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Subject: Repost TG: After School Special by Marlissa (1/3)
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Hi.
A guidance counselor is cured of his curiosity the hard way.
As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.
If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
After School Special
by Marlissa
1. Part
There she was. "Come in Brenda!" Glen Simmons absently shouted.
Brenda Porter, the freshman girl who had freaked out at her bus stop shyly
entered the room. Glen wondered why he didn't remember her from the junior
high school, then remembered this was the transfer student who had just
started at Bentson High. He pointed to the seat which she took, careful to
keep the hem of her red spandex miniskirt under her thighs.
She was a pretty ponytailed brunette, about 5' 4", with coltish slim hips
and a small bust, which she accentuated with a midriff-baring sleeveless
navy knit top. She wore saucy little three inch red heels and precious
white socks with elaborate lace trimmings, and her legs were smooth and
shiny. Brenda was just starting to blossom into full-fledged femininity,
with a bright pouty red lipsticked mouth, mascara'ed hazel eyes with thin
plucked brows and lightly highlighted cheeks. Cute face too-- delicate bone
structure with a longish look and a short pointy chin and a pair of dimples
to die for. A typical fourteen year old girl even down to the braces which
she revealed as she gave him a respectful smile.
Well, maybe not so typical. She reminded him of someone but he couldn't
think who at the moment. And she did dress a little provocatively for
fourteen-- a veritable Lolita in that form-fitting top and tight spandex
mini. But Glen had to be honest-- he hadn't the slightest idea of what teen
fashion held sway at present. Maybe this was considered "in."
"Mr. Skinner mentioned that something happened this morning. Something
that upset you. Want to talk about it?"
The smile ran away from her face in an instant. "Uh, I don't know what you
mean, sir." She twirled a long lock of her ponytail nervously, eyelashes
batting rapidly.
"Well, I understand Tommy Jacobs was teasing you. Why don't you tell me the
rest." He nodded, inviting her to do so at once.
The teen kept her big hazel eyes locked on her shoes. "Uh, we were in the
bus line and Tommy was behind me and he snapped my bra strap."
Glen nodded, noting this with gravity on his legal pad. Inside he wanted to
laugh. The kid had gone hysterical because a boy had snapped her bra! "And
that was it?"
She shuffled her pumps. "No. He said I had nice little boobies and he
wanted to touch them." She was angry and her lips were pursed tight over her
braces. When her lips parted again, Glen could see the pink lipstick traces
on the steel fittings.
Glen considered quickly. He had to be gentle but he also knew Old Man
Skinner would go ballistic if Brenda kept having screaming fits whenever
some boy snapped her bra. He couldn't help but notice she did have a nice,
if petite figure for a fourteen year old. If he were fourteen, he might
have snapped her bra-- if he hadn't noticed something OFF about her. He
couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something strange about the
girl.
"You know Brenda, boys at this age often do these kinds of things to show a
girl he likes her."
Glen noticed the girl blush. As if this comment reminded her of something
she ought to do, Brenda daintily crossed her smooth legs, her small hands
with their red polished nails smoothing down the miniskirt hem as she did.
He continued quickly.
"Tommy was just flirting with you. He probably likes you. Pretty girls get
teased that way a lot and unfortunately they just have to get used to all
kinds of attention from boys."
The little brunette looked dully out the window. "That's what Daddy says.
Just what Daddy says." Glen thought he detected a hint of bitterness in the
soft voice.
"Well, he's right. I'm sure your mother tells you the same thing
too--doesn't she?"
The student nodded reluctantly. "Do you think I'm a pretty girl, Mr.
Simmons?" she asked plaintively.
"Yes I do, Brenda." Has she got a crush on me?... but no-- the compliment
caused her to frown worriedly. Glen pressed on. "And isn't it nice to
think a boy your own age thinks so too and that he likes you? Maybe you and
Tommy could be boyfriend and girlfriend before too long. You're at the age
when I bet you think about those things."
Brenda's jaw dropped, eyes wide.
Good, I must be right since she looks surprised, he thought. He plowed on
in a similar vein, eager to finish this little interview up. He had
paperwork to get to. "Sure, I bet you think about boys a lot-- maybe even
daydream about the cute ones. It's natural for you to be a little
boy-crazy, Brenda. You shouldn't be ashamed of your new feelings. Hey, I
know who you look like now. I've been trying to think of it an it just came
to me-- you look like that girl on Beverly Hills 90210, uh, Brenda. Anyone
ever tell you that?"
And then Glen knew he wouldn't be getting to his paperwork, because Brenda
Porter broke in a deep sobbing fit. Instantly he was on his feet handing
her some kleenex. Trying to comfort her he put his hands on her thin
shoulders. "It's o.k.--"
"Don't touch me, please!" she shrieked.
His hands flew off her shoulders in a second. "Brenda, relax! I'm just
trying to help! Obviously I'll have to call your parents at once. You're
in no state to return to class."
She looked up terrified. "No Mr. Simmons! Please don't call my parents!
I'm o.k.! See? I'm all set!" The theatrical grin on her tear stained face
was offered as proof.
He picked up the phone as she rattled off assurances she was indeed o.k. "I
just got silly because of what Tommy did, Mr. Simmons. Really! I'm o.k.
I guess you're right about those things you said about girls at my age going
boy-crazy. I, uh, do like Tommy and I got all weird inside. But please
don't call my parents! I'm enough trouble for them already! I'll be
punished if you call them!" Her eyes pleaded with him not to make the call.
He put the phone down and Brenda relaxed. "O.k. Brenda-- you can go back
to class. If you have anything else you want to talk about, come see me
anytime-- I'll arrange a hall pass for you, o.k."
She smiled sweetly, brushing the last of the tears way. "Thank you Mr.
Simmons. I won't be bothering you any more." She picked up her books and
minced shyly from the office.
Glen immediately reached for Brenda's file. Something was wrong-- he could
sense it. At twenty he wasn't so far away in age from these kids so as not
to be able to understand them. Old Man Skinner, the principal, had hired
him out of community college only after he had received a copy of his degree
in education-- he hadn't believed Glen was old enough to have been to
college. And his looks didn't help either-- his bright blonde hair,
too-pale beardless complexion, his short height. Maybe that's why he had
always wanted to work as a guidance counselor-- at heart he felt more
comfortable with the kids than the adult world. Only with kids did he feel
like he commanded respect. And he knew teens well enough to know Brenda's
behavior was just wrong.
He flipped through the courses chosen. Home Economics (an A), Gym Class (an
A-), then all Cs and Ds in her required academic courses, all of which were
general. That indicated Brenda wasn't taking college prep course. Not a
future Rocket Scientist of America, he chuckled. Then he glanced in
surprise at the IQ score-- 135! Not a genius but she ought to be taking
college prep for now. He took another look at the coursework. It was
annotated "General classes at request of parents." He found the parents'
names. Maybe if he could talk to them, convince them Brenda needed to take
harder courses and really apply herself. They're probably not too bright
themselves.
Wrong again. "Mr. Rick Mason, attorney at law and Dr. Lesley Mason,
plastic surgeon." These were Brenda the Ditz'es parents? They had requested
non-college courses for their daughter? It didn't make sense. He needed
more information. He dialed up the number listed as the last school
attended and was connected to a Deanna Hill, his counterpart at the Jasper
Ohio Junior High School guidance office.
"Yes I remember Brenda. Cute girl, real quiet. Is there a problem?" the
older lady inquired helpfully.
Glen didn't know what to say. Even inferring there might be would be
against the rules. And if it got back to the parents, he might be held
liable for slander. "Not really. I just want to help her adjust to our
school and I thought you might have some insights," he explained.
"Well, she was only here for a year. A good kid basically. She never was
very social-- no friends I can recall. She wasn't an academic star-- never
did her homework and never studied for tests. She seemed embarrassed about
it but never did anything to improve. Just had a 'I'm just an airhead and I
can't help it' attitude-- not that she ever brought a book home. Not that
her parents cared. They attended one teacher-parent conference and said if
Brenda could learn to cook, clean and sew plus keep herself in shape, then
they were happy. God damn," the woman exclaimed, "it was as if all they
wanted for Brenda was to be some bimbo housewife! And her mother is a
doctor for God's sakes!"
Glen hesitated then plunged in. "How did Brenda get along with boys?"
A pause. "You know, it was funny. She seemed completely preoccupied with
her appearance, like being pretty was everything. I thought she dressed,
well-- a bit old for her age. You know-- one of those girls who really gets
into makeup and clothing. And yet she hated it when boys touched her even
innocently. Never had a boyfriend either. At one point, I suspected sexual
abuse-- you know that's not natural for a girl to be so skittish."
"What happened?" Glen pressed.
A disgusted laugh. "They moved before I had a chance to do anything.
That's why I'm glad you called. Tell me what high school you're at so we
can pursue legal--"
Glen hung the phone up. Skinner was such a conservative that he'd flip if
Glen brought in some out-of-town know-it-all. Bentson was a small town with
a small town mentality. If Glen thought Brenda was being sexually abused,
he'd have to dig up more than he had. He searched through the files but the
only other information was the listing for the school Brenda attended
preceding Jasper Junior High. He dialed the number for the Central
Massachusetts State School and got the records office.
"I need the records for a student, please."
"Social security number?" a gruff male voice demanded rudely.
"034-99-6669."
"That D. Porter?" The voice didn't sound like a guidance counselor in a
school system to Glen.
"Yes. Can you tell me something about--"
"Look Mac, hundreds come in and go out as fast as I can book 'em here in
Records. I don't no particulars, o.k.?"
"Fine, just fax it over o.k.?" He gave him the number, got a brusque 'yeah'
and the promise it would be there by end of day.
2. Part
That has to be it for my Sam Spade routine for a while, Glen thought. He
put the file in his brief case, soon forgetting about Brenda Porter. For
the rest of the morning he buried himself in evaluation forms and talking to
college admissions offices as he requested information for next year's
seniors. At noon, he heard the cries from the kid's recess. With an effort
he freed himself from his paperwork and looked out the window.
The day's weather had turned out well and a beaming May sun was streaming
in. He looked across the school grounds at the various kids-- the girls
gossiping in groups, the boys tossing a baseball, and then... Brenda. She
was leaning against the main building wall, reading the latest issue of
Seventeen. She seemed so intent on her magazine she couldn't see Tommy
Jacobs sneaking up behind her. Glen could see on Tommy's face there was
going to be trouble and with what he guessed about the girl, he knew that
one of Tommy's pranks was the last thing needed. He sprang to his feet.
He had just swung open the door when he and the entire freshman class of
Benston High saw Tommy pluck up the hem of Brenda's red hip hugging spandex
miniskirt to reveal what was underneath-- a pair of red cotton French-cut
bikini panties that clung high on her slim hips. The kids filled the
schoolyard with laughter as Tommy triumphantly cried "I knew it, I knew it!
Brenda wears slut red panties! Hahahahahahah!"
He ran to Tommy, pushing him away and trying to obscure the view of the
kids. The eighty or so kids in the yard roared with the laughter, boys
looking over and around Glen to get a peek at Brenda's underclothes. I
turned back to her and she was hysterical, struggling to yank her skirt
down, but Tommy was holding it up, not allowing her to. Brenda flayed at
him weakly, her arms flying to cover her pantied crotch.
"Tommy Jacobs, leave Brenda alone--now, mister! Or it's Detention Hall!"
The boy gave me a lame look and let go of the skirt. As he did, his eyes
caught a flash of Brenda's now-infamous panties. Tommy, unwilling to risk
further trouble had walked off and the kids had turned away as well, not
interested in being implicated. So Glen was the only one who saw the bright
reflection of sun on what looked like metal. The glint had come from where
Brenda's panties disappeared between her legs, as if from some metallic
surface underneath the skimpy undergarment. He looked quickly away. As he
did, he thought he caught Brenda slipping a finger under the panty crotch
and pull it over the metal.
"Brenda, go inside and pull yourself together. I'll speak to Tommy."
Brenda looked at me, face beet red and thoroughly humiliated. "I didn't do
anything, Mr. Simmons! He kept bothering me, asking me what color panties
I was wearing! When I told him to leave me alone, he called me a tease and
he did this!" She was shaking.
"Go on in, Brenda. And I think I better give you a ride home tonight after
school, all right? Riding the bus with Tommy is asking for trouble."
She nodded and trotted off to the Girl's Room to compose herself. As she
did, Glen watched what had probably started the trouble. Brenda's spandex
skirt was so tight, that her panty line underneath was as clear as day. As
she swiveled her slim hips, it must have seemed to Tommy that yes, she was
being a tease. "Good" girls just didn't sashayed around that way. Glen
sighed and took Tommy to Skinner's office for a "discussion."
An hour later, Glen returned to his office. On a hunch he called the
Nurse's office. "Has Brenda Porter had any surgery that you know of?"
No, not that she knew of, the nurse answered as she consulted her records.
Any corrective surgery she'd need a metal brace for? Was there any mention
of hip problems? No, none of that. Last time she'd been seen by the nurse?
"Haven't seen her actually. The day we did Physicals, she was out. Then
she came in with a note from her mother giving her a clean bill of health.
I wouldn't worry about Brenda's health at all, Mr. Simmons. You see her
mother is a doctor."
He hung the phone up. Glen knew it was wrong to be so beguiled by the
mystery of what was under Brenda's panties. It was pretty indecent
actually. But even though the girl was undeniably sexy in a fresh way, he
told himself he was only interested in the answer as it fit with the rest of
the pieces. And yet even as he tried to distract himself with his mounds of
paperwork, his mind kept returning to the sight of that pantied midsection,
so taut and trim under that panty. the panties were cut so sheerly they
practically disappeared up the girl's privates giving him the impression
that the girl either hadn't grown much pubic hair or that she kept it
closely shaved. Or entirely shaved. But that was crazy! A fourteen year
old girl shaving her sex? He wondered how wild Miss Brenda Porter was and
what exactly she did after school. He stopped. There had been a small
bulge under there. Yes, now that he thought about it, there had definitely
been a mound. All this daydreaming had brought it back.
He had only begun to ponder what the metal item was that perhaps caused the
mound when he remembered to check the fax machine. There it was, waiting
for him at three-thirty on the dot. He took the fax to his desk and began
to read. It seemed the Central Massachusetts State School wasn't your
run-of-the- mill junior high. It was a reformatory. And a mistake had
obviously been made in the records. The "D. Porter" listed was a twelve
year old boy! He had the phone in hand to call the Records Department to
ask make another request for the proper file when he saw the grainy head
shot. He looked at the fax closely. The photo was that of a twelve year
old boy, Danny Belmont. The familiar hazel eyes, the black hair, the pointy
chin-- it was as if Brenda had a brother! No dimples or Adam's Apple, and
Danny's lips were thinner than Brenda's, but other than that they might have
been siblings. Weird.
He looked at the notes in the file. "Danny's birth parents unknown.
Brought up in a number of foster homes. Caught shoplifting at eleven and
remanded to the Central State School for correction. Placed for adoption by
state to Mr. and Dr. Mason at age eleven and a half." So Brenda had a
brother? But the other information was identical. Danny Belmont's Social
Security number was 034-99-6669. And so was Brenda Belmont.
Glen heard the knock on the door. It was Brenda, here for her ride home.
Glen gathered up Brenda's file and the fax and threw it in his briefcase.
"Ready?"
Brenda nodded, her ponytail bouncing. "Yes, thank you Mr. Simmons."
"Say Brenda, can I reach your parents at this hour? I'd like to see them
after I drop you off-- about, uh, what a good job you're doing in Home Ec
and Gym class."
Her hazel eyes widened in fear then glee as he added the reason. "Oh would
you, Mr. Simmons? It means so much to them that I do well in those
classes. They would be so pleased with me!"
"Well, fine. I'll be happy to do that. Just tell me where I might find
them. At their offices?"
Brenda thought a minute then shook her head doubtfully. "Oh no sir.
They're always home when I get off the bus. They're always there after
school."
And so they were. Glen could see the matching black and silver BMW
convertibles there at the head of the long drive, even as he pulled in with
his old Pontiac Firebird. The house was practically an estate, easily two
hundred yards off the road, hidden behind huge, immaculate hedges and a
mason wall. It stared down at him imposingly, three stories of white
Victorian excess of cupolas, verandahs, and French windows. A gorgeous
house, certainly in the million dollar range. He looked at Brenda again,
silently contemplating some inner concern in her trampy little minishirt.
"General classes at request of parents." Even if Brenda was adopted like her
brother, why would the new parents who lived in such affluence restrict her
to go-nowhere courses? Why would they place such a premium on Home Ec and
Gym class? Why would they allow her to leave the house dressed this way
every day?
3. Part
A tall, youngish man of thirty-eight or so opened the front door, eyeing him
suspiciously. Brenda looked up, biting her lower lip. "Daddy," she
explained as they got out of the car. "You'll tell him I'm doing well in
Home Ec and Gym?"
Glen nodded and extended his hand. "Mr. Mason, I'm Glen Simmons, the
Guidance Counselor at Bentson High School."
The man's mien softened. He reminded Glen of a tv lawyer-- slightly graying
hair, strong, conservative presence and a self- confidence that bordered on
arrogance. "Nice to meet you. To be honest, I thought my Brenda was
getting a ride home from a high school boy. No offense intended," he added
humorously.
Glen blushed. "None taken. I offered to give your daughter a ride home
because of something that happened at school today-- "
"Has she gotten herself into some mischief, Glen?" He looked critically at
Brenda, who looked at Glen with hurt betrayal.
"No-- she hasn't done anything Mr. Mason. It was just a schoolyard prank
really. Actually if your wife is home, I'd like to ask you some questions."
The attorney masterfully waved off the request. "Come in the house first
and let's get this cleared up. Brenda, come here girl."
Brenda, standing frightened between the two, obeyed and with eyes downcast
and by the older man's side, walked with them into the house. Inside a tall
striking redhead of thirty-five was pulling off a lab coat. Glen thought
she looked like a younger Sigourney Weaver, with a hard edged, no-nonsense
way about her. She was introduced as Mrs. Mason. It nettled Glen who
liked first names not to be granted the courtesy of calling these people by
their first names even as they called him Glen. They had a way, Glen could
tell right off of making one seem inferior. Probably got that from giving
orders to everyone all day long.
The four were in the living room, the Masons and Glen sitting and Brenda
standing. Mr. Mason demanded to know what had happened in the schoolyard
and as Glen explained what had happened, Brenda cringed. After hearing the
whole story, Mason turned his cold blue eyes on the teen.
"So, you're teasing boys again, that it?"
Brenda shook her head, the ponytail dancing in the air. "No, Daddy! I
swear!"
The parents exchanged smug looks. "Obviously Brenda needs to be taught
another in a long unbroken string of lessons, Rick. Will you do the honors
or shall I?"
The husband pointed to his chest. "You handled her last time. I better
take care of it this time. We switch off so she doesn't think she can get
away with anything," he explained to Glen. He stood up and took off his
expensive suit jacket. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt and
pulled it off. Glen watched in growing unease till he understood that
Brenda was about to be strapped with a belt for doing no more than being a
pretty girl!
"Please, it wasn't her fault! She doesn't deserve to be punished!" he
pleaded.
The man smiled cruelly. "But you said it wasn't really the boy's fault
either. Well, you don't know Brenda. She needs this," he slapped the belt
hard against his open palm," to remind her to behave herself like a proper
young lady. And no more interruptions Glen. When I've finished with this,
we can discuss why you're here, but not before."
Glen stood up. "Perhaps I should leave."
"Whatever for?" Mrs. Mason asked fliply. "Brenda is punished all the time.
Just wait five minutes. That's all it takes."
Glen sat down, mesmerized as the girl, in resignation, draped herself over
the man's knees. As if part of a regular ritual, she herself yanked up the
miniskirt, revealing the incriminating panties that had caused all the
trouble. Mason's fingers were on the elastic band of the panties and was
ready to pull them down, then looked at Glen and left them up. Glen looked
for a tell-tale glint of metal, but Brenda had either covered it up or it
had never been there. Of the slight bulge, Glen could see nothing from
where he was sitting.
He watched with macabre fascination as the leather belt was raised high over
the small, shapely pantied rear and fell with a harsh crack. Brenda's eyes
were closed, but she obediently counted out each and every stroke. On the
second stroke, she broke into tears, but even then, she continued to
announce each stroke as it crashed into her backside. From the corner of
his eye, Glen noted that Lesley had unconsciously let her hand drift down to
the lap of her pants. Then, aware of it, pulled it back stealthily.
At last, Brenda was allowed to rise. She was told to go to her room as the
adults had a talk. All three adults watched the fourteen year old prance
painfully out of the room, the slim hips forced to swivel in an exaggerated
way so as to avoid feeling more pain.
"Little slut," Mason whispered as his eyes followed the spandexed teen ass
wriggle out of the room.
"Yes, little whore," agreed the doctor wife in a cold, reptilian way. Glen
shivered.
Mason looked up at Glen, completely professional. "Now, what do you have to
tell us about Brenda?"
"Well, did you adopt Brenda?" he asked.
The two nodded. "Yes, when she was eleven or so. I took care of the
legalities," answered the lawyer affably.
"And did she have a brother named Danny?" Glen pushed.
The redhead rose. "Drink for you Glen?" she asked suddenly.
He looked uncertainly at the two of them. Mason answered for him. "Yes,
Lesley, great idea. Get us all some lemonade-- all right for you Glen?"
He nodded. As the tall redhead left the room, there was a moment when he
thought their eyes met again in some secret amusement.
"You're about what, 5' 4" Glen?"
He nodded, embarrassed about where this was going.
"Young too, huh? What are you, eighteen?"
"Twenty, Mr. Mason."
He gave him a comical look, as if to ask who could believe that. "I thought
you were sixteen when I first saw you. I'd say definitely sixteen. What do
you say, Lesley? Doesn't Glen look as if he's about sixteen?"
She smiled with icy concurrence. "Oh yes, he's got the small framed body of
a sixteen year old at most. My apologies, Glen- - my clinical opinion,
that's all." She handed him a glass of lemonade. "Here you go."
He took it and put it down. "Thank you. Now about this Danny Belmont."
Mason looked at him offended. "Please, your drink first. Then we'll tell
you all you want to know about Danny and Brenda and the way things are in
our household. But please, don't be rude-- it's hot out today. Enjoy your
lemonade!"
Glen surrendered, picking up the full glass. The two Masons watched as he
drained it, leaving their own drinks alone. He smiled. "Very good! What
do you make it with?"
Dr. Mason's mouth opened wide in laughter. "Thioridizine hydrochloride.
Also known as mellaril."
Glen felt woozy. "W-what does that do?" he asked as he slumped forward.
The husband and wife laughed. "Oh, you'll find out darling-- you'll find
out very soon," the woman doctor promised.
************
The next day Glen woke to the color white. All around him, just clean,
antiseptic white. Hospital white. He tried to move but he was in a body
cast. IVs dripped liquid nourishment into his system and he felt totally
numb. He couldn't feel a thing.
"Good morning. You look pretty good for a corpse!" Mr. Mason held his
strong chin in his hand, measuring Glen's reaction.
"W-w-ot ooo meeen?" Talking was painful and he stopped as tears formed in
his eyes.
Mason held up a copy of the local newspaper. A subhead read in bold type
HIGH SCHOOL MOURNS AS LOCAL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT. Glen
started to cry as he blurrily made out the text:
Glen Simmons, 20 years old of Bentson, Florida was killed
Wednesday morning at 11 pm PM when his Pontiac Firebird slammed
into a restraining wall on Coast Highway 14 and plunged into the
ocean two hundred feet below. No body has been recovered, but two
witnesses, Mr. and Dr. Mason of Solitude Lane reported that
there was no question Simmons was killed in the accident. Richard
Mason, a prominent local attorney, testified to police seeing the
car swerve erratically, then driving off the road. His wife, Dr.
Lesley Mason with the Private West Palm Beach Clinic was reported
as telling police there was no way the driver could have survived
the fall and subsequent explosion. The police have ruled out any
foul play and closed the file. No immediate relations were known
at press time."
He sobbed, which was agony. "Why dooo tis?" he tried to scream. Why was he
in such agony?
The redhaired woman was by his side with a syringe. "Sleep little one," she
whispered and the world was black again.
4. Part
Days later.
The woman and man were standing over him, arguing.
"It's my turn!" the woman was angrily disputing. "You made your picks the
last time! Besides," she cooed evilly, "I think you'll like my choice."
Was that Brenda standing behind them, wearing the candy striper uniform?
Where was he anyway? A hospital of some kind? What were they doing to him?
What had they already done to him? The cast was still on his body leaving
only his arms bare. He felt weak and sensed that he had lost a great deal
of weight. Strange things were being done to him, things that scared him.
"Well, if you have something interesting in mind, Lesley. What do look do
you want for our new pet?"
"The Kelly look of course-- to go with our little Brenda! Wouldn't it be
wonderful to have them both? I want to take advantage of that fine blonde
hair of his. A wonderful natural feature." She pulled out a scalpel and was
using it as a pointer, swinging it through the air as she described how she
wished to alter the subject in question. "Small breasts but bigger than
Brenda's." She put her arm around little Brenda and clutched a small breast
through the striped blouse. She found the nipple through the bra underneath
and twisted. Brenda cringed and kept her lips clamped, but the pain in her
eyes called out to Glen.
"Yes, maybe a bit bigger. Maybe a pair of nice ripe 32Bs-- cute, feminine,
but not centerfold. Big sensitive nipples to play with. A smaller upturned
nose. The chin has to go-- even if it gets a little weak, it'll still work.
I want to really thin out the eyebrows, but I want to lengthen and thicken
the lashes."
Mr. Mason was nodding, in increasing agreement with his wife. "And the
lips-- you'll do the lips, correct?"
She nodded. "Yes, but not as much as Brenda. Some moderate collagen should
plump up the lips, but let's no go Julia Roberts, alright? There's a pretty
bow-shape there that might get ruined. Now, the waist needs to go down of
course, and the hips go up- - how about tagging it at a 32-24-29? A nice,
huggable petite figure that's almost doll-like. You like?"
Mr. Mason smiled. "I like. Sounds like you're going to give this bitch a
nice, tight butt. think she'll be grateful?
Glen froze as he heard the woman's icy, shrill cackle. "After what we do
with it, I doubt it honey!"
"And you'll let the hair and nails grow out naturally or will you use an
accelerator?"
The doctor looked down at Glen. "An accelerator. Don't you want everything
done as quickly as possible?"
The man nodded. "Absolutely."
Pain. The syringe was sinking into his arm again.
**************
Glen winced as Dr. Mason slipped the chastity belt over his male member.
The metal was cold and he shivered. The doctor squeezed the microscopic
snap with a pair of tweezers and it clicked with finality.
Dr. Mason stroked his cheek, running her hand through his long, lustrous
blonde mane of hair. "Cold, pretty baby? Don't worry- - it'll get so hot
down there you'll never believe it was so cold! The two openings in the
belt between your legs will allow you to relieve yourself-- sitting down of
course! Now, stand up."
He obeyed promptly, popping off the hospital bed in the Examination Room.
Glen had learned it was actually underneath the Mason's mansion-- a private
medical wing devoted entirely to the private experiments and whimsies of Dr.
Mason. It was where she had turned him into a girl. There was another room
too, but one he had never been in. From the windowless, white
hospital-style bedroom where he was locked every night, he could hear things
though. Brenda's cries, whippings, Mr. Mason's yells, Dr. Mason's
screeching laugh. They called it the "Play Room."
As Glen stood in front of the mirror, he looked at the image that stared
back. Was that really him? It was still difficult to believe the changes
were permanent even after a whole month's time. The most obvious change was
the pair of moderate sized perky high-nippled breasts that hung from his
chest. He could feel the jiggle of the orange-sized spheres as he moved
quickly, the way the cold air massaged his long nipples into small, hard
rubies. They weren't huge, but he could surely feel their weight as he
walked.
And he walked differently now too. His legs were longer, his calves
shapelier. His instep had been raised, giving him a highstepping toe-first
way of walking. His hips were wider as well, his butt fuller. The whole
affect was to give him the light airy prance of a ballerina-- or a showgirl.
His hands were soft and callus free as if the heaviest object he had ever
lifted was a hairbrush. Even the scar he had gotten from fishing when he
was twelve was gone. All that was there now was milky skin as soft as
velvet. And having nails now was strange. He had to be careful how he used
his hands, how he picked things up, how he held things, otherwise he might
break the nails. And that was unthinkable. His arms seemed more relaxed as
he walked if he held them up in the air, elbows bent, with hand bent, palms
down. It also seemed natural for him to rest his hands high on his hips,
practically on his wispy waist. With thumb and index finger resting palm
down on them, he felt more relaxed than if he just kept them by his side.
Glen couldn't tell, but he guessed some muscles in his body had been
lengthened and shorted to produced these desired affectations.
Seeing his face for the first time was a frightening sensation. He could
barely believe that the blue eyes were his. Permanent cosmetic contacts,
the Doctor had explained. His eyebrows, once as thick as caterpillars were
now razor-thin plucked blonde arcs. In contrast, his eyelashes were long
and lusciously full- bodied, and he now no longer closed his eyes and opened
them- - he batted his lashes. His mouth was even smaller, his thin lips now
poutier. When he smiled, his expression was like the one they made Barbie
dolls with-- sexy, surprised and happy all at once. His nose was half it's
previous size. He had a deviated septum, the result of a long ago high
school tussle, which had given his nose a slight bend to the left. But now
it was small, upturned and delicate and perfect as porcelain. And framing
his whole face was his light blonde hair, now straight and long enough to
reach to the tops of his breasts.
As he silently inspected himself, Mr. Mason walked into the white hospital
room. "Well, there's the pretty lady! How are you Kelly?" The older man
was leering at his new breasts and he held up his hands to shield them.
"Uh, fine, Daddy," he answered in that new, subdued voice of his. Mr.
Mason was Daddy and Dr. Mason was Mother, he had been told. Brenda was his
little sister. He was Kelly, a sixteen year old girl. A pretty girl who
must behave. Or Daddy and Mother would punish Kelly. Glen had already
learned what a hard spanking Daddy could give when his Kelly had sassed
back. Damn! That had hurt!
"We're about to go over the new rules, Father. Please sit down- - no, not
you Kelly. You just stand there in front of the examination mirror and
listen carefully."
Glen saw Daddy's eyes on his bare butt reflected in the mirror. It made him
so uncomfortable. He had been kept naked since the operations had ended a
week ago and it was driving Kelly to the point of nervous exhaustion. He
hated being kept nude. It made him so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was
snatch up a sheet and cover himself. But he kept quiet and listened to his
new parents instead.
"Your chastity belt is designed to keep that silly little thing of yours
under complete control. You can function naturally in every way, though it
will prevent you from playing with yourself. It's o.k. to blush Kelly--
that's the sign of healthy shame we want to instill in our girls." She
smiled. "You SHOULD be ashamed of that little thing-- which is why the
chastity belt will control it and keep it nice and flat. We won't have it
ruining your panty lines with big bulges! Got it?"
1
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