PART ONE
"How are you feeling, Chris?" Sharon asked.
"A little better," he replied.
"Then why don't you get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo?"
Chrissy-Poo? Since when does Sharon call me Chrissy-P--
"Yes, Mistress Sharon," Chris replied, in a soft, husky voice. "How would you like me to dress?"
Sharon was flabbergasted--Carla's implant was remarkable. Chris' every movement was entirely feminine--and he was obviously ready to obey any request she might make of him. "Go to the closet, Chrissy-Poo. There's a white satin mini-dress I'd like to see you in. You'll find the proper undergarments in the second drawer of the dresser."
Sharon must be crazy. There's no way I'm going to wear a dress--
Chris crossed to the closet and got out the dress Sharon indicated. It was designed to be very tight, its shimmering fabric would cling tightly to Chris' every curve; curves that would soon be apparent, thanks to the corset, bra, and panties he found in the dresser. "But, Mistress, I can't wear this dress and this lovely lingerie with hair all over my body," he said.
"Of course not," Sharon replied. "Go to the bathroom, draw yourself a nice warm bubble-bath and shave yourself entirely. Then get dressed and come down to see me in the living room."
Half an hour later, Chris (now Chrissy-Poo) appeared in the living room door. He curtsied to his mistress-wife, saying, "Am I satisfactory, Mistress Sharon?"
Why am I doing this? Why can't I stop myself? What have these women done to me--and why is my cock so swollen with excitement?
Sharon surveyed her newly transformed spouse. Chrissy-Poo was dressed in the tight white satin dress, its hem stopping a full eight inches above her knees. Under the dress, her corset was pulled in to 24 inches (from Chris' normal 34), and her bra was padded to create a 36C bosom. Below the hem of the dress, Chrissy-Poo wore sheer stockings, held up by the garters of her corset, white ankle socks with frilly lace cuffs, and white high heels, with five-inch heels and a strap across the instep.
What's going on? How did I get into this predicament? Is it something about this town, about Stepton?
As Chris Martin drove his family into the small suburban town of Stepton, he began to wonder if it had been a good idea to let his wife choose the site of their new home. The place seemed so pristine, almost Norman-Rockwell-like--very different from the gritty big city where they had lived and where Chris had grown up.
Something about the scene passing by outside the car windows also disturbed Chris, but he couldn't quite place the problem immediately. Then it dawned on him: he hadn't seen a single male--adult or child--since passing the town limits. He turned to ask his wife, Sharon, about it, but she was busy pointing out the town's highlights to their 15-year-old daughter Karen and 12-year-old son Danny. Chris shrugged--it was probably nothing to worry about, anyway.
A short time later, they pulled into the driveway of their new home. The lack of male faces continued to play on Chris' mind: all up and down the tree-lined street, he saw nothing but women and girls. All the people working in their yards were female; all the children playing were neatly dressed girls of varying ages.
Still, Chris thought, as he lugged in the last of the family's possessions, Stepton has a great reputation--good schools, low crime rate, no juvenile delinquency at all. It's going to be a great place to raise the kids. And the long commute back to the city was no problem. Chris was a freelance writer; he rarely had face-to-face contact with his editors, and nearly all of his work was sent to the publishers via modem.
The next morning, after a tiring day of hauling boxes and setting up furniture, Sharon asked Chris to take Danny to the local supermarket while she and Karen played host to the town's welcoming committee of women. Not wanting to be surrounded by gabbing women, Chris readily agreed.
As he headed out the door for the car, he nearly bumped into the first of the welcoming committee to arrive. A tall, dark woman whose stunning figure was not hidden by her black-leather business suit and red satin blouse, she introduced herself as Carla. "Sorry, I have to run, Carla," Chris excused himself, "but the shopping needs doing. The pantry is empty."
"That's quite all right, Chris," Carla replied. She smiled mysteriously, "I know we'll be seeing more of each other soon." Then she walked confidently into the house on her six-inch black patent pumps.
Chris, his own confidence a bit shaken by the run-in with the intriguing Carla, climbed into the car beside Danny and headed for the supermarket.
The supermarket was another new experience for Chris. There was seemingly not a single male in the place--not even on the staff. And all the women shoppers were dressed in the most extravagantly feminine manner--flouncy dresses and blouses, miniskirts, five-, six- and seven-inch heels. A few were even dressed in the classic French maid's uniform: low-cut, short-skirted black satin dresses with bouncy petticoats; sheer black hose (often with a hint of garter showing); black patent high-heeled pumps, all topped with a lacy apron and cap. Chris assumed they were servants in some of the richer households, out doing the shopping.
Chris was surprised to find that the experience of being surrounded by so much femininity was arousing him, engorging his cock. As a particularly scrumptious beauty passed him, Chris followed her with his eyes--and found that he had pushed the shopping cart into one of the frilly French maids.
"Ooops! Pardon me," he apologized.
The young lady in the extremely short outfit smiled prettily in return. "Oh, it's quite all right," she replied. "This place can get pretty crowded at times." She held out her hand, adorned with a set of gold rings and long, perfectly shaped red nails. "I'm Deirdre."
Chris took her hand in his, noting the heavy gold band around her wrist. Was that a lock on it? "Pleased to meet you, Deirdre. I'm Chris Martin and this is Danny." The absolute femininity of this vision before him had Chris blushing.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Sharon had dozens of questions for Carla and her other guests. "But I still can't believe that someone as masculine as Chris can be made into a woman that simply," she protested.
"Not a 'woman,' please, Sharon," Carla corrected. "He'll still be male in body, but female in outward appearance and temperament.
"And believe me," she continued, "it can be done. Why, my little Deirdre was just as manly as Chris back when she was David. Now the dear is a perfect French maid--and she wouldn't think of being anything else."
"And Deirdre--just like all our husbands--is completely submissive to women," interjected Michelle, another of the guests. "Carla's little implants are a work of genius."
Carla went on to explain the implants. The electronic devices, when placed against the spinal cord, transmitted a specially prepared "program" into the subject's unconscious mind. The program could be nearly anything--from a command to stop smoking to dance instruction (as long as it did not threaten the subject's life)--but Carla and her fellow Stepton wives had chosen to use them to enslave the men of the town, turning them into sweetly submissive false females.
"But not all of the men are like Deirdre," Sharon pointed out.
"Of course not," replied Susan, another guest. "Sweet as Deirdre and the other French maids look in their outfits, not all of us are into that scene. Most of us are just happy to see our little darlings in the most feminine of normal street clothing. None of them are ever permitted to wear pants--except tight little short-shorts in summer. We all agreed to that when we signed our little pact."
"But a few of us have gone even further than Carla has with Deirdre," put in Gretchen. She was dressed in a very severe, yet sexy, black outfit, and carried a short whip, hanging from her belt. "I came to Stepton, like you, when I heard of Carla's implants through the grapevine. I had already imposed my will on Marshall--now Marsha--but I wanted to make his enslavement permanent. She now spends her days in lingerie and mild bondage in our home, only seeing others when we entertain. Perhaps you'd like to visit someday soon?"
Back at the supermarket, Chris and Danny were just checking out when Deirdre approached them again. "Please, let me invite you to visit my Mistress Carla and me," she offered. "I'll check with her when I arrive home. I'm sure she'll find you just charming."
"Well, thank you, Deirdre," Chris replied. "I'm looking forward to it."
Mistress? He watched the frilly figure mince toward her car. What kind of town is Stepton anyway?
At the women's meeting, Sharon had one last question. "What about Danny? I haven't seen any boys in town at all--have they all been transformed too?"
"Certainly, my dear," Carla answered. "My own son Charlie is about Danny's age. I put an implant in him two years ago--now little Charlotte is a perfect angel. We've found the implants work even better on pre-teen and teenaged boys. They almost seem to want the transformation. We'll handle Danny this summer, before school starts. We wouldn't want him disrupting the other boy-girls."
At that moment, Chris and Danny entered the house with the groceries. "Hello, everyone," he greeted them. "Oh, Carla--I ran into your maid, Deirdre, at the market. She sort of invited me to visit you."
"Wonderful, Chris," Carla purred. "Shall we say tomorrow--about 11:00?" She leaned toward Sharon and whispered: "Deirdre was ordered to make that invitation if she ran into Chris. It will give me an excellent chance to do the implant."
The next day, Chris rang the bell at Carla's door. Moments later, he was led into the living room by the ever-ravishing Deirdre. Today the maid was dressed in a pink-satin uniform with white hose and six-inch-heeled pink sandals, which let her red-polished toenails wink through. She curtsied prettily to Chris and told him, "Mistress Carla will be here shortly. Let me make you a drink; then sit back and relax." She went to the bar, returning with Chris' requested Bloody Mary a few moments later.
After a short while, after Chris had had a few sips of his drink, Carla appeared. As usual, she was dressed in leather and satin. Today, everything was red: red leather miniskirt, red satin blouse, red hose, red patent-leather heels. The effect, against Carla's dark brunette beauty, was every bit as devastating as she'd hoped it would be.
Carla put out her hand for Chris' greeting. "Thank you for coming, Chris."
"Thanks for having me....." Suddenly, Chris felt his knees go out from under him as his mind swam. He collapsed into Carla's arms.
"Quickly, Deirdre," she ordered her transformed maid-husband. "Help me get him into the surgery. The effects of that drugged drink won't last very long." The two hefted Chris into the next room, which was set up much like a doctor's examining room. They placed him carefully on the table.
Carla brought a special device out of a cabinet. She fit one of her special implants into the air gun-like device and placed it against the back of Chris' neck. She pulled the "trigger," and a slight hiss of air indicated the procedure was over. As she removed the gun from his neck, the only sign of Chris' implant was a slight red mark just below his hairline.
Now Carla and Deirdre brought the rapidly recovering man back into the living room. "Whew," he breathed, "what happened to me?" He rubbed his stiff neck.
"I've no idea," Carla smiled. "Perhaps the vodka in your drink was stronger than you're used to."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'd better go on home. Sorry to ruin our get-together, Carla," Chris apologized.
"No problem," she replied. "And be sure and say hello to Sharon for me."
Not long after, Chris arrived home, still rubbing the back of his neck. Sharon greeted him at the door and helped to their bedroom to lie down.
Then she picked up the phone and called Carla.
"Are you sure the implant is working?" she asked. "Chris doesn't seem to be any different."
"The implant's programming doesn't begin to operate until you activate it," Carla explained. "The activation phrase is 'Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo.' Say that to him and watch what happens. It can also be used to give irrevocable commands once the implant is activated."
So Sharon activated the implant and ordered Chris to get dressed in the little-girlish outfit and present himself to her.
"You look lovely, Chrissy-Poo," Sharon told him. "The only thing missing is your makeup and hairstyle. But I have the answer to that--your appointment at the beauty salon downtown is in 20 minutes. Let's go."
And she took the cross-dressed submissive by the hand and led him to the door.
No! NO! I don't want to go to a beauty salon! But I do--and the very thought of having pretty hair and makeup is driving me wild. Why? WHY?
More to come
2 comments:
You wrote " it spawned three sequels and even an entire website devoted to the fictional town of Stepton--see the link at the right."
do you still have a link to the website devoted to the fictional town?
Unfortunately, no. When the company hosting my last websites disappeared, I turned to blogging instead. Some of what was on that website has been posted here, however. Search on "stepton".
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