Lady In The House - Reprise
By Michele Nylons Introduction For those of you reading this story who have not read the previous ten instalments of ?Lady In The House', I suggest you find the stories and read them first before you continue. For those of you who have read the previous instalments, I have decided that the story conception is too good not to explore it further. I know that some of you were not satisfied with the ending; and to tell the truth, after reflection, neither was I. So I have reprised the story and I hope this effort is as good as my previous attempts at physically forced transvestite sex. There you have been warned, or hopefully titillated into proceeding. The Reprise My name is Mike and I am standing outside my cell in G Block of the Chelmsford Correction Facility for Men. I am in my late forties and have had a very successful career as a highly paid accountant and money manager. This Facility is not new to me. I have served time here as an inmate previously. I was convicted of aggravated manslaughter for killing a young girl whilst drunk behind the wheel of an expensive car. I served my time and was released on bail after five years. What is unusual is that for most of my time in Chelmsford I lived a dual life. I was Mike the accountant and confidant of Eddie McManus who had me transformed into Michele, a transvestite prostitute who was forced to service other inmates and prison officials in the notorious E Block, kicking up my earnings to Eddie. I was rescued, if you can call it that, by an inmate called Davey who kept me as his willing concubine for the remainder of my prison term. This might seem like a strange arrangement, but when the price of your life is servitude as the transvestite ?wife' of a prison inmate or constant violation by prison thugs, then you make take the path of least resistance and pain. For the last ten years I have been seeing a psychiatrist who convinced me this was the case. After being released from prison I sought physiological counselling to deal with what had happened to me in Chelmsford. My psychiatrist and I worked together trying to mend the abuse, both physical and mental, that I had undergone during my prison term. We agreed that I had succumbed to the world of transvestism as a means of survival whilst I was in prison. That I was in fact a heterosexual male forced to do what I did only because I had no choice. I have not dressed as a woman for over ten years. I did have urges to transform into Michele on occasion during my first few years of release, but I overcame them. I rebuilt my life, moved to a new city, and started my career over. I became successful and made lots of money. I reinvented myself and reacquired all the trappings of success. Big house, big car, big bank account and lots of beautiful women. I got too greedy. A year ago it became obvious to me that I was in too deep in some shady real estate deals involving the misappropriation of government funds. I cut a deal with the investigative body that was breathing down my neck. I gave up everyone else involved in my shady scheme for a one year sentence in a low security prison. I would do easy time with white-collar crims. Colour TV, gymnasium, single cell, conjugal visits; it would be a walk in park. It all went to shit when they found out about my previous conviction; "sorry Mike but the deal's off; the best we can do is two years hard time," they said. I took it. Then I found out that my hard time would be done in Chelmsford and the nightmares returned. When I was driven into Chelmsford Prison eight months ago I was fifteen kilos overweight with a scruffy grey flecked beard and long greasy hair. I had deliberately let myself go so that I would not attract the attention of the predators that I knew lurked within the walls of this shit-hole; particularly the predators of cell block E; particularly Eddie McManus and his crew. I kept a low profile but made extensive inquiries as to what was going on inside Chelmsford. I was relieved to be assigned to G block; there was no one on G block who had been there long enough to remember me. I was even more relieved to hear that Eddie had died over two years ago and that his empire no longer existed. E Block was now condemned and was boarded up, awaiting demolition. The corrupt and perverted Warden had been replaced and the whole prison had undergone radical reform. I tentatively inquired about transvestite prostitution in the prison and was greeted by bellows of laughter and disbelief. Sure, there were rumours that such things had happened in the dim deep past, but no one really believed them. How could an inmate, even an inmate as infamous as Eddie McManus, operate a string of transvestite prostitutes inside a maximum security prison! I eventually relaxed and decided to do easy time. I volunteered to assist in the prison education scheme, training inmates in the basics of bookkeeping and accountancy. I went to the gym every day and slimmed myself down, I shaved my beard and started looking after myself. I kept myself to myself outside of the classrooms and cafeteria meal times. I was a model prisoner, quiet, well behaved and compliant. I was stupid! I became complacent. I paid the penalty. And so eight months later I returned to my cell to find my few belongings packed up in a cardboard box and a surly prison officer standing at the door thrusting a piece of paper at me. I took the document and read it. It was an order transferring me to F Block. F Block was where the worst criminals were housed, murderers, rapists and perverts. "Why," I asked, my voice trembling. "Well it would appear the Governor's brother has just been indicted for fraudulently using government funds," the guard answered. "And it would appear that your testimony was crucial to the inditement. Suck's to be you hey Mikey; no more easy time. F Block ain't what it used to be in the old days they say; but it ain't a walk in the park either," he sniggered. "And it's right next door to E Block; you know all about E Block don't you?" the guard went on. "What are you talking about; E Block's condemned," I stammered. "Never mind, I'm just fucking with your mind; pick up your shit and let's go," he ordered. I settled into my cramped and mouldy cell in F Block. The single cells here were old brick and tile with full-length solid steel doors with a peep hole at eye level and a trap at the bottom to pass food trays and reading matter through during locked downs. I again settled down into the routine of head counts, meals, showers, sleep, more head counts and boredom. No extra curricular activities here; just hard time. Three times a week we were allowed out into the exercise yard. I kept to myself and watched the passing parade of quiet withdrawn men doing hard time. Often there was violence; fights over who knew what, but I stayed away and made no friends. After another three months in F Block I was nearly a year into my stretc