" I can’t believe this!" Sheila exclaimed. "A C-minus in math!? How can that absolute prig of a teacher give me a C-minus?"
"Me, too—especially after the way he stares at our legs and boobs," Rachel agreed.
The two teenyboppers stared at their report cards, ignoring their hamburgers and fries, as they commiserated at the local hangout. "Yeah—Ross is such a secret pervert. Always trying to seem so proper and in control, as if we don’t feel his eyes on us all the time," Sheila said.
"Hey, girls." It was Ms. Conners, the gym teacher who greeted them. "Why so down?" They showed her the report cards. "Ross gave you each a C-minus? I’ve seen your classwork and tests—what’s he thinking of?"
"I think he’s thinking of seeing what we’ll do to get our grades back up," Rachel suggested.
"You don’t mean—" Ms. Conners began.
"Yes, I do mean that he wants some kind of sexual payback," Rachel insisted. "He pretends to be the model of decorum, but…"
"…but he stares at all you girls as if he can’t wait to get his hands on you," Ms. Conners laughed. The girls stared in surprise. "You think I never noticed? Oh, girls, it’s not you Chris Ross wants—it’s your clothes! He’s a transvestite!"
"A what?" both girls asked.
"He likes to dress in women’s clothing…and it seems he has a fixation on the teen-age look," Ms. Conners explained. "I used to date him, about two years ago, and I caught him at it one time. When I asked where he got the clothes, he said he’d used grades to blackmail a student into lending him her outfits, from the little bras right up to the little skirts! I thought he’d learned a lesson when I threatened to report him, but I guess he’s back to his old ways!"
"What can we do?" Rachel asked. "If we report this, it’s just a rumor."
"Leave it to me," Ms. Conners replied.
Becky Conners called Chris Ross that evening, asking him to stop by to discuss a possible interdisciplinary project between his math classes and her gym classes. When he arrived, Becky was dressed in an outfit she knew would keep his attention focussed everywhere but schoolwork.
Her long blonde hair hung straight to her shoulders, in a style much younger in appearance than her usual look. She wore a pink sweater with a matching pink miniskirt that ended a full seven inches above her knees. She wore pink satin sandals with criss-crossed ankle straps and four-inch heels. In other words, she was the model of the type of girl Chris Ross longed to be himself.
Sure enough, when Chris arrived at 7:30, he gasped at the sight of his former girlfriend and colleague in her teen-aged appearance. "You like?" she asked, teasing. "Of course, you do. I knew you would."
"What’s going on, Becky?" he asked, nervously.
"I’m afraid this has nothing to do with any interdisciplinary project, Chris. Although, it might have something to do with disciplining you," Becky answered. "I know that you’re back to your old tricks of blackmailing the girls in your classes to supply clothes and help make you over. I’ve talked to Rachel and Sheila."
Chris gulped. "Are you going to report me this time?"
"No, nothing so mundane," she replied. "Do you remember that therapy seminar we both attended, back when we were going together? The one with the introductory course in hypnotism?"
"Sure."
"Well, I kept up on my studies with that instructor…and she filled me in on a little secret," Becky told him. "You see, once a subject has been given a trigger for a hypnotic state, it never really disappears. It just lies dormant and gets buried…but it can be reactivated, in the right circumstances—like when the subject is highly aroused.
"Just like you are now, sweetie."
Chris looked down at his crotch. Yes, the image of the beautiful Becky in his beloved teen-aged clothing, and the thought of being controlled by her—as he’d once dreamed he’d be—had his cock swelling in his trousers.
Becky looked him in the eye. "Class is in session," she said…and Chris’s eyes fluttered shut, his head and shoulders slumped as he dropped back into the hypnotic trance he had first experienced more than two years ago.
"OK, girls," Becky called, "it’s safe to come out now."
Rachel and Sheila entered from the bedroom, giggling, but astonished by what their mentor had accomplished. "What now?" they asked.
"Time to get him dressed, of course!" Becky laughed.
One hour later, they had completed their task. Chris Ross’s short dark hair had been covered with a mass of auburn curls that fell to his shoulders. His face had been lightly made up to bring our its feminine side. He wore a choker collar and an orange crop-top sweater that left his midriff exposed. Below that came a black miniskirt, black thigh-high ribbed tights, and black pumps with a chunky four-inch heel and half-inch platform soles.
"So, now what?" Sheila asked. "Do we just send him out of here, so he can be embarrassed by his clothes?"
"That’s much too easy," Becky argued. "His mind is open to all sorts of interesting changes." She turned to her transformed colleague: "Chris, can you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you, Becky," he answered, dully.
"Very good. Now, I’m about to give you some very important instructions. You will listen and do everything I tell you." Becky turned back to the girls. "We’re about to create our own little ‘Clueless’ teeny-bopper!"
She looked across the room. Yes, there were Jennifer and Susan, with their respective hypnotically transformed submissives, Dani and Tammy. And the party was filled with many other dommes, many of whom seemed to have latched on to one of the ad execs. "Good," thought Angela. "The more we control the industry, the easier time we'll all have of it."
Angela herself had dressed in a halter-necked black column gown, with her blonde hair cropped short, and her makeup dramatically intense. She had put Stephanie into her teenage tease mode, in a short flared blue skirt, a black blouse tied off to reveal her midriff, bare legs and white sandals with spike heels. Many of the men in the room seemed drawn to the "girl" in their midst. Angela laughed at them trying to break Stephanie's "lesbian" indoctrination.
At a desk in the center of the room was displayed the Venus Force-designed campaign for Howard Electronics, and the contract. Pens were arranged for both Angela and Carl Howard to sign the documents. But there was a tense whisper that circulated through the room: "Where was Carl Howard?" Had he backed out?
But Angela seemed unconcerned. She stepped up to the temporary stage and spoke to the crowd. "Before we get on with the central ceremony of the evening, we have some entertainment. Many of you know of my interest in hypnosis, so I've invited a friend to give us a demonstration." She extended her hand and Jennifer came to the front of the crowd.
"Thank you, Angela," Jennifer began. She scanned the crowd, then picked out a couple. "Dorothy--I see you've made a new friend this evening," she said to the woman, who was standing with her arm around Irv Marshall, the chief ad buyer for the country's biggest newsmagazine. "Think you could convince your friend to volunteer for this?"
Dorothy whispered in Irv's ear and, blushing, he agreed, striding to the stage with Dorothy at his side. Jennifer took his hands in hers and began speaking softly to him, gradually inducing a hypnotic trance. The audience watched spellbound as his head began to droop onto his chest. Then Jennifer snapped her fingers and his eyes popped open, seemingly alert.
"Oh, he's still under," Jennifer assured them. "It's just easier to do this while they can move somewhat on their own." She turned to Dorothy. "Any ideas?" Dorothy whispered to her. "I thought so."
In short order, Jennifer had the mesmerized man stripped to his
shorts...then gave him cover while he swapped them for a pair of pink satin panties. A matching bra followed. Then she allowed him to redress in his suit. Dorothy assisted in adding a full coating of makeup. "Now, Irv, you will be completely unaware of the changes we have made just now...unless Dorothy or I say lingerie and lipstick to you. Then you will know that you are partially cross-dressed and you will answer only to the name Irene. And you will act accordingly--like a sophisticated flirt."
Moments later, Jennifer awakened Irv and held a mirror to his face. He had no reaction. "Tell me, Irv," Dorothy asked, "do you like lingerie and lipstick?"
Instantly, his whole demeanor changed. His hands fluttered, his lashes batted, and he answered in a breathy contralto, "Of course, I do, Dorothy. Why else would I dress this way? And my name is Irene--you know that!"
The audience laughed as Dorothy led her feminized companion away, all of them still unaware of how many might face the same fate if they continued their relationships with the companions of the evening.
Throughout all this, few had noticed the attractive maid who had served and flirted with them all night. The girl's outfit was a black vinyl dress over short stiff white petticoats, accessorized with a white apron, gloves and a lacy cap set in her long strawberry curls. Her legs were in white knee-high stockings with lacy frills at the top and perched on black patent pumps with ankle straps and six-inch heels.
But now Angela moved to the desk with the contract. "It's time for the final moment of our celebration," she said. "Coral, will you come here, please?"
The maid moved to the desk. "Switch on," Angela said. The maid stumbled for a moment in her heels and then said in the rich tenor all the party-goers recognized as Carl Howard's, "Yes, mistress?"
"It's time to sign the contract, Carl." Angela handed him the pen. He signed, and then Angela did the same. Those among the attendees who were not in on the joke gasped. This was Carl Howard?
"I have one more surprise for you, Carl," Angela announced, gesturing to a doorway that led to the bedrooms of the penthouse. In that doorway stood a tall female figure, clad in shining black leather, her red hair in a chin-length pageboy. She grinned, her dark red lips stretching over her white teeth.
"Kristine?" Carl was aghast--it was his wife! Much changed, but definitely his wife!
"I informed Kristine of your little 'hobby' as soon as I discovered it, Carl darling," Angela informed him. "I've taught her all the little things she'll need to make you happy in your new life together."
Kristine walked up to her feminized husband. "I'll be taking over control of the company as soon as we finalize the papers, dear. Switch off!"
And the maid minced off with her partner, as Angela picked up the signed contract and slid it into her purse.
THE END
He entered the office suite, and Angela surreptitiously inspected him via the closed-circuit TV system. He was tall and slender, with a decided feminine cast to his features. He carried himself with authority, though. "That'll change," Angela thought to herself.
"Welcome to Venus Force Advertising," said a voice from Carl's left, and he turned to see a vision in '50s femininity seated on a stool by the reception desk. "I'm Stephanie, Angela's personal assistant and secretary. She'll be out shortly."
Stephanie was dressed in an outfit that would have made June Cleaver proud--a blue-striped shirtwaist dress that fell to her knees over massive amounts of frilly petticoats, so that the skirt seemed to float over her thighs. It was tightly belted, emphasizing her girlish waist, and her attractive legs were perched on white pumps with four-inch heels. Her hair was pinned up into a simple twist in the back. Like all Stephanie's outfits, this dress imposed a specific personality upon her hypnotically controlled psyche: In this, she was the mother hen, fluttering around her "chicks".
"He already has a little girl fetish," Angela explained as she laid out the clothes for Stephanie that morning. "A mothering touch should get him just a little aroused and all set for my treatment."
Accordingly, Stephanie fluttered around her charge, bringing him coffee as he waited for Angela to arrive, adjusting his chair, brushing his cheek with her hand, cooing her appreciation of his bringing business to the firm. As Angela suspected, all this attention had the desired effect, as Carl surreptitiously hid a bulging crotch by moving his briefcase to his lap.
But the bulge didn't go unnoticed by the watching ad executive. She chose that moment to appear.
"Mr. Howard--Carl--how good to see you!" she purred, as she posed in the doorway of the reception area, clad...as usual...in a leather business suit. She motioned for him to join her in her office.
"We've set up our presentation in Powerpoint," she said as she pointed him to the chair by her computer screen. Leaning over his shoulder, letting the soft leather of her sleeve brush against his cheek, she touched the button that would begin the computerized session.
The earliest part of the session seemed a quite normal presentation of an ad campaign for the Howard company's product line. But buried within it was a subliminal program that gradually drew the unsuspecting CEO into a light hypnotic trance. Once that trance was firmly established, the program switched into full hypnotic mode, deepening the trance until Carl was unable to resist.
And then the screen displayed that photo of "little girl" Carl. "Who is that?" asked Angela.
"That's Coral," he answered.
"And who is Coral?" she asked again.
"I'm Coral," he replied.
"Yes, you are," Angela assured him. "You are Coral...deep inside you, Coral is who you really are. Carl is a sham, a facade. The real you is the feminine, beautiful Coral."
"Coral isn't real," Carl tried to protest. "Coral is just the name I use when I dress in the clothes I like."
"No," Angela insisted. "Coral is the real person; Carl is just the name she uses when she has to be a male." She repeated that several times, while the program on the screen deepened his trance even more. "Now--who are you?"
"I am Coral," he answered.
"Yes," Angela said, smiling. "And who is Carl?"
"Carl is a sham, a facade--the face I wear when I must be a male."
"Excellent." Angela paused. "Now, whenever I say switch on, Carl the electronics executive will be in charge of you; but if I say switch off, then you, Coral, will again take control. And Coral cannot resist my control--she obeys any request, suggestion or command I make. And Carl feels that submission and abides by it as well."
"I cannot resist you," Carl agreed.
"Now, what kind of clothes do you like, Coral?" she asked.
The mesmerized man went on to describe the cache of little girl style clothes he kept at home. But Angela stopped him again. "No--you like all women's clothes. But you especially like any clothes I prepare for you. Look at the screen."
Carl's eyes went back to the monitor, where the picture of Coral the little girl faded into a series of images prepared by Angela's graphics department, showing the feminized face of the executive in a variety of clothing: a classic evening gown and gloves, a jacket and skirt with boots, even a PVC catsuit and a kinky colored wig, along with a vast assortment of other outfits and styles.
"Now, when I count to three, you will awaken from this trance, but you will remember everything I have told you. One...two...three."
Carl's eyes fluttered open, as the images on the screen returned to the normal campaign presentation.
"You liked that series of ideas, didn't you?" Angela asked.
Coral obeys any request, suggestion or command Angela makes.
"Yes, it was wonderful," he replied, unaware of the underlying control that urged that response.
"You'll return next week to sign the contract for Venus Force to be your ad agency."
"Of course."
"Excellent," Angela said, grinning. "See you then, Coral--I mean, Carl."
Carl Howard stumbled at the sound of his feminine name. What exactly had happened here?
More to come
"Oh god! That's wonderful--keep it up!" She gasped breathily. "What--oh no, Olivia. I was talking to Stephanie. Yes, she's here and doing what she does best!" the attractive executive chuckled...then took in another deep breath of rapture. "What--uh--else have you found out?"
She paused to listen to more of Olivia's report. "No--really? Can you get me a picture? Wonderful!. I look forward to seeing it this afternoon!" She hung up.
She reached beneath her desk and pressed her secretary's head deeper into her naked crotch. "Don't you dare stop, you little tramp!" Angela gasped and smiled again, as the sexy insult only made Stephanie work even harder. "And keep your slutty little hands away from your own clitty-stick. You'll come when I say so and not before!" As the submissive secretary brought her mistress to orgasm after orgasm, Angela thought back to that moment, two years ago, when she'd first experienced this feeling, the culmination of her campaign to feminize her boss, Stephen, and subject him to the humiliation of numerous different girlish personas, from secretary to maid to hooker, all imposed upon him through the hypnotic skills taught Angela by Jennifer and her cadre of mesmerizing feminists.
She felt her body shudder from another pass by Stephanie's eager, talented tongue, then glanced at the clock on her desk. "Oops! If I'm going to make that lunch meeting with Olivia, I'd better rush." She looked down at her lovely submissive. "Stand up, Stephanie!"
The secretary arose, smoothing her tight skirt over her thighs, hopelessly trying to disguise the evidence of her last remaining maleness. "Just hold your horses, honey," Angela grinned. She walked to the door, feeling the sensuousness of her own tight black leather business suit as it rippled over her breasts, her thighs, her ass. She posed in the door of the office.
"Stephanie, look at me."
"Yes, Mistress Angela," the feminized male replied. She stared at the dominating executive with unashamed adoration and lust.
"Stephanie, come and get it!"
And with that command, Stephanie all but collapsed with the power of her own long-delayed, but massive orgasm.
Angela smiled again as she exited and said, "Get yourself cleaned up, finish the transcript of this morning's meeting, and then get home. Your instructions will be in your e-mail."
******************
"Look, Angela, Howard Electronics is the biggest prospective client your ad agency has ever had," Olivia said, as she settled in at the secluded table in the Ritz Hotel's posh restaurant. "You asked me to find something on the CEO to give you leverage over the other agencies bidding for the account."
She paused before opening her briefcase and pulling out a thick folder. "Well, I can't think of anything more suited to your--um, 'talents'--than this." She pushed the folder across the table to Angela.
Angela flipped the folder open and began to page through the reports and documents Olivia and her trained investigators had gathered. "You weren't kidding on the phone, were you?" she said. "How did you find all this?"
"Hey, I'm as much a part of the kinky lesbian scene as you are, Angela, baby," Olivia replied, grinning. "Apparently, Carl Howard's predilections are well-known in some parts of the city's kink crowd." She stopped as she saw Angela's mouth drop open in surprise. "Oh, you found the photo!"
"This is Carl Howard?!" Angela stared at the eight-by-ten. It showed a tall "little girl" in a blue and white outfit with yellow trim and a full white petticoat. Her hair fell in dark waves to her shoulders and was held by yellow ribbons with a big matching bow at the back. Her eyes were a startling blue, her cheeks heavily rouged, her lips a deep pink color.
"Yep--that's him. Carl Howard loves to dress as a little sissy...but here's the interesting part: He's not a submissive," Olivia explained. "He loves the clothes and all, but he doesn't want to be forced into it. And he's not interested in any other kind of cross-dressing or other kinky stuff."
"Well, I think we can change that," Angela chuckled.
"You mean--you don't think this is enough to hold over him?" Olivia asked.
"Not at all. This is just my 'in'--I intend to completely control Carl Howard just as I do Stephanie and you do Brittany." She looked up to see a tall 'girl' in chauffeur's livery (with a too-short miniskirt) walk up to the table. "Speak of the devil, as it were."
"Excuse me, mistresses," the chauffeur began. At a nod from Olivia she continued, "Mistress Olivia, you have a call from one of your investigators." She handed a cell phone to Olivia.
"Thank you, Brittany." The former Brett merely nodded. Olivia took the phone, but stopped before answering the call. "Brittany, you look ridiculous standing there. Horny is as horny does." She hit the "hold" button and said, "Olivia here, what's the story?"
And as Olivia took her call, Brittany dropped to her knees below the table and began to finger her mistress's privates with one hand, while the other reached under her own short skirt and clutched her already burgeoning member. The hypnotic trigger always sent the feminized chauffeur into a frenzy of sexual excitement.
Angela smiled, remembering the night she had assisted Olivia in turning the former head of the private investigation agency into her sexy slave. That command had been one of the first Olivia had insisted upon.
She scooped up the folder, admiring the revealing photo one more time, and waved farewell. She had a lot of work to do to prepare for the permanent feminization and submission of Carl Howard.
More to come
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Dear Pretty Sales Clerk,
Mistress has instructed i come shopping here today. Mistress Jennifer has instructed i present you with this note.
i am Mistress Jennifer's submissive in training. Mistress Jennifer has instructed i wear a bra and panties all the time. i've presented You with a selection that includes 2 pink, red and white panties and one black spandex bra. Mistress Jennifer has asked that i check with You to insure i've made the proper size selection.
Mistress Jennifer has requested that You sign the note and verify that You helped this sissy in the sizing and selection of these items.
Miss Jennifer would enjoy it very much if you were to share this note with one or all of your co-workers so that they might join in laughing at me during my shopping experience as well.
Last, Mistress Jennifer wants You to know You can contact Her by emailing XXXXXXXXXX and requests i present Her with the number of Your store and Your name so Miss Jennifer can contact You for confirmation of this sissy's purchases if She wishes.
This sissy slave does this to pleasure Mistress Jennifer
