Forbidden Hotel – Feminized Perpetually – A Transgender Horror Story

Forbidden Hotel

  • Title: Forbidden Hotel
  • Subtitle: Feminized Perpetually
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Category: horror, mtf-transgender

After the sudden demise of his father, 18 year old Troy Carter travels all the way from the US to be with his half-sister, Julia, who lives in the Dartmoor region of England. As the ominous quality of the moors casts itself on the boy, a series of unusual events occur. A cab driver refuses to drop Troy to Hodgson Hotel, which is owned by Troy’s brother-in-law Arthur Sykes. The driver profusely apologizes for his act, claiming to have become neurotic after the mysterious disappearance of his son, George, two years previously.

Kindly, middle-aged priest Father Anka escorts Troy to Hodgson Hotel. Upon reaching Hodgson Hotel, Troy is at the receiving end of three shocking events: attempted sexual assault at the hands of his brother-in-law Sykes, the drastic transformation of his sister Julia who has currently been reduced to an emaciated haggard-looking woman and Julia’s hysterical overreaction after receiving the news of their father’s death.

Eventually, Troy is abducted and imprisoned in a wing of Hodgson Hotel, where Sykes injects him with a substance that transforms Troy into a long-haired curvaceous woman called Tamara. Troy notices that he is not the only one being held captive at the Hotel: a number of young men abducted from the Dartmoor area have been forced to become women through mysterious rituals. And the most startling thing is that all the detainees have something in common: blonde hair and blue eyes.



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Forbidden Hotel

Feminized Perpetually

Chapter 1 – An Incredible Discovery

I gazed out of the shuttered window. The wild, mysterious moorland stretched across infinite miles. The romantic moorland, laden with tors, bogs and rivers, had become a metaphor for my life, which too stretched on to infinity. And it had become as mysterious and haunted as the moors, even if not half as romantic.

I gazed down at the thick, unyielding ropes that bit into the delicate flesh of my wrists and ankles. As much as I tried to evade it, my gaze settled and lingered on my developing body: the budding conical breasts, the big sensitive areole, the distended nipples, the tapering waist and gently curving hips. My big china-blue eyes had grown wider, its pupils dilated and the eyelashes thicker. My golden blond hair that had grown longer, curled beside my ears with cloying affection. And I could swear my skin had grown way smoother than ever before.

All this might have been exciting if I was a growing adolescent girl. Except that I was not. I was a nineteen year old American man called Troy Carter, who was being held captive on the first floor of Hodgson Hotel, situated in South West England. And how did I, a once sunny cheery Miamian, land up in a gothic-style hotel in the brooding, deserted region of Dartmoor? Well, it’s a long story. And I don’t feel like narrating it right now.

The three blonde “sisters”, whom I’ve nicknamed Gia, Mia and Ria, are huddled against each other like three little rabbits. They are young women with breasts as ripe and fecund as melons, a narrow tunnel of a waist, wide birthing hips and perfectly rounded derrières. With their long, luxuriant blond hair that shimmers like mini suns and shapely blue eyes of different shades, the “sisters” are ethereally beautiful. However, their beauty has certain eerie quality about it, for when you look into the eyes of the women, you see bleakness. And if you look deeper, you see terror.

And the three aren’t real sisters either. I just call them that for the sake of convenience. And the peculiar thing about Gia, Mia and Ria is that they don’t speak. I doubt if there is anything technically wrong with them because I’ve heard their strange semi-conscious whisperings in the darkness. I’ve tried to glue my ears to their murmuring mouths in a bid to listen more clearly, but their speech has failed to make sense. In the mornings, the “sisters” are rendered mute because the eyes have seen the unseeable, and their ears have heard evil. And their pale square faces are afflicted by a longstanding, protracted fear and an ineffable anticipatory dread of what is to come. The “sisters” are like frightened little lambs that are soon to be led into slaughter. However, they don’t know if death will be their ultimate fate. If there is anything that is terrifying in the world, it is uncertainty. And these three girls are closer to being pushed into the unknown more than I am.

I looked into the newspaper cuttings that I had found beneath the bedding the previous night. It was a report of all the missing persons around Dartmouth region. I skimmed through the list and read three reports carefully. They read as follows:

1) Ambrose Hastings

Missing Since: Feb 18th, 2014
Missing From: Dartmouth
DOB: Feb 14th, 1993
Current Age: 23
Sex: Male
Race: White
Hair Color: Dark Blonde
Eye Color: Midnight Blue
Height: 5’9
Weight: 72 kgs
Ambrose is believed to be in the local area. He has the tattoo of a sailor under his left clavicle.

Anyone having information must contact:

1-990-833-9999

The Dartmouth Sheriff’s Office

2) Charles McDowell

Missing Since: April 11th, 2014
Missing From: Dartmouth
DOB: Jan 9th, 1996
Current Age: 20
Sex: Male
Race: White
Hair Color: Platinum Blonde
Eye Color: Cornflower Blue
Height: 5’5
Weight: 60 kgs
Charles has a strawberry shaped birthmark on his thigh and a pierced left ear.

Anyone having information must contact:

1-990-833-9999

The Dartmouth Sheriff’s Office

3) George Mitchell

Missing Since: January 18th, 2014
Missing From: Dartmouth
DOB: Dec 26th, 1995
Current Age: 21
Sex: Male
Race: White
Hair Color: Ash Blonde
Eye Color: Baby Blue
Height: 5’7
Weight: 63 kgs
Anyone having information must contact:

1-990-833-9999

The Dartmouth Sheriff’s Office

There were cases of several other missing young men from the region around 2014-2015. I couldn’t help noticing that all of them were or had been in the 18-25 age group when they were reported missing. Another curious parallel that I had noticed was that all the young men had blonde hair and blue eyes. Granted the eyes were of different hues of blue, and the blonde of varying shades, but this was one similarity that no one with a discerning mind could afford to overlook.

I was sure that the relatives of these young men would have left no stone unturned to find them. Apart from registering a missing person’s report with the local sheriff and placing reports in newspapers, they would have posted photographs of their wards on bulletins, post cards, milk cartons and websites to publicize the descriptions of the missing guys. Yet according to subsequent reports that I found under the mattress, they hadn’t been found in spite of the law authorities combing out the area.

Why and where had these boys gone? What had happened to them?

Had they chosen to escape domestic abuse and exploitation by running away? Had they been mentally ill, and hence had absconded? Had they joined some sequestered cult of some ultra religious organization? Had they disappeared elsewhere to take advantage of better employment and living conditions?

The last was not a very plausible theory, as the young men were simple country boys and had evidently lacked the confidence to foray into unknown territories. They were simple lads who were born and bred in Dartmouth, had lived simple lives there and had loved their parents and relatives. None of them had evidently shown the slightest inclination to abscond, abandon their parents and sweethearts and run away to exotic distant lands.

The repetitive thought niggled at me again. Where had these young men disappeared?

A queer whimper-like sound from one of the girls in the room drew my attention. Ria, Mia and Gia were huddled close to one another, their burnished blonde hair shimmering like lights in the dark, gothic room. Three beautiful heads huddled close together: one dark blonde, the second platinum, and the third a blinding shade of stark ash blonde. The eyes of the “sisters” were a varying shade of blue, right from Gia’s midnight blue to Mia’s cornflower blue eyes to Ria’s wide, terrified baby blue orbs. A thought struck me: an incredulous, fantastic and far-fetched thought. No, it couldn’t be true. These things seldom happened in real life. They just happened in books and bizarre sci-fi movies.

Yet, there was something undeniably “different” about the “sisters”. Their over-feminized bodies notwithstanding; there was something a tad out-of-place about their square broad jaws, wide shoulders and large hands and feet. They stuck out like eyesores among the curvaceous lusciousness of their bodies and the smooth, creamy texture of their skins.

Mere hypothesizing can be futile. I knew what I had to do. I marched to the cowering sisters and kneeled down amicably in front of them. The “sisters” flinched as I approached, but let me come close. I approached Gia and gently lowered the neckline of her tulle fabric a bit.

Perhaps I wasn’t entirely taken aback when I noticed a palm-sized tattoo of a sailor beneath her left clavicle. Gia had, a few summers back, been called Ambrose. Ambrose Hastings.

I hovered over Mia and gently hitched up her skirt to the starting line of her cycling shorts. Mia didn’t resist or slap my hand away. In the few weeks of captivity that we had shared, the “sisters” had come to view me as a friend, a kindred-soul, and as a victim of similar circumstances.

And on her dreamy, creamy thighs, I saw it. The beautiful, rose-pink strawberry shaped birthmark. Yes, there was no doubt that “Mia” was the missing Charles McDowell.

Since no distinguishing marks had been mentioned in the case of the third person, I had to take an inspired guess. “George?” I asked turning to Ria.

The ash blonde mutely nodded.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, a memory stirred.

“Is your father a cab driver?” I asked.

Ria wordlessly nodded, once again.

So, my far-fetched theory had been true after all. The young men missing from Dartmouth couldn’t be traced because their gender identity had been changed. They had been held captive in Hodgson Hotel and turned into young women.


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