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
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