Stepton High, Conclusion

The next morning, Arnie dressed in the clothes his stepmother had laid out for him--short-sleeved satin blouse in pale green; matching satin skirt cut like a skater's circle; all over the sexiest of white lacy lingerie: bra, panties, garter belt and lacy white stockings. His shoes were the white high-heeled Mary-Janes. He immediately noticed that the extremely short skirt revealed his stocking tops, garters and panties with practically every move. What's more, the implant's programming--which was rapidly replacing even his internal thoughts--meant that the combination of the smooth satin and the humiliation of his constant exposure left him with a pulsating cock.

As he buckled his shoes, his father/maid, Ronnie, minced into the room in his satin uniform. "I have been requested to aid you in your makeup and hairstyling, Annie," the transformed servant told him. Arnie/Annie sat quietly at the vanity as Ronnie applied cosmetics to his face and combed out his pageboy. The final touch was a pale green satin bow tied into his coppery hair.

Ronnie escorted him downstairs to greet his stepmother. "Mistress Diane, here is Annie," she announced.

Diane clapped her hands when she saw her creation. "Splendid!" she cried. "I'm sure you'll be the hit of the 1990 freshwoman class at Stepton High--and you're certain to be picked by the top junior."

A look of puzzlement passed over Arnie's face--a look that wasn't missed by Diane. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Annie: You'll find out all about it at assembly this morning."

One hour later, Annie sat in an auditorium at Stepton High with about 50 other transformed boys. Most of the others had, he learned, been living as girls since the day they were born, others had first been made into boy-girls when their parents moved to Stepton. A stern but beautiful woman, Mistress Joanna, the Dean of Boy-Girls, spoke to them from the auditorium stage.

"Ladies, you all know your place within Stepton society. Our task, here at Stepton High, is to train you for your individual niche in that world. Many of you have had your future places chosen for you by your mothers and guardians. Our classes in modeling, home economics and, yes, sex education, will prepare you for the duties they have chosen. Other women have left your proper training to us...we will discover your natural inclinations and train you for the positions that best suit your imposed personalities.

"To aid the faculty, the upper class women often participate in training, frequently choosing a particular boy-girl to become a special project. Along those lines, it has become traditional for the five top female scholars in the junior class to have their pick of the incoming freshwoman class boy-girls to train for the next two years--and often far beyond that time."

At that, five young women strode on stage. Like their mothers, the 16-year-olds of Stepton were the image of confident female power. Three of the four wore leather of one kind or another. A fourth was in spandex. The fifth, surprisingly, wore the lace that normally designated a feminized male.

But no one would ever mistake Destiny McGiver for one of the submissive playthings of Stepton. Despite the ladylike crispness of her lace-bestowed blouse and calf-length satin skirt, her face was the picture of determination. She wore a white velvet choker with a black cameo at her throat. The white patent-leather boots showing below her hem had six-inch stiletto heels...and what looked like real spurs. She carried a white riding crop hanging from her left wrist by its thong.

Mistress Joanna introduced each of the prominent juniors, indicating that, as top in her class, Destiny was to have first choice of the available freshwoman boy-girls. About half the class were asked to stand--those whose future had not been determined by their mothers--Annie among them.

Destiny walked up the aisle, eyeing each of the boy-girls carefully. She passed Annie and inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not sure he was ready for the rigors of individualized training. But then he felt a tap at his shoulder from behind. "What's your name, Red?" Destiny asked. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"Annie Howard, Mistress," Annie responded, in the best female voice her programming could create. "I've just moved into town."

"Really? Should be interesting training a newcomer," Destiny replied. "And I've always like redheads. You'll do." She turned to the stage. "Joanna--I claim Annie Howard as mine!"

Thirty minutes later, Annie was on her knees in the "training room," a converted gymnasium, awaiting the arrival of her new school mistress, Destiny McGiver. With her were the other four boy-girls chosen by the top women of the junior class for training. Two places to Annie's left was Connie, once Conrad. She was dressed in classic schoolgirl attire: white man-tailored blouse with middy bow, red-and-green plaid kilt, with an oversized pin in the front, white ankle socks and loafers. The kilt, naturally, was short, revealing Connie's smoothly shaven legs to mid-thigh.

Between Connie and Annie was Jessica, formerly Josh. Unlike most of the other boy-girls in the freshwoman class, Jessica's mother had begun her on a more complete transformation program, before turning the details over to the school. Jessica had been on female hormones since sixth grade...and over the summer between junior high and high school she had undergone breast enhancement surgery. Jessica now had a 35C bosom, a fact that was not hidden by the skin-tight white spandex top that clung to her every doctor-given curve. Below she wore equally tight black jeans with zippers at the ankle. Her shoes were black patent pumps with six-inch heels.

To Annie's immediate right was Danielle. Danielle's mother, like Diane, had heard of Stepton through the grapevine and decided it was just the right place for her family. Danielle looked like a model...and with good reason. She had spent her pre-teen years modeling slightly kinky little girls' clothing at a boutique owned by Miss Michelle, one of Stepton's founders. But now that she had gotten older, Sharon, her mother, had decided it was time for her to get some real training.

The strangest of the five new trainees was undoubtedly Louisa. She was dressed as no teenage girl in any other town might be for a schoolday. Louisa wore a tightly laced black corset that left her still flat, male-like bosom exposed, its slight globes powdered and its nipples rouged for effect. Matching panties encased her obviously engorged cock, while black seamed stockings were held up by the corset's six straining garters. Her shoes were truly strange: The heels were so high (Annie would swear they measured eight inches) that her feet were forced into a literal tip-toe position. Her hands were bound behind her back and a red ball-gag was forced between her lips.

Seeing Annie's shocked look, Danielle explained. "Louisa's mom is Gretchen...she's really the town bitch. She and her dad, Marsha, aren't under the control of the implants like the rest of us. Gretchen uses bondage and discipline to keep them in line and feminized. I don't think I've ever seen Louisa in anything more than a corset."

Danielle quickly stopped speaking as the doors swung open and Destiny and her four compatriots strode in. The others were named Samantha, June, Justine and Hazel. Their leather outfits gleamed as they each approached one of the chosen freshwomen.

"Well, Red," Destiny began, "I hope you're ready for a tough first year of high school. See--I've got it in my head that it's just too easy to dominate you boy/girls with your implants. I need a challenge."

She stopped a moment as it seemed Annie's face brightened. "No, that doesn't mean you won't be my slave, honey. But I'm gonna fix you up good and proper as a cock-tease. I think it might be fun to have a sexy little thing working for me to bring some new male blood into Stepton--some male blood I can dominate and feminize without Carla's little electronic thingies...at least until I'm good and ready to use them."

Annie looked at her quizzically. "You still don't get it, do you, Red? You're going to be my bait," Destiny explained. "I'm going to dress and train you to be the biggest little tease in all suburbia...then you and I will go to some school dances in the surrounding towns and pick a likely candidate for you to work on. All the boys in Markham and Sutterville have heard the 'legends' of the unapproachable beauties of Stepton--now they'll get to meet one face-to-face. It'll be a meeting they'll never forget!"

Deep beneath the implant-imposed calm, Arnie shuddered. It was one thing to be subjected to his feminized fate by his stepmother--but to become the lure for other boys to share his humiliation? That was truly bizarre.

Destiny produced a leather leash and belt, then buckled them around Annie's waist. "Okay, come with me," she said, tugging the cross-dressed boy to his feet. "First, we have to get your mom's permission for my little scheme--then it's time to schedule some of the changes I have in mind for you."

She walked confidently from the room, Annie mincing behind at the end of the leash.

Hours later, Annie's step-mother Diane had agreed to Destiny's plan, and Annie was in the dressing rooms of the swankest boutique in Stepton. The clerks brought in dozens of the most beautiful dresses--cocktail frocks, evening gowns, designer suits--for her to try on.

Destiny sat on a little settee, approving or disapproving each of the choices. By the end of the afternoon, Annie's wardrobe had been expanded by some 15 expensive outfits.

"All right, Red--here's the plan," she announced to Annie as they drove back to Diane's home. "Saturday night there's a big college dance in Markham. You and I are going to be there--dressed to kill. I want you to pick out the likeliest candidate for domination and transformation and get him to come back here to Stepton with you. I'm going to do the same. Then the fun will begin." Destiny unhooked Annie's seatbelt and let her out of the car. "I'll meet you here Saturday night, Red."

Saturday evening seemed to come all too fast for Annie. What am I going to do? Arnie thought from deep within the recesses of his feminized mind. She's going to want me to make time with one of those college guys--and then help control him the way they control all the men in this town!

Destiny arrived at 6:00 and was escorted to Annie's room by Ronnie. She carried a garment bag with her own dress in it.

"This is a formal affair, Red--so we're going all the way," she told the transformed boy. "Strip out of those teenage clothes and we'll start with your face."

Though deeply embarrassed by the demand, the implant's programming gave Annie no choice. She took off all her outer clothing--revealing the lacy red bra and panty set beneath--and sat at her vanity. With Ronnie's aid, Destiny soon had the young boy-girl's face looking luxuriously exotic and elegant. Her eyes were enhanced with several shades of green eyeshadow as well as the longest, thickest false lashes Annie had ever seen. The weight of them seemed to pull her eyelids to half-mast, giving her a heavy-lidded, bedroom-eye look. The blush used made her cheekbones look high and well-defined, while the wet red lipstick turned her lips into "kiss me, fuck me" signals.

And then there was the dress: It was white satin with a halter neck, leaving her back bare to the waist. It clung to every one of Annie's artificial curves, its hobble skirt outlining the sensuous curve of her nyloned legs. Together with the six-inch heels on her satin pumps, it shortened her stride to a mincing five inches, causing her ass to wiggle most provocatively.

Destiny was dressed more comfortably, but equally as sexy. Her gown was black leather, cut in a strapless bustier style, with a short jacket over it all. The straight skirt hung to her ankles, with a slit up the left side revealing her black-hosed legs perched on six-inch patent-leather pumps.

Destiny reached into her purse and produced a silver collar and locked it around Annie's throat. "OK Red," she announced. "Let's go trap some college boys!"

One hour later, Annie was on the floor of the gym at Markham College, her body pressed close against that of Randall Shuster, a tall, slender, sandy-haired freshman. Destiny had helped her slave pick out the boy as a likely candidate--he seemed shy, he was alone, and his face and figure would lend themselves to transformation.

Destiny herself was busy leading on another Markham freshman, Grant Collins. The dark-haired young man was a touch on the fleshy side, the dominatrix observed, but all that flab might turn into an impressive bosom if treated properly, she thought.

Both Destiny and Annie played up to their conquests, promising greater joys to come, if they would just accompany the girls back to Stepton. Why am I doing this? Arnie struggled with Destiny's commands, deep inside Annie's mind. She's just going to make them like me--her little feminized pets! Eventually, neither Randall nor Grant could resist. The four of them piled into Destiny's car and headed for Stepton.

"You know, we've heard a lot about Stepton ever since we got to Markham," Randall told Annie. "The girls there are all supposed to be lookers--and you two certainly live up to that description--but they're also supposed to be sort of cold and aloof."

"Don't believe everything you hear, Randall," Annie responded. She reached out and stroked his burgeoning cock through his trousers. The slender boy moaned softly, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, for a soft but demanding kiss. Oh, jeez! I'm kissing a guy--what next?

Destiny, in the driver's seat, had unbuttoned Grant's shirt and was playing with his nipples. Then she let her hand stray down to his crotch. His cock was rock hard. "Just as I thought," she mused. "This one is a prime candidate for a breast fixation--his own breasts!"

The short drive drew to a close outside Destiny's house. Her mother had promised to leave the place deserted so that her well-trained daughter could spring her trap. While Annie helped the two unknowing victims settle in in the playroom, Destiny fixed drinks. She carefully offered them to Randall and Grant--who very quickly dropped off to sleep.

"Why did you drug them?" Annie asked a little sheepishly. "I thought you wanted to control them without help?"

"And I will, Red--don't you worry," Destiny responded. "I just didn't want them fighting me the whole time I got them dressed appropriately. There's a whole wardrobe of girl's clothes over in the closet. Start pulling stuff out while I get these two undressed."

The closet indeed held a veritable cornucopia of feminine finery--everything from formal wear to short- shorts; from dominatrix outfits to little-girl party dresses--all made in sizes to fit grown men. Annie guessed at Randall and Grant's sizes and pulled out one of everything that might fit.

Meanwhile, Destiny had stripped the two sleeping college students naked and, working quickly, had shaved their legs and chests smooth as silk.

She selected black lingerie for Randall and red for Grant: bras, panties, matching garter belts. She sleeked their legs with sheer stockings, making certain the hose were taut and smooth. Ruffled miniskirts in matching colors covered the college boys' hips (and that's about all they covered). After padding the bras with lifelike prosthetic pads, the dominant high school girl put white satin blouses on them.

As Annie submissively held a tray covered with a wide array of cosmetics, Destiny made up Randall and Grant's faces--foundation, blusher, eyeliner, mascara, shadow and luscious red lipstick. Annie fetched a pair of matching wigs, one in a sandy blonde color for Randall, while Grant's was a close match to his own brunette hair.

Working quickly, for the drug in their drinks would wear off soon, Destiny slipped red six-inch spikes on Randall's feet, black ones on Grant.

"Well, there they are, Annie--your new sisters, Randi and Grace!" Destiny exclaimed as she stepped back to examine her handiwork.

The boys' well-mascaraed eyelids began to flutter and they strained at their bonds. Randall turned to look at his buddy and registered shock at Grant's transformation. "What the hell is this?" he shouted. "What's goin' on?"

Destiny reached out and slapped him on the cheek, leaving a red impression. "Shut up, Randi, dear," she ordered.

"What's going on," she continued, "is the beginning of your enslavement to the women of Stepton. We have videotaped the entire process you have undergone since arriving here...and those tapes will be sent to Markham's local television station, unless you do exactly as I tell you."

In short order, Randi and Grace agreed to the deal. The next several hours were spent teaching the two college "girls" how to handle their heels and skirts. When Destiny was satisfied with their progress, she locked them in a spare room at the high school, to await the next day's assembly.

At 9:30 that morning, Mistress Joanna, Dean of Boy-Girls, announced that Destiny had a special surprise for the school. Destiny came on stage and called for her video to be projected on the auditorium screen. The audience gasped as they saw the two Markham college students transformed--without the aid of Stepton's usual electronic gadgetry. As the screen faded to black, a spotlight hit the left side of the stage and Annie led Grace and Randi before the assembly.

Blushing in embarrassment, the latest boy-girls of Stepton proved Destiny as the premier dominant of Stepton High!

THE END

Stepton High, Part Two

Two hours later, Carla swung his chair around and allowed the transformed boy to see his new look. Arnie gasped. His hair had been dyed to match the color of his father's coppery curls, and had been cut and set into an attractive pageboy. The bangs carefully traced the curves of his newly arched eyebrows. Below those brows was the face of a teen-aged model: wide, long-lashed green eyes, an upturned nose with a smattering of freckles, full, pouty red lips.

"Excellent!" Diane exclaimed. "And here are your new clothes."

They dressed him in the epitome of modern teen-age styles, with more than a hint of excess femininity and submission: a well-padded underwire bra, tap panties, matching garter belt and sheer nude stockings were his lingerie; his outer clothes consisted of a ruffled mini-skirt in white, stopping just six inches above his knees, a pink blouse with full sleeves and a big bow at the collar, white ankle socks with pink ribbon through the cuffs and pink patent-leather pumps with a T-strap and five-inch heels.

They released him from the chair and he almost fell on his face from the unaccustomed height of his heels. "Don't worry," Carla told him. "The final step in our process will make those heels easy to handle."

She approached him from behind, carrying the air-hypo she used to inject the tiny computer circuit that programmed the males of Stepton to accept their transformed, submissive status. With a sharp hiss, she pressed the device against the back of Arnie's neck. His eyes went blank and he slumped into a chair.

"The programming is all set?" Diane asked.

"Yes. He'll accept you as his primary dominant," Carla answered. "Although, once he starts school, one of the unattached trainees is sure to grab him as her personal in-class slave.

"The activation phrase is 'Curtsy for me, Annie,'" Carla continued. "All the femininity training and submission controls will begin right then. As you requested, he'll remain aware of his true gender--but be unable to stop himself from acting like a girl--a slave girl."

Diane turned to the unseeing eyes of Arnie. "Curtsy for me, Annie," she said.

Instantly, awareness came back to his eyes, he stood and performed a perfect curtsy. Why am I doing this? Arnie thought behind the feminine facade. Why can't I stop myself? "Annie, we have a lot to do before you start school on Monday. Come with me to the mall," Diane demanded.

Annie obediently picked up the purse that matched her bright pink shoes and minced after her stepmother.

Twenty minutes after first becoming Annie, the newly transformed Arnie Howard found himself in place he never thought he would be in his life: the dressing room of a women's boutique in a busy suburban mall.

Diane had brought him here--to "Hot Girls"--to outfit him for his new role in life; he was to be, like all the males in Stepton, a submissive feminized slave to the women in his life. She had decided that her stepson/daughter would act the role of a teenybopper, perhaps even a Madonna wannabe type, and "Hot Girls" was the place where the coolest of the cool set bought their clothes.

This is impossible, Arnie thought inwardly. I can't wear these clothes; they're meant for a sexy girl. But the programming being fed into his brain by Carla Weathers' computer-chip implant made his voice and body betray his inner self. 'Oh, Mom, these are just the most!' his soft, feminine voice cried, as the salesgirl came in with armload after armload of outfits. He was currently wearing a black satin blouse, open to the belt line of his short black spandex mini-skirt. Around his hips were two broad white leather belts, criss-crossed at the crotch, emphasizing the false curves of his body. The stretch fabric of the mini clung to his ass and thighs, while the sheer nylons on his legs made them look long and sexy.

He looked at himself in the mirror and discovered one more trial he would have to bear. The sight of himself as a sexy teenager turned him on--his cock was swelling in the confines of his silky panties. He moved his hand to his crotch and rubbed himself there. Diane noticed the motion and smiled. "So, that part of the programming is working, too," she thought. "Soon,he'll be just as aroused by the idea of being feminized as his father is." The thought of her husband, home in his French maid's outfit, brought carnal thoughts to Diane as well; her pussy began to get wet. "Got to finish this quickly," she thought.

Diane picked out and paid for several more outfits,then ordered Annie out of the store. "None of the shoes in there were suitable," she told the boy-girl. "Not sexy enough. Come with me."

Arnie minced after his stepmother through the crowded mall. He was surrounded by women. No--not all of them are women, he reminded himself. In fact, the most feminine-looking ones, like himself, were the most likely to be male. A good number were dressed in French maid outfits like his father's--black satin mini-dresses, frilly starched petticoats, sleek black nylons and pumps with very high heels. Others were dressed in flowing floral prints or ultra-tight pants that revealed panty-lines and sometimes a tell-tale bulge as well. But it was the real women Arnie found most disturbing--and alluring. Many were dressed in leather--leather jumpsuits with lots of zippers and plunging necklines, leather business suits with short, tight skirts and satin blouses, short leather jackets open to the navel, often with no blouse beneath. Others were simply dressed in the classics of career women; but all of them carried something that signified their place in command--a strap, a short whip, a chain.

There were a number of couples strolling through the mall as well, displaying different levels of dominance. To his left, Arnie saw a remarkably attractive woman of about 35, clad in a leather jumpsuit and knee-high boots with five-inch heels striding confidently along. Three steps behind her came a "woman" of about the same age, dressed in flowing pastel chiffons, mincing in white pumps with six-inch heels--and carrying about a half-dozen large packages. "Come along, Tina--don't take all day about it," the dominatrix commanded, as her feminized slave attempted to mince a little faster, without losing control of the packages.

Behind them, a woman in a beige leather business suit led her companion by a leash. S/he was dressed in red satin from collar to cuff, with a matching red collar tightly locked around her neck. The leash was attached to that and she struggled to keep up with her mistress' determined walk.

And then there were the children...even here the sex differences could be seen in mode of dress. The little girls were often in jeans or overalls...but their transformed brothers were always in skirts--and generally, short little-girlish skirts at that, often suited to a child two to three years younger than their real age. As they approached the teens, however, it was obvious the boy-girls were changed into something more sexual--with greater emphasis placed on their false bosoms and long, shaven legs. And some of those bosoms don't look so false, Arnie noticed. Obviously, some of the wives and mothers take this transformation process more seriously than others. I hope Diane's not one of those.

As Arnie's interior mind finished this musing, they arrived at their next destination. "Heels" was the name of the shop--and from the products on display it was well-named. There was not a flat or low-heeled shoe to be seen; the shortest was four inches. They came in pumps, sandals, boots of all heights and descriptions; with straps at the instep and ankle, with little locking devices. It was a foot-fetishist's dreamland.

Within, a number of dom/sub couples were trying on footwear, the submissive half's choice invariably looking more uncomfortable, more humiliating than his mistress'. "Sit down over there like a good girl, Annie," Diane ordered, indicating an empty chair, "while I pick out a few appropriate styles." His programming working like a charm, Arnie sat primly in the chair, knees together, ankles crossed, hands folded in his lap.

Diane returned a few minutes later with four different shoes and a clerk--another feminized man, Arnie could see--in tow. The clerk measured Arnie's foot and then went off to find the appropriate size in the styles and colors Diane indicated. When he returned, he began to fit the first of her choices on Arnie's feet. It was a close match to the pair he was wearing, but in white. The strap across the instep made them look like a pair of Mary-Janes, if it wasn't for the five-inch heel. They slid easily onto Arnie's nylon-clad foot, though the toes felt a touch narrow and tight. He mentioned that to his stepmother.

"Nonsense, dear," she replied. "A little discomfort is sometimes necessary for beauty." I'll never be able to walk in these without hurting. But the implant's programming allowed him to only smile prettily, mince around the carpeted store, and say "Yes, Mom," in answer.

The next pair was a classic opera pump, in black patent leather with six-inch heels. The toe was extremely pointed and squeezed Arnie's foot terribly. The ultra-high heel forced him to take very short steps and to wiggle his ass provocatively. The third pair were boots--brown calfskin, knee-high, with a six-inch stiletto heel. There was a chain around the ankle of each boot. The clerk demonstrated how the chains could be hooked and locked together, effectively restricting Arnie to a four-inch stride--as if the height of the heels weren't enough to make walking a chore.

The fourth pair were sandals. Nearly bare, they were white and
strappy-looking, with several tiny buckles to hold them in place. Each of the buckles was accompanied by a tiny padlock; the clerk locked the sandals to Arnie's feet and handed the key ceremoniously to Diane. The open look of the sandals allowed Arnie's red-painted toenails to peep out, glinting salaciously. The heels--highest he had ever seen--were seven inches. It felt like he were locked into a tip-toe position.

But the implant would not allow the grimace he felt to show on his face. He smiled once again, flirtingly displaying the feminine length of his legs in the sexy hose and shoes.

"Excellent, Annie," Diane applauded. "Now, it's time to go home."


MORE TO COME

Poll Results

Well, clearly I have a fairly educated readership here. All the respondents have at least some college under their belts, and a significant number have graduate degrees. I'm impressed.

Stepton High

A sequel of sorts to The Stepton Slaves

Arnie Howard opened the letter from his stepmother again as the train left the next-to-last stop on his journey. He'd been away at boarding school when his father and his new wife decided to move to Stepton...and he'd never understood why they did it. Now, in this letter, Diane, his step-mother, had requested that he come to their new home town and start his high-school years there. She promised him lots of surprises when he arrived.

By the time he had finished re-reading the letter, the train pulled into Stepton. As he stepped off, Arnie noticed that he seemed to be the only male--outside of the conductor on the train--in the station. The station master, all the other departing passengers, and all those waiting to greet new arrivals were female: either women or girls of various ages. And all of them were attractive--there didn't seem to be an ugly or plain woman in the whole town.

"Arnie, darling, over here!" He turned at the voice calling his name. It was Diane, dressed to kill in an expensive black leather sheath, belted tight around her wasp waist. Her blonde hair cascaded in soft waves to her shoulders, its golden color contrasting with the ebony of her clothes. Her long legs, revealed to mid-thigh by the mini-skirt of the dress, were covered in sleek black nylons and perched on black patent-leather pumps with five-inch heels. Though she was smiling, Arnie always found the woman a little imposing. He walked toward her with some trepidation.

"Arnie, it's so good to have you home," she cried, putting her arm around him and leaning down to kiss the short, slender boy. "I have so much to tell you!"

"Where's Dad?" Arnie asked. His father was a financial consultant who worked out of their home; he'd expected to be picked up by his father at the station.

"Ronnie's at home, taking care of his duties," Diane replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. She led him to a dark luxury car, with a livery-clad young woman beside it. The chauffeur (for such Arnie assumed her to be) assisted them into the car.

"Will there be anything else?" the chauffeur inquired, in a sexily husky voice.

"No, Jeanne, just take us home, please." Arnie had been hustled along so effectively he completely forgot about his luggage, left behind at the station master's office.

Arnie's impression of the town's population was not changed by what he saw on the way to his new home. Not a male was in sight on the streets of Stepton. The women and girls seemed to come in two types: lots of leather-clad women and teens who walked with a sense of assuredness and the others--dressed in frills and extreme high heels, almost caricatures of pure femininity.

"I see you've noticed one of the unusual features of our little town, Arnie," Diane said. "Yes, there are no apparent males here--but, I assure you, there are men and boys here. Most of those adorably frilly and frothy young women you see out there are in reality males--transformed into images of female beauty," she went on.

Arnie frowned. "Transformed?"

"Yes, dear. One of Stepton's prominent women, Carla Weathers, has determined that this town shall never suffer from the depredations that male control brings to all cities: crime, corruption, juvenile delinquency. She developed a fascinating device that helps all the women in Stepton control their husbands, sons and boyfriends--by converting them into feminized slaves." Diane saw the look of consternation that suddenly passed Arnie's face. "Yes, Arnie--that means you, too.

"And don't bother trying to escape! I'm quite capable of handling you physically," Diane advised him. "Besides, all the car doors are locked from Jeanne's control panel."

Subdued by Diane's words and demeanor, Arnie sat in silence for the rest of the trip home. Obviously, his father had married a crazy woman; there was no way she was going to "feminize" him, whatever that meant. Certainly, his father would have no part of this scheme.

In a short time, the sullen 14-year-old and his beautiful stepmother pulled into the driveway of a large brick home. The lovely chauffeur opened the doors of the car and escorted them into the house. "Ronnie, darling, we're home!" Diane called.

At last, thought Arnie, now we'll see how far this idiocy continues. The door to the living room opened and a vision in sexual femininity minced out. The tall redhead was dressed in a classic French maid's uniform: black satin mini-dress over a froth of white petticoats; white satin apron tied in an over-large bow in the back; black seamed stockings; and black patent pumps with six-inch heels, their ankle straps secured with tiny padlocks. "Welcome, home, Mistress Diane. Hello, Arnie."

Arnie stared at this lovely creature with unabashed confusion--the face was in some ways familiar beneath the carefully applied cosmetics, the voice had a familiar ring within its breathy tones. It couldn't be!

But it was! "Arnie, say hello to your 'father'," Diane chuckled, watching the embarrassment in both their faces.

"Hi...Dad," Arnie stumbled over the words.

"Lunch is ready in the kitchen, Mistress," Ronnie informed them. "And Arnie's appointment at Miss Carla's salon is set for 3 p.m."

"Excellent, Ronnie," Diane replied. "Come, Arnie, let's eat. You'll need all your strength for this afternoon's activities."

During lunch, Arnie could not keep his eyes off the lovely creature who had once been his manly father. Finally, he could hold it in no longer. "How did you do this? How could you do this?"

"Everything will be explained at Carla's salon this afternoon," Diane answered. "Now, be quiet and eat, like a good little...boy." And she smiled secretly.

At 3, Arnie found himself in the waiting area of Carla's beauty salon. He had been to such places before, when his mother was alive, so he knew what to expect. But there were subtle differences to this salon. First of all, the magazines were not just the typical women's titles, such as Glamour, Vogue and Mademoiselle; there were also magazines with such strange-sounding names as Transformation and Petticoat Power.

The pictures on the wall also seemed unusual--and it took Arnie a few moments to realize that all these seemingly beautiful women were actually men in makeup and feminine hairdos. And the attendants! They were not dressed in the usual sensible smocks, but in short, tight mini-skirts, bustiers and six-inch heels. And a closer look let him see that most of them were male, as well.

After a few moments, Miss Carla herself came and escorted him to a seat in the working area of the salon. She wore what seemed to be the town 'uniform' for the real women--a leather business suit (in red), with an extremely short skirt, white satin blouse and matching red heels. "Now, Arnie, we're going to do the outer changes on you before the 'inner' ones, at your stepmother's request. Isn't that right, Diane?" she asked.

"That's correct, Carla. I want Arnie to know what's being done, so he understands the seriousness of our plans for him."

Carla strapped Arnie's hands to the arms of the chair, and his legs to the footrest. (Though he had long since resigned himself to undergo whatever Diane had in mind; surely, any changes she made to him would be purely 'cosmetic,' in every sense of the word and could always be undone when he got the chance.)

As these thoughts passed through Arnie, his stepmother and her beautician friend were looking over a number of beauty magazines, deciding on Arnie's new look. Finally, they both stopped on the same page and smiled conspiratorially. Carla summoned one of her assistants, a lovely "girl" named Suzie-Q, to wash and set Arnie's longish hair.

"You're really a man, aren't you?" Arnie asked Suzie-Q. She looked down at herself, clad in the revealing uniform of the salon. "Yes, I was, but not anymore..."

"You mean they.."

"Oh no--my mistress would never 'unsex' me," Suzie-Q replied. "I just never think of myself as male anymore. I can't, except when I'm reminded of it."

"What do you mean? How can you forget you're a man?" Arnie insisted.

Suzie-Q turned around and lifted her shoulder-length brunette locks from her neck. She pointed to the slightly reddish scar there, barely visible unless you looked closely. "It's because of this--you'll find out."

Arnie gulped. Perhaps getting out of all this later would not be as easy as he thought.

Arnie sat quietly as the women of the salon worked on him: cutting, coloring and setting his hair; plucking his eyebrows; applying cosmetics, including false eyelashes and fingernails. He even permitted them to remove his clothes and shave his legs without protest. Though resigned to what his stepmother had planned--for the moment--he secretly vowed to find a way out.

MORE TO COME

The Boss Is Always Right

[This is the second story from that long-ago challenge, complete in one posting.]

Charlie's new boss was gorgeous.

That was the only thing he could keep in his head as he watched the statuesque blonde stride into the conference room in her gleaming white business suit, the matching fur stole thrown over her shoulder, her spectacular legs perched on white patent-leather four-inch heels.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, as she took her seat. "I'm the new president of Corydor Fashions. My late husband started this company and made it a success, I intend to make it a triumph!"

Mrs. Corydor was as good as her word. Within six months, Corydor Fashions was winning design awards and making inroads on such well-known lines as Anne Klein and Ellen Tracy. The company president was the line's best advertisement, always dressed to the nines in the top designs of the company's current collections.

A few weeks before the premier of the company's spring line, Charlie was called into her office, his first visit there since her arrival. In her husband's time, the president's office was a den of masculine power: dark panelled walls, heavy oak furniture, the smell of cigars and brandy. Now, as Charlie entered it, he realized that it was a haven of all that was feminine: The walls were now done in a light floral pattern, the furniture was French provincial, the smell was a heady mix of perfumes. In fact, the allure of the scents in the office was so powerful, Charlie nearly swooned as he took the offered seat.

"Welcome, Charlie," Mrs. Corydor began, "would you like some wine?"

Charlie accepted the glass of white wine and took a sip...and again felt the sensation of losing consciousness.

"Feeling a little woozy, Charlie?" Mrs. Corydor asked. "Well, that's not surprising--the wine you just tasted was laced with a very powerful combination of hypnotics and muscle relaxants. And the scents in this room are designed to have a strong effect on the male libido. You are feeling mildly horny, aren't you?"

Charlie, already feeling the force of the drugs and his boss's personality, could only mumble in the affirmative.

"Excellent," Mrs. Corydor said. "I have big plans for you, Charlie. But first I have to make some modifications in your looks, style and personality."

Over the next two hours, the dominant executive worked on making Charlie into a successful submissive. She replaced his underwear with white lingerie: padded bra, satin panties, matching garter belt and white lace nylons. She made him desire to dress this way at all times. And she gave him a code phrase, "The boss is always right", that would automatically return him to this pliant state whenever she spoke it to him.

In conclusion, she gave him a post-hypnotic command to arrive at her home at seven that evening, and then dismissed him.

Precisely at seven, still dressed in the white lingerie beneath his business suit, Charlie rang the door at the Corydor townhouse. He was greeted by an attractive maid, who showed him to the living room. There, reclining on the couch, was Mrs. Corydor, in a red satin nightgown that clung to her every curve.

"Hello, Charlotte," she greeted him, laughing. "You may go, Yvette," she told the maid, "but ask the children to join us, won't you?" The maid curtseyed and departed.

"Come now, Charlotte," Mrs. Corydor continued. "You don't really want to be all cooped up in that hideous suit, now do you? Please take it off...after all, the boss is always right."

That settled it. Charlotte, formerly Charlie, stripped down to his lingerie and, at his employer's further command, curled up at her feet by the couch.

In moments, two young girls, about 12 and 10, appeared in the doorway, each dressed in beautifully frilly petticoats and crinolines. Wait a minute, thought Charlie/Charlotte. The Corydor kids are boys; I remember meeting them at a company picnic.

"Yes, Charlotte," Mrs. Corydor said, seemingly reading his mind, "these are my children--Roberta and Cynthia, once Robert and Sidney. They're undergoing much the same treatment that you are...and very successfully as you can see. In a few months, I expect them to be the top models for Corydor Fashions' new pre-teen line."

She placed a finger under Charlie's chin and turned his face up toward hers. "Would you like to be a model, Charlotte?"

It was September. The ads were being photographed for Corydor's spring line. Fashion editors were oohing and ahhing the new designs and especially about a striking new, previously unknown model. She was used to display the line's sexiest and most revealing minidresses and heels, her long slender legs setting many a male heart to beating heavily.

Mrs. Corydor greeted the press with her new find. The lovely model simpered and smiled and pouted, but didn't speak very much, deferring to the powerful executive.

"Why doesn't she speak for herself?" one of the reporters asked.

"She knows I have all the answers," Mrs. Corydor answered, smiling conspiratorially. "Isn't that correct, Charlotte? After all, the boss is always right!"

THE END

Prom Queen

[This is a short story, complete in this posting. It was originally done as part of a "challenge" on my old website--I posted some images, had the readers vote on them, then wrote a story around the "winning" images.]

Sam knew he needed help with his pitching. The Cornwell high school baseball team depended on him as their solid starter, good for 15 wins every season. But this year, he seemed to be in a slump, unable to concentrate. The tall lanky blonde hadn't won a game all season, and had been unable to pitch more than four innings in any game before the manager pulled him out of the game.

Sam's girlfriend Carol had read about a therapist who was using hypnosis to aid slumping sports stars, and she urged him to make an appointment with Dr. Roberts. He had pushed it aside, but finally mentioned the idea to his manager, who said, "What the hell, Sam. Give it a try--it sure couldn't hurt, could it?"

So now Sam sat in Dr. Roberts' waiting room. He was surprised by the nature of her other patients--he didn't see a single other guy in the place. He recognized the college's top women's basketball forward and the local woman tennis pro, but there were no male athletes and no men of any other kind, either. The whole situation only added to his nervousness.

"Sam?" The doctor's receptionist, a pert brunette in a tight miniskirt, motioned him to the door. "Dr. Roberts is ready for you."

Sam entered the therapist's sanctum sanctorum: It was a richly appointed room, with dark walls, the depth of the darkness accented by drawn curtains and the black furniture. The one spot of light seemed to be a small lamp on the doctor's desk. There was a high-backed swivel chair behind the desk, turned to the windows, so that Sam could not see it's occupant.

Suddenly, the chair turned and Sam was stunned by his first sight of the therapist. "Hello, Sam, I'm Dr. Roberts." She was a glamorous auburn-haired beauty, her hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves. She wore a conservative power suit, though it was carefully tailored to her lush body. He'd had no idea that his therapist would be female.

"Please have a seat," she said, indicating a black leather recliner. Sam sat and the chair immediately adjusted to a half-reclining position, his head on a level with the lamp on the desk. "That's very good, Sam," Dr. Roberts continued. "Just relax and look at the light. The light is very relaxing, isn't it. All you can see is the light...all you can hear is my voice."

Sam realized she was hypnotizing him, but it didn't really concern him--after all, that's what he had come here for. In a very short time, he was completely unaware of anything happening around him.

Cleo Roberts smiled to herself. Yes, Sam would be yet another great subject. She must remember to thank Carol for recommending him. She stood and stripped out of her suit, revealing her severely restricted waist in its PVC corset.

"Open your eyes, Sam," she said, quietly. "You are still deeply hypnotized, but you can see what I tell you to see. What do you see, Sam?"

"I see you, Dr. Roberts," he replied, numbly.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Yes, Doctor, you're very beautiful," Sam answered.

"Would you like to be this beautiful?" the hypnotist asked the entranced youth.

"How could I be?" Sam was confused, even in his mesmerized state. "I'm not a girl."

"Leave that to me," Dr. Roberts replied, smiling.

Later that afternoon, Carol entered Dr. Roberts' office. The receptionist grinned and waved her into the inner room.

Carol stood for a moment, momentarily unsure that she had arrived at the appointed time. Dr. Roberts sat behind her desk, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, while a tall, attractive blonde girl, clad in a very short mini-dress posed on the couch. The girl seemed completely unaware of Carol's presence, even though the door was in her line of sight.

Then the reality dawned on Carol. "Oh my god," she gasped. "Sam!"

"Please, Carol," Dr. Roberts corrected her. "It's Samantha, now." She stood and walked over to the transformed athlete. "Right now, she can see only what I tell her to see and hear only my voice, and only when it's directed to her.

"I've convinced Samantha that she's a high school co-ed, a beautiful lesbian in love with you, my dear," the doctor continued. "I was about to bring the Sam personality back to consciousness, and make him aware of the changes we have forced upon him. I'll also give you a trigger phrase that will allow you to switch Sam and Samantha whenever you wish."

"Wonderful, Dr. Roberts!" Carol exclaimed.

"One warning, however," the hypnotist advised. "Samantha is very demonstrative: She's sexy, alluring, and devoted to you...practically your love slave. Be careful how you use that power."

"Oh, I promise, Doctor," the girl grinned.

Sam sat at the vanity in Carol's bedroom, where she had just finished doing his hair in a lovely updo and touching up his makeup. She had used the trance state Dr. Roberts had shown her to make the little "male lesbian" pliable and accepting of the change, but she had left Sam the athlete in charge of her lover's mind.

"Stand up," she ordered. She picked up the ruffled white gown from the bed and dropped it over the lingerie-clad lad's body.

"Why are you doing this, Carol?" Sam asked. He couldn't disobey her, but he could ask questions.

"Because I love you like this, Samantha," she responded, "and have, ever since I saw you play a girl in your junior high school show all those years ago."

She adjusted a few stray hairs in her lover's 'do, then looked him straight in the eyes. "Dance for me, Samantha," she commanded.

And the boy's eyes brightened. He kicked up his heels, sending the hem of the prom gown in a swirl of ruffles. "Wow, Carol, let's go to the prom!"

THE END

Samantha exclaimed.

Poll Results

Hmmm...lots of professionals among my regulars, I see. Guess you need a good salary to maintain a double life .

The next poll continues our look at the demographics of this blog's readers.

Sissy Forever, Part Three

That evening the three feminizers helped in preparing Robert for bed. All the clothes were removed. He was made to don a pair of nylon satin panties in bright red and an open-nippled night bra, a babydoll top, and capri bottoms, both in bright red satin. He was handed another pair of sandals. These were black patent-leather T-strap barefoot platform sandals.

His makeup was removed and Aunty applied a new coat of creamy red lipstick.

He slept in the extra twin bed in Deborah's room. Before Mother tucked Robert into bed he was handed two pills. Told they were vitamins, he took them. In reality, the pills were a mild sedative with hypnotic properties, guaranteed to put him to sleep quickly and in the proper frame of mind for tonight's "instructions".

Deborah's bed sheets were satin and the beds were four-poster French Provincial fairy princess beds. He was made to sleep with his T-strap sandals on. Aunty said that was to make him feel thoroughly emasculated.

Robert slid down into the sheets--the feeling was wonderful. He did not try to remove his bracelet wristwatch or charm bracelet. Was Aunty making him want to be a girl?.

Deborah soon came to bed and after she teased him a little, Robert fell asleep in perfumed bliss.

Once again, the new age music played in the room, and then shifted over to the soft, soothing, entrancing voice: "Remember all the feelings you experienced today, remember how they made you excited. Now think about how your breasts looked, small and rounded and pink-nippled. Those are not just rubber glued to your chest; they are *your* breasts: When they are touched, especially when the nipples are played with, you will feel a stirring in your cock, a stirring as strong as that you feel when you play with your cock itself.

"Tomorrow, you will go to a beauty parlor for the first time," the feminizing voice continued. "The looks and smells of the beauty parlor will fascinate you and excite you, just as the look and feel of your breasts, your sandals, nails, and bracelets do. The feel of having your hair colored, cut, permed and combed will entrance you: You will want it done at least once a week."

With that the voice faded back into the music.

When Robert awoke in the morning, the first thing he saw were his enameled nails and the bracelets on his wrists. He reached down and touched his sandaled feet, then his hand moved to the little mounds on his chest, and he wondered what it would be like to have full breasts like Deborah's. Strangely, as he touched the nipples of his false breasts and tweaked them with his red-painted nails, he ceased to think of the little mounds as not his own. The sensation stirred his cock and he realized that he needed desperately to come.
Robert was alone in the bedroom. His sister was already up and had evidently gone downstairs. As he lay in bed different thoughts went through his mind. The feeling of being a girl was really exciting. His hands moved to his panties and Robert lapsed into a world of effeminate ecstasy.

The experience at the beauty salon was thrilling but embarrassing. Everyone was told that Robert was a girlish-boy who really loved wearing dresses and sandals. Wanda, the hair stylist, removed his wig and began her feminizing activities.

She began by shampooing his hair, gently massaging his scalp as she did so. Robert felt himself slowly getting relaxed and even a little sleepy as the hairstylist worked on his head. She spoke quietly to him, in an almost whispered drone: "You love this, Roberta. You love having your hair done, seeing the amazing differences a hairstyle can make in your appearance. Soon you'll want it done as often as possible, at least once a week. I'm going to change your haircolor, too," she said. "What color would you like it to be? Black?" No reaction. "Blonde?" Again, no reaction. "Red?" Robert squirmed in his chair and Wanda noticed a stirring at his crotch. "Red it will be, then, Roberta. You'll be a beautiful redhead, I know...especially after our Charlotte finishes with your makeup. You just love makeup, too, don't you, Roberta?"

Robert, mildly entranced by Wanda's words and actions, could only smile dreamily. Wanda proceeded to apply the dye to his hair, then to cut and perm it. While the perm set, a tall, well-built young woman with waist-length chestnut hair came to Robert's chair. "I'm Charlotte, Wanda's daughter," she introduced herself. "I'll be doing your makeover." She set to work with her paints and brushes and pencils, refusing to let the transformed boy see himself until the entire process was complete.

In a short time, Robert found himself sitting under a dryer, as more soothing "new age" music filled his ears. Behind the soft tones, a voice spoke to him, "When you see yourself next, you will fall in love with the girl you have become. Your cock will become harder than you can ever remember it being. Your nipples will be hard, erect, and tingly. When you hear your name, 'Roberta,' you will come."

Wanda soon removed the dryer and walked Robert back to the styling chair, carefully keeping him from seeing his reflection in the mirror. She began to brush out his hair.

As she did this she complimented him. "You should have been born a girl. It's good that your mother and aunt are correcting the mistake. I had a son with a similar problem, but I sent him to Evelyn Manor, a private school for girls. They make exceptions at times and boys are permitted to attend. My son attended Evelyn Manor for four years, and has undergone a complete transformation. Whenever boys attend Evelyn Manor, Miss Evelyn specializes in transforming them into girls."

With that, she quickly whipped the styling chair around so that Robert faced the mirror. He gasped. In the mirror was an absolute angel, with softly waved coppery hair falling to just below her ears. Her bright blue eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and soft shades of blue and purple on the lids. Her cheeks were highlighted with what seemed a natural blush, her lips a soft coral red, waiting to be kissed. It was him--it was Roberta! "There she is," Wanda announced. "There's Roberta!" His nipples ached with their excitement, his cock swelled in its girdled and pantied confines and, not caring who knew or saw, Roberta came!

Wanda turned to his aunt and mother and smiled secretively.

As they drove home, Aunty brought up the subject of Robert attending a private school.

She explained that, a few years back, she had recommended to Wanda that she send her boy Charles to Evelyn Manor. "Charles was always in trouble and lacked respect for his mother and just about everything," she said. "The boys at Evelyn Manor are, of course, required to wear the same uniforms as the girls. The boys are forced to live as girls for the four years they attend. During those years, all masculinity is removed. Through the use of female hormones, being constantly dressed as a girl, treated as a girl, and receiving a girlish education, the girlish-boys return emasculated. Some undergo a complete sex change, others are slaves to femininity. After four years in the dominant hands of Miss Evelyn, Charles returned home a girl--Charlotte Elaine--yes, the same Charlotte who did your makeup, Roberta. Her measurements are 38-24-35."

Mother broke in. "Do you think Miss Evelyn would accept Roberta as a student?"

Hearing all this, even though the thrill of wearing girl’s clothes had enveloped his mind, Robert still did not care for the idea of living as a girl. "I will not go to any private school, especially a private girl’s school!"

A cruel look came over Aunty's face, as she said, "So you won't wear girl's clothes, huh, and you won't attend a girls school." She turned to Mother and continued, "I believe Roberta needs to be continually reminded that she is a girl. I suggest that Roberta be dressed in girl's clothes every weekend and when summer comes that she come to my estate. She and Deborah will have lots of fun. I can erase this male rebellion and arrogance for good and when the fall semester begins at Evelyn Manor, both Deborah and Roberta can attend. I am sure by now Roberta really wants to wear dresses and barefoot sandals all the time, don't you my pretty transvestite?"

Robert begged his mother not to do what Aunty had said.

Mother said that she was thrilled with the idea, and Deborah chimed in with approval. "Isn't it exciting, Roberta, when summer comes you will be able to wear feminine clothes all the time!"

There was nothing more Robert could say, they just ignored his protests.

Once home they all ate dinner. Robert was again dressed in ultra-feminine night clothes, but these were hot pink nylon satin with a pair of hot pink patent-leather ankle strap sandals. Mother tucked him into bed. Again he took the pills and again a tape was played as he fell asleep.

The hypnotic voice began by reinforcing the lessons of the past several days and then spoke of tomorrow's events. "When your ears are pierced and the tiny gold balls are attached to your ears, they will serve as the final marks of your new self. When you see yourself so adorned, you will cease to struggle against your change into a beautiful girl. Indeed, you will now revel in each successive change, you will even get an erotic thrill when teased about your sissified state. You will strive to be more girlish than the most feminine of natural girls."

The next morning Robert was dressed in a shirtwaist-dress and high-heeled sling sandals. Aunty proceeded to pierce his earlobes. He fought with all three of them over this, but it was no use--they were too strong. But once he felt the needle prick his earlobes, and once he saw the shiny gold balls that filled those holes, all resistance fled from Robert's mind. He was now willing to be as girlish as they wanted him to be...and maybe more girlish than they could possibly imagine!

When Aunty was through she said, "Now, with your plucked eyebrows, pierced ear lobes, and such pretty long fingernails, everyone will know you are a pretty fem!"

Finally school was out and Robert and Deborah left for Aunty's.

As Deborah and Robert walked through Aunty's front door, he knew he had left his masculine life behind. He knew his world was now made up of wigs, sandals, dresses, and perfume. It was strange... he wanted to attend Evelyn Manor.

Yes, Aunty Christine had changed Robert into a sissy!

THE END

Roleplaying

I've discovered something new to occupy my time . A post on another blog led me to D&X Institute, a role-playing site geared toward TGs, cross-dressers, etc. I've had a couple of "sessions" with some of the people there and it's a strange combination of "let's pretend", community writing, and on-line sex (sort of).

I'm registered there as two different people. One, of course, is Pretty Sissy Dani...where a lovely lady named Debi is leading me through a fantasy of becoming a mesmerized big-boobed blonde bimbo with a lust for domination by lesbians. The other is Madame Fabricantfille, who is offering her services as a dominant hypnotic feminizer.

If this sort of thing is up your alley, I encourage you to sign on and play around.

Sissy Forever, Part Two

Robert was awakened by his Aunt's voice, saying, "Wake up young lady, your bubble bath awaits you."

He sat up with a start and stared at the three figures standing around his bed--Aunty, Mother, and Deborah were all smiling down at him.

Had he heard Aunt Christine right; had she said, "Wake up young lady"?

Deborah answered his question, as she said, "Get up, Roberta, you're so lucky--you're going to get to wear my sandals, dresses, wigs, and everything necessary to transform you into a girl for the next three days."

Robert moved quickly from the bed and toward his pants and shirt hanging on the chair. They were gone. Clad only in his pajamas, he attempted to run towards the hall door. He felt Aunty's hand grip him around his wrist. He tried to break free, but immediately Mother grasped his other arm. The three of them moved Robert into the bathroom and to the waiting bubble bath.

Robert's pajamas were removed. He stood before the three emasculators. Aunty motioned for him to step into the hot bubbly bath water. It was also heavily perfumed. Deborah giggled as she handed him a razor and said, "Get busy, Roberta! He was horrified. Aunty said, "Yes, Roberta, you are to shave your legs, even though they’re only covered with fuzz. We want you to enjoy the thrill of silky smooth legs. Now start shaving, young lady, before I invite you to stay with me for the summer."

With that threat, Robert lathered his legs and began shaving, after Aunty had shown him how. Soon both of his legs were satin smooth. It was a strange feeling. After he had scrubbed all over, Aunty washed and rinsed his hair.

Mother stood with a towel as Robert emerged from the bath tub. He was thoroughly dried off. Next he was told to put out his wrists as Deborah sprayed a sweet smelling perfume on them, then behind his knees and ears, and on his neck.

He was covered with bath powder by Mother. Aunty reappeared from Deborah's bedroom carrying some feminine items of apparel.

Mother took one and motioned Robert to step into the openings. She said it was a padded girdle and would give him the feminine lines he lacked. As it was tugged into place, his penis and testicles were pressed up into his body by Aunty. Once the girdle was on, all traces of Robert's boyishness were erased.

By now Robert was red with embarrassment and he again tried to beg Aunty not to continue to make him into a girl. He told her he would mind and wouldn't get into trouble in school again. Aunty smiled and said, "The damage had been done."

They were soon standing in Deborah's bedroom. Aunty told Robert to sit down on the bed. Deborah approached carrying a bottle of nail polish. As she knelt down at his feet she giggled, "I can hardly wait to tell my girlfriends that I got to enamel my pretty girlish brother’s toenails and fingernails."

Aunty corrected Deborah. "She is not your girlish brother--she is your younger sister, Roberta."

The polish was bright red and as she painted Robert's toenails, he knew he could not escape this horrible punishment. While Deborah painted his toenails, Mother manicured Robert's fingernails. He had not trimmed them for awhile and they were quite long. She filed them into slender claws.

Aunty then shocked Robert as she told him to lay back on the bed, while she plucked his eyebrows. As she plucked them, tears came to his eyes.

After a little over an hour, Robert was told to sit up. He looked down at his feet and hands and felt crushed. His nails glistened with femininity. Robert couldn't help staring at the shiny red shapes on the ends of his fingers and toes. The sight both troubled and excited him--it seemed that he should hate seeing his nails so scarlet and feminine, but instead he felt an odd sense of completion, as though this was what he needed to make himself "real."

The polish was now dry and Robert was handed a pair of nylons. Mother said that they were sandalfoot, and would allow his enameled toenails to be completely exposed. As Robert slid the nylons up his legs an unfamiliar, but exciting, feeling came over him. The last garter was attached, and he was handed a shoe box. Aunty indicated that she had selected them especially for Robert, for she knew how much he would enjoy wearing them.

Opening the box, Robert cried out, "High-heeled girl's shoes!"

Deborah teasingly said, "High-heeled barefoot platform sandals, silly!" Knowing the additional punishment for disobeying, Robert meekly removed these red patent-leather barefoot emasculators from the white tissue that had hidden them.

His foot slid down the smooth patent leather into the waiting straps. Robert pulled the straps through the buckles, Aunty directing him to strap them as tightly as possible. Both sandals were presently strapped tightly to his feet. When he stood up, Robert almost fell on his face--the 5-inch heels thrust him up higher than he had ever been.

When he regained his balance, Robert again felt an involuntary wave of pleasure as he felt the change in posture the skyscraper heels forced upon him. He looked down at his legs, smoothly bound by the nylon stockings, and further down to his feet, with the red nails matching the red patent leather of his sandals, both shining and reflecting the light of his room. He felt his cock twitch--and a further sense of having another piece of himself completed.

Mother handed Robert another box. This was a very small one. When he opened it, his eyes fastened on a very feminine bracelet wristwatch in gold. Mother removed it from the box and before Robert could say anything she had clasped the band of gold about his wrist. With his enameled nails and his slender wrist femininely enslaved with a girl's bracelet wristwatch, Aunty led Robert to the wall mirror. As he walked to the mirror, Robert felt the light metallic touch of the bracelet watch on his wrist--and suddenly realized that obeying his mother and aunt seemed right and proper, making him, again, more complete than ever before.

"Look at yourself, my pretty niece." Even without long hair, make-up, breasts, and a dress, Robert already looked like a girl.

Mother smiled and said, "My dear Roberta, with long beautiful legs like those, you should wear nylons and skyscraper-heeled strap sandals all the time."

He was hypnotized by the reflection in the mirror (and by the secret instructions he'd received}. The look of his legs in the spindly sandals, with his toenails flashing red, made his cock grow even larger. Deborah broke the spell by saying, "Come now, Roberta, we have lots more surprises for my pretty sister."

Robert was numbed as they led him over to the bed. Aunty told him to lay down on his back. He did as he was told and Deborah said, "The most exciting surprise of all is coming".

Aunty had left the room, but quickly returned carrying a package. “Remember that all girls have breasts," she explained.

Aunty bent over Robert and with a swab applied a sticky substance to his chest area. Next, to Robert's horror, she produced a perfectly-shaped set of latex rubber sissy breasts. They were just the size a girl Robert's age would possess. Mother said, "Now you will have small pink-nippled breasts."

They were pressed onto his chest, Aunty smoothing the feathered edges. They were small, but definitely gave Robert's body a feminine shape. A powder make-up was applied, erasing all lines. They blended smoothly into his chest.

Robert stood up and as he did, his sissy breasts jiggled. Mother said, "Now, Roberta, you will need this," as she handed Robert a teen form bra. Being very slender, he did not need a corset, but Aunty stated that, in the near future, he would be trained to wear a wasp-waist corset at all times, to ensure that he maintained a tiny waist.

Next Robert slid a nylon tricot petticoat on. It really tickled as he slid it into place. Three crinolines followed.

Deborah came forth with a white full-skirted party dress. They slid it over Robert's head and arms and soon he was enveloped in satin. Mother buttoned it up the back.

As he sat down at the dressing table, it was apparent that everything masculine was to be removed. Robert's lips were painted with a deep red shade of sweet lipstick. Then the attention was turned to his eyes. His eyebrows had been plucked into very thin feminine lines and were penciled to bring them out. False eyelashes were applied, liner, light shadow, and mascara. His nose was powdered as the finishing touch.

Deborah brought forth a shoulder-length pageboy blond wig. His hair, being quite long for a boy, was curled with hair pins to keep it up. The wig was adjusted to fit and was placed on Robert's head. Before he stood up, Mother clasped a charm bracelet on his other wrist and draped a locket about his neck.

"Come, Roberta, let us look again at the beautiful girl that you have become," Mother said.

Again Robert stood in front of the mirror. The image that appeared opposite him was a complete girl. His toenails glistened, as did his sandals. Even walking in the skyscrapers was actually easy.

In this short time the three women had succeeded in instilling in him new strange feelings. He no longer felt that the clothes, the sandals, the bracelets, the painted nails were "wrong"; rather, he was excited by them sexually, and wanted to wear them constantly. Of course, he couldn't admit that to his mother and aunt--at least not yet.

"Well," Aunty said, "I believe Roberta actually enjoys her new role in life. Don't you, Roberta?" Robert couldn't admit these new strange feelings that had come over him, and he immediately denied any such feelings. "I don't want to be a girl and after Monday I won't wear any dresses!"

Aunty laughed, saying, "I know better. All boys that spend three days completely transformed into girls develop strange new feelings."

"Well," Robert said, "I won't, you can't make me."

Aunty again laughed, "I am not making you have strange feelings; the dresses, barefoot sandals, shaved legs, nylons, and, of course, the knowledge that you have pretty pink-nippled sissy breasts cupped by your teen form bra are bringing about a change in you . Come... let us go downstairs and we can help you develop feminine graces, and remember, you must act, talk, and think like a girl until Monday morning. Oh, and tomorrow all four of us are going to the beauty salon. You will have your blond wig removed and undergo a permanent wave. Also your ears will be pierced. Then we are going shopping. I know you will want some new dresses, panties, bras, and, of course, lots of nude strappy play sandals."

Robert spent the remainder of the day swishing about. He was made to model, turning this way and that. He found that the sandals, even with the skyscraper heels, were very cool and comfortable because of their nudeness. Eventually, he sat down on the couch so that Aunty could administer an additional coat of nail polish to his fingernails.

He tucked his legs up on the couch so that his sandaled feet were exposed. Strangely, this sight excited him: the red patent-leather straps criss-crossing about his feet, the buckles winking at him, and his toenails in matching red twinkling. The image, and the soft caress of his aunt's hands on his, as well as the quiet cadence of her voice, all reinforced the secret training from the hypnotic tape.

Aunty Christine enameled each nail very carefully, and talked as she did. "Do you know, Roberta, you should have been born a girl. You are truly beautiful, and really, I am so glad we decided that transforming you into a girl would be your punishment. In just this first day that you have entered into the world of girls, I noticed a distinct change coming over you. You seem more subdued. With this success in crushing your masculine arrogance and replacing it with a feminine personality, I am going to suggest that Mother continue to dress you as a girl every weekend and that you come to spend the summer with me."

"Oh, no! Please don't tell Mother that," Robert said. "I'll mind, but not that, don't make me live as a girl!"

More to come