunting drop and barred security. Despondently, he returned to the bed's edge, his mind a whirlwind of regret and despair.

The sound of the door swinging open startled Allen back onto his high-heeled feet. His heart raced as he watched a middle-aged, slightly overweight man in a business suit step inside. Closing the door behind him, the man approached Allen, stopping a short distance away. "Hello, Dori," he greeted, with a polite nod. "I am Raizo, pleased to meet you." Allen, overwhelmed, could only lower his gaze in a nervous attempt to shield himself from the stranger's scrutiny.

Raizo, seeming to expect some response that didn't come, took the initiative. "Is that champagne I see over there? Let's enjoy a glass," he suggested, reaching for Allen’s hand with a firm yet gentle grasp, guiding him towards the heart-shaped sofa.

Before the sofa, Raizo assisted Allen into sitting, then positioned the table closer, seating himself adjacent. With skilled hands, he opened the champagne bottle, the cork flying off with a celebratory pop. He poured two glasses, offering one to Allen whose hand trembled as he accepted it. "There’s no need for nerves," Raizo reassured, his voice soft. "I assure you, I am no monster." He then raised his glass, touching it lightly to Allen's in a toast, and took a sip.

Raizo observed Allen, who sat rigidly, knees locked together and gripping his champagne flute. Gently, Raizo took the glass from Allen's hands, setting it aside. He scooted closer, resting his hand on Allen's thigh, fingers tracing the nylon fabric. "You're very pretty," he murmured, attempting to lift Allen's lacy top with his other hand.

But Allen, driven by a surge of adrenaline, recoiled and pushed the man's hands away. "No! Please! Stop!" he implored, his voice a mix of desperation and fear. "I can't do this. You’ve gotta help me. I've been abducted. I'm not even Japanese - I'm Australian! I've been forcibly changed into a woman. Please, help me, Raizo. My family has money; they'll pay you," he pleaded, reaching to clutch Raizo's suit in an act of desperation.

Raizo's response was swift and forceful, pushing Allen back with enough strength to send him crashing to the floor, the table overturning in the chaos, champagne soaking the carpet. "This isn't what I paid for," Raizo bellowed, frustration evident. He then left the room abruptly, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Allen alone and shaken on the floor.

In a state of absolute terror, Allen crumbled onto the floor, his body convulsing with sobs. Time seemed to stretch endlessly in his despair until the door was violently flung open. The sudden noise jolted Allen, who, through tear-blurred vision, saw Mr Nikushimi storming towards him, his face contorted in rage.

With a cry of alarm, Allen felt himself being yanked up by his hair, Mr Nikushimi's fury manifesting in a vicious slap across his face. The impact sent Allen sprawling back to the floor as Mr Nikushimi towered over him, his voice thundering. "How dare you embarrass me and this establishment like this!” You belong to me! You do as I command, and you do it with a smile. Speak to a client again like that, and it will be the last time you ever speak to anyone."

Cowering, Allen raised his mascara-streaked face, the mark of the slap burning on his cheek. In a voice barely above a whisper, he pleaded, "Please, I can do better. Please don’t kill me."

"Now, my little Dori, I consider myself a reasonable man. Everyone makes mistakes, and I believe in giving people a second chance," Raizo stated, unbuckling his belt. "Why don't you demonstrate how truly sorry you are?" he continued, unzipping his suit pants to reveal his impressive penis.

Allen felt a wave of revulsion as he found himself face-to-face with the man’s one-eyed monster. Instinctively, he attempted to turn away, but Mr Nikushimi firmly grasped his long red hair. “Put it in your mouth, Dori This is your second chance,” he stated firmly. “Understand, there will not be a third.”

Allen felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling him forward until his shiny red lips brushed against the man’s tip. Abruptly, Mr Nikushimi yanked harder, eliciting a pained scream from Allen. Taking the opportunity Mr Nikushimi thrust his penis into Allen’s open mouth. With tears streaming down his face, Allen did what he needed to do as he moved his painted lips back and forth, imagining he was somewhere else. After what were some of the worst minutes of his life, warm liquid erupted into the back of his throat, and it was over!

Mr Nikushimi released Allen's hair, causing him to crumple to the ground. Coughing and spitting, Allen struggled to regain his composure as Mr Nikushimi swiftly zipped up his pants, and re-fastened his belt. "Remember your place, Dori. Do not disobey me again," he warned, his gaze stern as he looked down at Allen. With a final menacing glare, Mr Nikushimi exited the room, leaving Allen sprawled out on the floor in a state of disarray.

A few hours later, Aiya entered the room to find Allen curled up on the bed amidst a scattering of rose petals. His gaze met hers, registering shock at the sight of her bruised face - a black eye and a swollen lip. Climbing onto the bed, she enveloped Allen in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry. I couldn't do it," Allen choked out between sobs.

"I know, Dori. It's okay," she murmured, gently stroking his hair. “However, I trust you’ve learned your lesson now? If you disappoint them again, they will kill us both. This is the Yakuza! You don’t disobey the Yakuza!”

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After a day of rest and further training from Aiya, Allen found himself once again seated in the salon room, undergoing preparations for the evening ahead. Aiya had provided him with some pills, promising they would aid in relaxation. Despite lingering apprehension, Allen found himself surprisingly calm as Aiya attended to his hair and makeup before assisting him in dressing. The world seemed to slow around him as he observed his long, newly painted pink fingernails, trailing blurry streaks of colour through the air before him.

Standing before the mirror, a blank expression on his face, Allen gazed at the reflection of an exotic Japanese girl looking back at him, clad in a revealing, somewhat trashy outfit. A bright pink latex minidress barely concealed her ample bosom, clinging to her hourglass figure. If the silhouette wasn’t already bordering on the absurd, the heels – or lack of them - on her flower-covered sandals were downright ridiculous.

Allen brushed a strand of long red hair from his face, the girl in the reflective surface, mirrored his actions, confirming the caricature of a Japanese woman was indeed him. Gazing into his heavily made-up eyes, framed by long fluttery lashes and glittery pink eyeshadow, he realized he was no longer Allen Dolberg. He was now Dori the prostitute! To survive the evening, he had to banish all thoughts of his former life to the recesses of his mind. It was a matter of life or death, and he was determined to survive.

Once more, he found himself in a hotel room adorned in various shades of pink. A grand canopy bed with white drapes and heart-shaped pillows dominated the space. After receiving some final words of encouragement from Aiya, he was left alone to wait. Pouring himself a drink of neat vodka, he downed it in a single gulp. As the warm, burning sensation subsided in his throat and chest, a click from the door signalled it was time.

Moving cautiously in his extremely high and cumbersome footwear, Allen prepared himself to meet the client. He couldn’t afford to disobey again, not for his own sake nor for Aiya's. As a man entered the room, Allen took a deep breath and bowed his head.

"Good evening, Sir," he greeted in a deadpan voice. "My name is Dori. It’s an honour to meet you. How may I please you this evening?" His bloated, glossy pink lips hinted at a forced smile.

(See image 48)

The man returned the smile. "Hello, Dori," he replied cheerfully. "It’s lovely to meet you."