The Stepton Slaves, Part Two

A short time later, Sharon led Chrissy-Poo, in her tight, short, white satin dress, sheer stockings, white ankle socks with frilly lace cuffs, and white five-inch high heels, into the beauty salon. They were met by Carla, who was the owner as well as leader of the feminizers of Stepton.

"Well, doesn't Chrissy-Poo look precious in her satin dress?" Carla teased.

I ought to slap her one for that...

"Thank you, Mistress Carla. I am pleased you like the way I look," Chris replied. The cross-dressed slave looked around the beauty salon. It was obvious that all the staff--and a goodly number of the customers--were implant-dominated transvestites like himself. All the staff members wore tight pink mini-dresses, exceedingly short: The hems revealed their stocking tops and garters. Unlike most of Stepton's cross-dressed male population, they did not wear their hair long or have wigs on. Instead, their short male hair was laced with matching pink ribbons.

Hey--isn't that one just a boy? Chris's gaze was locked on a child of 14 or 15, seated in one of the salon's chairs. He could tell the customer was young, despite the sophisticated way in which "she" was dressed--silk wraparound dress, patterned stockings, black patent leather pumps with six-inch heels. The boy-girl's hair was platinum blonde, done in flowing waves around her face, which was made up beautifully beyond her years. Her figure had obviously been trained and surgically remade as well, giving her a 37-24-35 shape. Is that's what in store for Danny?

"Ahhh...I see you've noticed little Allison," Carla commented. "Allison's mother has decided that the child should earn her way in the world--in the only way such an unruly little thing can. Since Allison has no abilities at school or typical domestic work, her mother has turned her into a call girl. This is her day off, but normally Allison goes to New York each day, where she earns her keep as a high-priced escort for men who appreciate her looks--and her abilities at cock-sucking."

Allison was not the only exotic sight in the salon. In another chair sat an obvious male in a tight corset, black hose and seven-inch heels. His arms were bound to the chair and his ankles were connected by a ten-inch length of chain--obviously meant to train his gait to a ladylike mincing step. One of the attendants was coating his nails with red polish while another powdered his exposed, hairless chest and rouged the nipples. He seemed to be totally embarrassed.

Even Sharon spotted this one. "Why is he bound? Doesn't his implant work?" she asked Carla.

"Oh, it works perfectly," Carla replied. "That's Gretchen's little Marsha. Her implant is designed to merely reinforce her submissive nature...and her aversion to femininity. That's why she's so humiliated by her current situation. Gretchen doesn't want just a feminized slave--she wants one who is completely aware of what has happened to him...and the humiliation he experiences as a result."

As they spoke, the attendants completed their work on Marsha, unbound her wrists and helped her out of the chair. Gretchen entered then, and produced a bondage glove. She pulled her slave's arms behind her back, thrust them into the tight leather glove and tightened it until Marsha's elbows met in the small of her back. Next she pushed a ball gag into Marsha's mouth, buckling it behind her head. That was followed by a collar with a leash attached. Gretchen took the leash in hand and led the half-naked, half-feminized slave out of the salon, past the gaping Sharon and Chrissy-Poo. Marsha's eyes implored the others to understand his situation and not to laugh. Sharon couldn't help but smile--someday she would have to experiment with bondage on Chris.

"Come along, Chrissy-Poo," Carla said, taking the new TV slave by the hand. "It's time to complete your transformation." The satin-clad man-woman was seated in one of the salon's comfortable chairs and a lovely staff member came up to begin work on his hair.

"Wait!" Sharon halted the process. "I want Chris to be aware of what's going on. Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo!" That was the code phrase that would permit Sharon to impose specific, unopposable orders upon Chris through the implant. "Until I reactivate your implant," she ordered, "you are Chris again. Carla, perhaps you'd best tie him down as you did Marsha."

Instantly, Carla and the attendant strapped the hapless Chris into the chair. He pleaded with his wife. "Sharon, why are you doing this?"

"When I met Carla while house-hunting," she explained, "I discovered that the women of Stepton had the best of everything. About half of them own their own very successful businesses--like Carla here--and have no need of a traditional 'breadwinner' as a husband. The others all have husbands whose jobs, like yours, do not require them to be seen frequently in public. Hence, it was simple for them to develop this feminization process."

"Most of us are confirmed lesbians or bi, anyway," Carla interjected. "Certainly I can testify that Sharon is--or didn't you know that when you married her?"

The women all laughed at the surprise that registered on Chris's face at that assertion. But now, the final steps in his transformation began. One of the boy-girl attendants appeared and introduced herself. "Hi Chrissy-Poo, my name is Francie. I'll be washing and setting your hair. I'm also told that your mistress has instructed that it be frosted."

Chris gulped. How far was Sharon going to go with this? He felt the chair fall backward as his head was lowered into the sink. Francie began washing his hair.

Meanwhile, at the high school, Sharon and Chris' 15-year-old daughter Karen was getting her indoctrination to the joys of petticoating and dominating young men. She was meeting with the leaders of the school's "domination team," who had brought along their personal slaves--all boys who also attended the school in feminine disguise--to demonstrate their control over the male sex.

The girls, like their mothers, favored leather clothing--while the boys, like their hapless fathers, were dressed in the most feminine of styles. The leader of the team was Melinda, Gretchen's daughter, who wore a clinging outfit of black leather jacket and jeans, with spiked-heel knee-length boots. The other two girls, Sondra and Kathryn, wore similar outfits. They had all lent leather clothing to newcomer Karen, so she would not look out of place.

"C'mon, Misty, show Karen how you greet your mistress," Melinda ordered her slave, a mincing 17-year-old senior once named Michael. He was dressed in Parisian high fashion, as Melinda preferred him to be: silk blouse, tight slim-cut navy skirt, topped by a fitted jacket. Underneath, she had him dressed in what she termed "slut lingerie"--black lacy half-bra, black lacy crotchless panties, matching garter belt and black seamed stockings. He was perched on six-inch-heeled black patent pumps.

Misty fell to her knees at Melinda's feet, pressing her red glossy lips against the gleaming leather of the teen-age dominatrix's boots. She ran her tongue up the length of each boot. Then Melinda took the cross-dressed boy's scarlet-nailed hands and drew him to her face, planting a passionate French kiss upon him, thrusting her tongue deep into the boy-girl's lipsticked mouth. She reached down and rubbed her hand over the growing mound beneath the navy skirt Melinda wore. Then she pushed him away, nearly sprawling him on the ground.

Misty's hands strayed toward her turgid cock. "Don't you dare!" commanded Melinda. "Who does that little dicky thing belong to?" she asked.

"To you and you alone, Mistress," Misty responded, blushing.

"Drop your skirt, Misty," Melinda demanded. The embarrassed femme obeyed. "Pull out your dicky thing." Again Misty complied. "Now jerk off!"

Misty began to pull and rub his cock, feeling it grow larger and larger in his hands. Then--just as he was about to explode--Melinda cried, "Stop!" Immediately he dropped his hands to his sides.

Melinda turned to her compatriots. "Janice," she cooed, "don't you think your little Judy would like a taste of come? I know she loves it."

All eyes turned to Judy, nee Jules, a petite young slave dressed in little girl drag: taffeta party dress with ruffled petticoats, smooth bare legs with white ankle socks. The little-girl look was belied by the size of his breast implants and the seven-inch white heels he was forced to wear. He looked to his mistress, a tall well-built black girl.

"Well, you heard Mistress Melinda," she told him. "Suck that cock," she ordered, pointing to Misty's still-swollen member. The little-girl TV dropped to her knees and took the cock in her mouth, sucking off the other cross-dressed lad until he shuddered with pleasure.

Melinda turned to the stunned but smiling Karen. "You see, Karen, the implants make them unable to defy us. All you have to do is make your pick of the unattached femmes in the school."

At Carla's beauty salon, Chris was just seeing the results of Francie's efforts. His hair was now a coppery red, falling into gentle waves to his shoulders. His eyebrows had been reshaped into ladylike arches; even his ears had been pierced. Little gold studs now graced his lobes. His face had been artfully made up, with eyeshadow, mascara, blush, lipstick and powder. He couldn't believe his eyes. He actually looked like a woman--albeit a bizarre one, given the satin outfit he was still wearing.

In the mirror, he saw Sharon come up from behind him. "Well, Chrissy-Poo, now you know that the women of Stepton mean what they say. You'll stay a man-woman from now on."

He turned to face her and began to speak. She put her hand to his lips and whispered, "Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo." Oh no! I'm helpless! What's she done to me?

"Now, Chrissy-Poo," said Sharon, settling into one of the salon's chairs, "I'm horny. Satisfy me."

"Yes, Mistress," he responded, burying his face in Sharon's hot pussy. Why am I so excited? What can't I stop? What's happening to me?

Later that day, Chrissy-Poo and Sharon arrived home. Though the implant permitted no outward sign of it, the transformed sissy was shocked to find Carla, her own little boy-girl Charlotte and her maid-husband Deirdre waiting for them in the living room. What are they doing here?

The answer came in a moment, as the three stepped aside to reveal Chris and Sharon's son Danny--looking very little like a son at the moment. Laid out on the couch, he was dressed in a pink taffeta party dress, with starched white crinolines and opaque white stockings underneath. He wore charming black patent leather Mary Janes with a two-inch heel upon his feet and white lace gloves upon his hands, folded neatly below his childish bosom. His face was artfully made up to disguise his masculinity, a disguise furthered by the curly, shoulder-length blonde wig he wore. Oh no! thought Chris, has Danny already had the implant done? Is it too late for him?

"I thought you were going to wait for us to get home to transform Danny?" Sharon asked.

"Oh, this is just a preliminary stage," Carla replied. "Charlotte was visiting--under my orders--and slipped a drugged juice drink to little Danielle here. We've found that the implant works particularly well on adolescents if they are already in a transformed state."

"Good," Sharon commented. "I want to be here to establish the proper pecking order among my little transformed beauties."

What does she mean by that? Is Sharon planning something even more bizarre with Danny?

While Chrissy-Poo pondered, Carla prepared the implant injector. She pressed the "muzzle" of the air-gun against the back of the cross-dressed Danny and pulled the "trigger." There was a brief hiss and she withdrew the device. "It's done," she announced.

"Get the little dear to his feet," Sharon requested, "and wake him up." Charlotte and Deirdre hauled the still-sleeping boy-girl off the couch and shook him to rouse him.

"Huh--what's goin' on...Mom? What is all this...." he mumbled, blearily.

His mother turned to Carla. "What's his activation phrase?" Carla whispered in Sharon's ear. "Oh, that's good." She turned back to Danny, who was starting to notice how he was dressed--and how his erstwhile father was dressed as well.

"Dad? Why are you in those clothes? What's happening?"

"Danielle, blow me a kiss!" Sharon announced.

Danny stopped speaking in mid-sentence, pursed his lips and blew a kiss to his domineering mother. "May I do anything else for you, Mother?" he asked, in feminine tones.

Oh God! Chris thought. She's done it--now we're both helpless. We're just boy-girl sex slaves...just like every other male in Stepton!

"Danielle, Carla informs me that her friend Michelle needs a model for her children's clothing store in New York," Sharon informed her transformed son. "I have told her you would be happy to take the job. Naturally, all your salary will be turned over to me."

"Oh, Mother, that's wonderful! I so love to wear pretty clothes!" Danielle enthused.

I hate hearing him talk like that--but partly because I want to be the one wearing those clothes, Chris realized. What else does Sharon have planned for us?

Sharon turned to her husband-slave. "As for you, Chrissy-Poo, Michelle also has a section of the store that sells exotic and bizarre clothing for transformed males like yourself. I have told her you would be pleased to act as a sales girl--and model--for her."

"Oh, I can't wait, Mistress Sharon," Chrissy-Poo exclaimed. And the horrible thing was that he couldn't.