Abduction Conspiracy
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

Brian had a file in his hand but it was just a prop. He wanted to cross over to Jared’s cubicle and exercise his lizard brain, probably the most active organ in his head.

“God, that temp is so hot. The one outside Finch’s office – the one with the long brown hair, in the short dress and black tights and heels” said Brian. “Do you know her name?”

“You don’t recognize her? She was in the news a year or so ago.” Jared looked up at his colleague ogling the new girl. “For a start she is not a her, or at least she used to be a guy.”

“You’re kidding,” said Brian. She is gorgeous.”

“You’re not wrong there, but that is Arlene Tuckey, who used to be Aaron Tuckey,” said Jared. “Do remember when that Abduction Conspiracy hit the news. Young girls were being abducted by a human trafficking ring and sold into the Middle East, and a few young men as well. Castrated and feminized and sold to be a fuck boy for some Arab. It makes you shudder just to think about it.”

“It does that,” agreed Jared. “So no nuts, huh? I wonder what else they did down there.”

“Why don’t you go over an ask her. I think she is on a break at the moment, and clearly you are too.” Jared had work to do so he turned away.

“I might just do that,”

The fact was that Brian had seen Arlene earlier in the week and had taken any opportunity to stare. Somehow learning that she had not always been a woman made her even more exciting. He had to find out more. It was eating him up.

“Hey, my name is Brian. I work on the other side of the floor but perhaps you’ve seen me?”

“Hello Brian. No sorry. I have been busy coming to grips with things. My name is Arlene.” She offered him a hand – soft with perfect pink painted nails. He took it like a treasured thing – just to hold.

“Yes, Arlene Tuckey. I hope that you don’t mind me being forward, but I have heard your story. I have heard that you were originally a guy. I am just curious … have you got any bits of that left?”

She glared at him, her face thunder. She snapped – “I do mind. I don’t ask you what is in your shorts. It might be a cunt for all I know, and if it is, it is your business, and your business alone!”

Brian’s face went red and then white. He scuttled away.

Arlene accessed the personnel records of this rude man. She had a number to call.

Later that night there was a knock on her door at home. She opened it to the dark man she knew well an ushered him inside.

“Salaam eleikum, Ahmad,” she greeted him

“Al eleikum salaam, Al eina,” he said. He had an envelope thick with banknotes that he slipped into her hand.

“I’inah dhu ruh ealiat , lakinani 'aerifuk ealaa hadha alnahw,” she said.

“Ant taerifuni jayidan,” he said, acknowledging her perfect Arabic before repeating it in his perfect English – “Yes you know me well, and yes, I like them high spirited, at least before their manhood is removed. One again you have earned your fee. Brianna will be beautiful, but not as beautiful as you.”

“Would you like to stay the night?” she asked.

“Allah be praised,” he grinned in affirmation.

She had read extensively about the so-called “Stockholm syndrome”. It is the notion that the victims of abduction as a defence mechanism find themselves in empathy with the kidnappers. Could that be it? Maybe it started like that, but in all her time in the harem she had learnt so much.

She had learned the joy of being a woman, and the joy of pleasuring men. And she had learned that Arab men know that being born male is a privilege and that not all men deserve privileges. Brian was one of those men. She hoped that like her, he would learn to love being female. But if he didn’t, then that did not matter either. She had her mind on the man she adored.

Ahmad was the man who released her and sent her home, on the condition that his activities remain secret. His business was finding women for the harems of wealthy Arab men, of a special type. Women who could be made out of men who did not deserve to be men. She was not about to betray him. She enjoyed helping him.

She lay back and let him enter her and he always did, with a soft prayer of thanks and a hard rod of flesh.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023

Author's Note: I think that this came out of discussion that I had with Erin on the nature of "Stockholm Syndrome", something that I think was explored in my recent latest anthology on Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CWDK47K7