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The basement floor was concrete, cold seeping into my knees through the thin rug they'd thrown down for "comfort." My binder lay in shreds upstairs, and my boxers were stuffed in my mouth as a gag—I could taste the cotton and my own fear.
"Spread wider, Sarah," Mom's voice cut through the basement air, sharp as broken glass. She was using the deadname she'd buried three years ago, digging it up like a corpse to fuck. "Your father and Uncle Rick need to see exactly what we're dealing with here."
Dad's dress shoe pressed down on my lower back, pinning me in the arch position while Uncle Rick knelt behind me with a riding crop. "Two fingers and she's already clenching like a virgin," Dad observed, his voice clinical and disgusted. "All that testosterone and she's still just a needy little hole."
"Please," The word came out muffled around the fabric gag. "Mmph, please..."
"Please what?" Mom stood in front of me, her phone recording everything in 4K. She reached down to grab my hair—not the short masculine cut I'd fought for, but the way she used to grab it when she braided it for church. She yanked my face up until my neck strained. "Please stop pretending to be my son? Please admit you're just a confused little whore who needs her uncle's cock to remember how to be a proper woman?"
Uncle Rick didn't wait for my answer. He brought the riding crop down hard on my exposed pussy—the lips swollen from T, the clit enlarged and vulnerable. The pain was electric, white-hot, and my scream vibrated against the cotton gag.
"Count them," Dad commanded, his shoe pressing harder into my spine. "You're going to take twenty strikes on that fake little boy-clit before Uncle Rick even starts the real training. Count out loud so the camera picks it up."
"One," It was a sob, high and humiliated.
The crop fell again, cracking against my sensitive flesh. My body jerked, my hips trying to close, but Uncle Rick had wedged his knees between my thighs, keeping me spread obscenely wide for the camera, for my parents, for his inspection.
"Two."
By five, my pussy was burning, the skin reddened and sensitive. By ten, tears were streaming down my face, dripping onto Mom's orthopedic shoes. She was smiling, a tight, satisfied smile of vindication.
"Look at how wet she's getting," Mom observed, zooming the phone in closer. "See the shine? She's loving this. She knows she's being put in her place."
"Fucking disgrace," Dad muttered, but his shoe pressed harder, grinding my hips into the concrete. "Your sister was easier to break," he said to Uncle Rick. "Remember when we caught her with that girl from the softball team? You only had to fuck her twice before she started begging for dresses again."
"Sara’s got more delusions to burn out," Uncle Rick replied, delivering the eleventh strike directly to my clit. The pain was so sharp it blurred my vision, but beneath it, traitorously, came the first stirrings of arousal. The adrenaline, the shame, the forced exposure—it was wiring itself into my nervous system as sexual stimulation whether my mind agreed or not.
"Fifteen," Dad counted for me when my voice broke. "Only five more, niece. Then the real fun starts."
The last five were rapid-fire, no pause between them, turning my pussy into a swollen, throbbing mess of pain and heat. When Uncle Rick finally stopped, my clit was pulsing, hard and obscene, protruding from between my lips like a tiny cock—the physical evidence of my transition that they were determined to torture into submission.
"Jessica, get the ice," Uncle Rick ordered, unbuckling his belt with one hand while he used the other to spread my pussy lips wide, exposing the entrance. "We need to numb this little dick down before we start the orgasm training. Don't want her enjoying this too much yet."
Mom returned with a glass bowl of ice cubes, the kind she used for sweet tea in summer. She didn't hand it to Uncle Rick. She knelt down herself, her floral dress pooling on the concrete, and selected a single cube with her manicured fingers.
"Hold her open, Rick. Derek, keep her back flat."
Dad's full weight came down on my spine, pinning me completely immobile as Uncle Rick used both hands to spread my labia, exposing my clit and hole to the basement air. Mom brought the ice cube down with deliberate cruelty, pressing it directly against my swollen, abused clit.
The scream that tore from my throat around the gag was inhuman. The cold was shocking, painful, shrinking the sensitive tissue while simultaneously making the nerves scream. She held it there, rotating it, pressing hard while Uncle Rick laughed at the way my pussy tried to clench and逃げ from the sensation.
"Look at it trying to run away," Mom cooed, sadistic and maternal in the same breath. "Such a confused little thing. Is it a clit? Is it a cock? No, sweetheart, it's just a numb little nub that belongs to your uncle now."
When she finally removed the ice, the blood rushing back to the tissue was agony. My clit throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, hypersensitive to the point where the air felt like sandpaper.
"Now," Uncle Rick positioned himself, his cock heavy and thick against my tortured entrance. "The conversion therapy begins. Brother, keep your foot on her. Mom, you handle the front. We need to train this pussy to cum on command, and then deny it, and then force it again, until the only thing Scottie remembers how to be is a dripping, broken fuckdoll."
He entered me in one brutal thrust, filling me completely, his pelvis grinding against my ice-burned clit. The sensation was too much—not pleasure, not pain, but some overwhelming third thing that made my vision spark with stars.
"Touch her clit, Mom," Dad instructed. "Not gently. Pinch it. Treat it like the useless little button it is."
Mom's fingers found my clit, now shrunken from the ice but still hard, and she pinched it between her thumb and fingernail, twisting while Uncle Rick pounded into me from behind. The dual sensation was torture, my insides being hammered while my most sensitive spot was being crushed.
"You're going to cum for us, Sarah," Mom whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my cheek. "You're going to prove right now that you're a girl. Girls cum when they're told. Girls cream on family cock. Boys don't, do they? Do boys get wet and messy and scream when their pussies are used?"
Uncle Rick changed his angle, hitting that spot inside me with precision, while Mom twisted my clit harder, and the combination was catastrophic. My body convulsed, my pussy clamped down on Uncle Rick's invading flesh, and the orgasm was ripped from me violently, against my will, humiliating and wet and undeniable.
"That's one," Uncle Rick grunted, not slowing down. "Mom, don't let go. Keep working that clit. We're going for six before we let her rest. Daddy, hold her hips up. We need better camera angle for the gape."
They repositioned me like a doll, Dad pulling my hips higher so my face was pressed completely to the rug, ass in the air, pussy exposed to Mom's phone. Uncle Rick continued his relentless pounding, and Mom never released my clit, rubbing it raw, overstimulating the sensitive tissue until the pleasure became pain and then back to pleasure again, an endless cycle of torture.
"Two," Dad counted when the second orgasm hit me, weaker than the first, more painful, my pussy spasming helplessly around Uncle Rick's cock while Mom laughed at the way my legs kicked uselessly against the concrete.
The third came with Mom slapping my clit directly with her open palm while Uncle Rick bottomed out inside me, hitting my cervix with bruising force. The fourth came after a denial period where Uncle Rick stopped moving completely, leaving me impaled and desperate, Mom flicking my clit with her fingernail until tears streamed down my face and my hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction, proving my body needed this.
"Please," The gag had slipped, hanging around my neck now, and the word came out clear and pathetic. "Please, no more, please, Mom, Daddy, please make him stop, please..."
"Five," Uncle Rick announced, groaning as my pussy milked him involuntarily, my body so overstimulated that the muscles were spasming on their own, beyond my control. "One more, niece. One more to seal the conversion. Mom, use your mouth. Show her what motherly love really looks like."
Mom's mouth closed around my abused clit, and the wet heat of her tongue after all the torture was the final breaking point. The sixth orgasm was devastating, a full-body convulsion that had me screaming into the concrete, my back arching against Dad's weight, my pussy gushing around Uncle Rick's cock, soaking him, soaking Mom's chin, proving beyond any doubt that my body was a traitor to my identity.
"That's my girl," Dad said softly, his shoe finally lifting from my back, his hand instead petting my hair as Uncle Rick pulled out, leaving me gaping and dripping. "That's the moment. Right there. That's when we got her back."
Mom sat up, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief, smiling at the camera. "Proof of cure," she said brightly. "Six orgasms in twenty minutes. No 'man' could do that. That's female biology. That's a good little whore who knows her place."
Uncle Rick grabbed my hair, pulling my face up to show me my own mess—the puddle beneath me, the swollen redness of my pussy, the way my clit still throbbed visibly. "Ready for the next round?" he asked, already hardening again. "Your parents paid for the full weekend, and we haven't even started on the electro-stim training yet."
Dad and Mom settled back into the lawn chairs they'd brought downstairs, getting comfortable, opening beers. "Take your time, brother," Dad said to Uncle Rick. "We want to make sure the lesson sticks.”