The Stepton Slaves
by Dani
"How are you feeling, Chris?" Sharon asked.
"A little better," he replied.
"Then why don't you get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo?"
< Chrissy-Poo? Since when does Sharon call me Chrissy-P-->
"Yes, Mistress Sharon," Chris replied, in a soft, husky voice. "How
would you like me to dress?"
Sharon was flabbergasted--Carla's implant was remarkable. Chris' every
movement was entirely feminine--and he was obviously ready to obey any
request she might make of him. "Go to the closet, Chrissy-Poo.
There's a white satin mini-dress I'd like to see you in. You'll find
the proper undergarments in the second drawer of the dresser."
< Sharon must be crazy. There's no way I'm going to wear a dress-->
Chris crossed to the closet and got out the dress Sharon indicated. It
was designed to be very tight, its shimmering fabric would cling
tightly to Chris' every curve; curves that would soon be apparent,
thanks to the corset, bra, and panties he found in the dresser. "But,
Mistress, I can't wear this dress and this lovely lingerie with hair
all over my body," he said.
"Of course not," Sharon replied. "Go to the bathroom, draw yourself a
nice warm bubble-bath and shave yourself entirely. Then get dressed
and come down to see me in the living room."
Half an hour later, Chris (now Chrissy-Poo) appeared in the living room
door. He curtsied to his mistress-wife, saying, "Am I satisfactory,
Mistress Sharon?"
< Why am I doing this? Why can't I stop myself? What have these
women done to me--and why is my cock so swollen with excitement?>
Sharon surveyed her newly transformed spouse. Chrissy-Poo was dressed
in the tight white satin dress, its hem stopping a full eight inches
above her knees. Under the dress, her corset was pulled in to 24
inches (from Chris' normal 34), and her bra was padded to create a 36C
bosom. Below the hem of the dress, Chrissy-Poo wore sheer stockings,
held up by the garters of her corset, white ankle socks with frilly
lace cuffs, and white high heels, with five-inch heels and a strap
across the instep.
< What's going on? How did I get into this predicament? Is it
something about this town, about Stepton?>
**********
As Chris Martin drove his family into the small suburban town of
Stepton, he began to wonder if it had been a good idea to let his wife
choose the site of their new home. The place seemed so pristine,
almost Norman-Rockwell-like--very different from the gritty big city
where they had lived and where Chris had grown up.
Something about the scene passing by outside the car windows also
disturbed Chris, but he couldn't quite place the problem immediately.
Then it dawned on him: he hadn't seen a single male-- adult or
child--since passing the town limits. He turned to ask his wife,
Sharon, about it, but she was busy pointing out the town's highlights
to their 15-year-old daughter Karen and 12-year-old son Danny. Chris
shrugged--it was probably nothing to worry about, anyway.
A short time later, they pulled into the driveway of their new home.
The lack of male faces continued to play on Chris' mind: all up and
down the tree-lined street, he saw nothing but women and girls. All
the people working in their yards were female; all the children playing
were neatly dressed girls of varying ages.
< Still,> Chris thought, as he lugged in the last of the family's
possessions, < Stepton has a great reputation--good schools, low crime
rate, no juvenile delinquency at all. It's going to be a great place
to raise the kids.> And the long commute back to the city was no
problem. Chris was a freelance writer; he rarely had face-to- face
contact with his editors, and nearly all of his work was sent to the
publishers via modem.
The next morning, after a tiring day of hauling boxes and setting up
furniture, Sharon asked Chris to take Danny to the local supermarket
while she and Karen played host to the town's welcoming committee of
women. Not wanting to be surrounded by gabbing women, Chris readily
agreed.
As he headed out the door for the car, he nearly bumped into the first
of the welcoming committee to arrive. A tall, dark woman whose
stunning figure was not hidden by her black-leather business suit and
red satin blouse, she introduced herself as Carla. "Sorry, I have to
run, Carla," Chris excused himself, "but the shopping needs doing. The
pantry is empty."
"That's quite all right, Chris," Carla replied. She smiled
mysteriously, "I know we'll be seeing more of each other soon." Then
she walked confidently into the house on her six-inch black patent
pumps.
Chris, his own confidence a bit shaken by the run-in with the
intriguing Carla, climbed into the car beside Danny and headed for the
supermarket.
The supermarket was another new experience for Chris. There was
seemingly not a single male in the place--not even on the staff. And
all the women shoppers were dressed in the most extravagantly feminine
manner--flouncy dresses and blouses, miniskirts, five-, six- and
seven-inch heels. A few were even dressed in the classic French maid's
uniform: low-cut, short-skirted black satin dresses with bouncy
petticoats; sheer black hose (often with a hint of garter showing);
black patent high-heeled pumps, all topped with a lacy apron and cap.
Chris assumed they were servants in some of the richer households, out
doing the shopping.
Chris was surprised to find that the experience of being surrounded by
so much femininity was arousing him, engorging his cock. As a
particularly scrumptious beauty passed him, Chris followed her with his
eyes--and found that he had pushed the shopping cart into one of the
frilly French maids.
"Ooops! Pardon me," he apologized.
The young lady in the extremely short outfit smiled prettily in return.
"Oh, it's quite all right," she replied. "This place can get pretty
crowded at times." She held out her hand, adorned with a set of gold
rings and long, perfectly shaped red nails. "I'm Deirdre."
Chris took her hand in his, noting the heavy gold band around her
wrist. < Was that a lock on it?> "Pleased to meet you, Deirdre. I'm
Chris Martin and this is Danny." The absolute femininity of this vision
before him had Chris blushing.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Sharon had dozens of questions for Carla
and her other guests. "But I still can't believe that someone as
masculine as Chris can be made into a woman that simply," she
protested.
"Not a 'woman,' please, Sharon," Carla corrected. "He'll still be male
in body, but female in outward appearance and temperament.
"And believe me," she continued, "it can be done. Why, my little
Deirdre was just as manly as Chris back when she was David. Now the
dear is a perfect French maid--and she wouldn't think of being anything
else."
"And Deirdre--just like all our husbands--is completely submissive to
women," interjected Michelle, another of the guests. "Carla's little
implants are a work of genius."
Carla went on to explain the implants. The electronic devices, when
placed against the spinal cord, transmitted a specially prepared
"program" into the subject's unconscious mind. The program could be
nearly anything--from a command to stop smoking to dance instruction
(as long as it did not threaten the subject's life)--but Carla and her
fellow Stepton wives had chosen to use them to enslave the men of the
town, turning them into sweetly submissive false females.
"But not all of the men are like Deirdre," Sharon pointed out.
"Of course not," replied Susan, another guest. "Sweet as Deirdre and
the other French maids look in their outfits, not all of us are into
that scene. Most of us are just happy to see our little darlings in
the most feminine of normal street clothing. None of them are ever
permitted to wear pants--except tight little short-shorts in summer.
We all agreed to that when we signed our little pact."
"But a few of us have gone even further than Carla has with Deirdre,"
put in Gretchen. She was dressed in a very severe, yet sexy, black
outfit, and carried a short whip, hanging from her belt. "I came to
Stepton, like you, when I heard of Carla's implants through the
grapevine. I had already imposed my will on Marshall--now Marsha--but
I wanted to make his enslavement permanent. She now spends her days in
lingerie and mild bondage in our home, only seeing others when we
entertain. Perhaps you'd like to visit someday soon?"
Back at the supermarket, Chris and Danny were just checking out when
Deirdre approached them again. "Please, let me invite you to visit my
Mistress Carla and me," she offered. "I'll check with her when I
arrive home. I'm sure she'll find you just charming."
"Well, thank you, Deirdre," Chris replied. "I'm looking forward to
it." < Mistress?> He watched the frilly figure mince toward her car.
< What kind of town is Stepton anyway?>
At the women's meeting, Sharon had one last question. "What about
Danny? I haven't seen any boys in town at all--have they all been
transformed too?"
"Certainly, my dear," Carla answered. "My own son Charlie is about
Danny's age. I put an implant in him two years ago--now little
Charlotte is a perfect angel. We've found the implants work even
better on pre-teen and teenaged boys. They almost seem to want the
transformation. We'll handle Danny this summer, before school starts.
We wouldn't want him disrupting the other boy-girls."
At that moment, Chris and Danny entered the house with the groceries.
"Hello, everyone," he greeted them. "Oh, Carla--I ran into your maid,
Deirdre, at the market. She sort of invited me to visit you."
"Wonderful, Chris," Carla purred. "Shall we say tomorrow-- about
11:00?" She leaned toward Sharon and whispered: "Deirdre was ordered
to make that invitation if she ran into Chris. It will give me an
excellent chance to do the implant."
*************
The next day, Chris rang the bell at Carla's door. Moments later, he
was led into the living room by the ever-ravishing Deirdre. Today the
maid was dressed in a pink-satin uniform with white hose and
six-inch-heeled pink sandals, which let her repolished toenails wink
through. She curtsied prettily to Chris and told him, "Mistress Carla
will be here shortly. Let me make you a drink; then sit back and
relax." She went to the bar, returning with Chris' requested Bloody
Mary a few moments later.
After a short while, after Chris had had a few sips of his drink, Carla
appeared. As usual, she was dressed in leather and satin. Today,
everything was red: red leather miniskirt, red satin blouse, red hose,
red patent-leather heels. The effect, against Carla's dark brunette
beauty, was every bit as devastating as she'd hoped it would be.
Carla put out her hand for Chris' greeting. "Thank you for coming,
Chris."
"Thanks for having me....." Suddenly, Chris felt his knees go out from
under him as his mind swam. He collapsed into Carla's arms.
"Quickly, Deirdre," she ordered her transformed maid-husband. "Help me
get him into the surgery. The effects of that drugged drink won't last
very long." The two hefted Chris into the next room, which was set up
much like a doctor's examining room. They placed him carefully on the
table.
Carla brought a special device out of a cabinet. She fit one of her
special implants into the air gun-like device and placed it against the
back of Chris' neck. She pulled the "trigger," and a slight hiss of
air indicated the procedure was over. As she removed the gun from his
neck, the only sign of Chris' implant was a slight red mark just below
his hairline.
Now Carla and Deirdre brought the rapidly recovering man back into the
living room. "Whew," he breathed, "what happened to me?" He rubbed his
stiff neck.
"I've no idea," Carla smiled. "Perhaps the vodka in your drink was
stronger than you're used to."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'd better go on home. Sorry to ruin our
get-together, Carla," Chris apologized.
"No problem," she replied. "And be sure and say hello to Sharon for
me."
Not long after, Chris arrived home, still rubbing the back of his neck.
Sharon greeted him at the door and helped to their bedroom to lie down.
Then she picked up the phone and called Carla.
"Are you sure the implant is working?" she asked. "Chris doesn't seem
to be any different."
"The implant's programming doesn't begin to operate until you activate
it," Carla explained. "The activation phrase is 'Get dressed for me,
Chrissy-Poo.' Say that to him and watch what happens. It can also be
used to give irrevocable commands once the implant is activated."
**********
So Sharon activated the implant and ordered Chris to get dressed in the
little-girlish outfit and present himself to her.
"You look lovely, Chrissy-Poo," Sharon told him. "The only thing
missing is your makeup and hairstyle. But I have the answer to
that--your appointment at the beauty salon downtown is in 20 minutes.
Let's go."
And she took the cross-dressed submissive by the hand and led him to
the door.
< No! NO! I don't want to go to a beauty salon! But I do--and the
very thought of having pretty hair and makeup is driving me wild. Why?
WHY?>
A short time later, Sharon led Chrissy-Poo, in her tight, short, white
satin dress, sheer stockings, white ankle socks with frilly lace cuffs,
and white five-inch high heels, into the beauty salon. They were met
by Carla, who was the owner as well as leader of the feminizers of
Stepton.
"Well, doesn't Chrissy-Poo look precious in her satin dress?" Carla
teased.
< I ought to slap her one for that...>
"Thank you, Mistress Carla. I am pleased you like the way I look,"
Chris replied. The cross-dressed slave looked around the beauty salon.
It was obvious that all the staff--and a goodly number of the
customers--were implant-dominated transvestites like himself. All the
staff members wore tight pink mini-dresses, exceedingly short: The
hems revealed their stocking tops and garters. Unlike most of
Stepton's cross-dressed male population, they did not wear their hair
long or have wigs on. Instead, their short male hair was laced with
matching pink ribbons.
< Hey--isn't that one just a boy?> Chris's gaze was locked on a child
of 14 or 15, seated in one of the salon's chairs. He could tell the
customer was young, despite the sophisticated way in which "she" was
dressed--silk wraparound dress, patterned stockings, black patent
leather pumps with six-inch heels. The boy-girl's hair was platinum
blonde, done in flowing waves around her face, which was made up
beautifully beyond her years. Her figure had obviously been trained
and surgically remade as well, giving her a 37-24-35 shape. < Is
that's what in store for Danny?>
"Ahhh...I see you've noticed little Allison," Carla commented.
"Allison's mother has decided that the child should earn her way in the
world--in the only way such an unruly little thing can. Since Allison
has no abilities at school or typical domestic work, her mother has
turned her into a call girl. This is her day off, but normally Allison
goes to New York each day, where she earns her keep as a high-priced
escort for men who appreciate her looks--and her abilities at
cock-sucking."
Allison was not the only exotic sight in the salon. In another chair
sat an obvious male in a tight corset, black hose and seven-inch heels.
His arms were bound to the chair and his ankles were connected by a
ten-inch length of chain--obviously meant to train his gait to a
ladylike mincing step. One of the attendants was coating his nails
with red polish while another powdered his exposed, hairless chest and
rouged the nipples. He seemed to be totally embarrassed.
Even Sharon spotted this one. "Why is he bound? Doesn't his implant
work?" she asked Carla.
"Oh, it works perfectly," Carla replied. "That's Gretchen's little
Marsha. Her implant is designed to merely reinforce her submissive
nature...and her aversion to femininity. That's why she's so
humiliated by her current situation. Gretchen doesn't want just a
feminized slave--she wants one who is completely aware of what has
happened to him...and the humiliation he experiences as a result."
As they spoke, the attendants completed their work on Marsha, unbound
her wrists and helped her out of the chair. Gretchen entered then, and
produced a bondage glove. She pulled her slave's arms behind her back,
thrust them into the tight leather glove and tightened it until
Marsha's elbows met in the small of her back. Next she pushed a ball
gag into Marsha's mouth, buckling it behind her head. That was
followed by a collar with a leash attached. Gretchen took the leash in
hand and led the half-naked, half-feminized slave out of the salon,
past the gaping Sharon and Chrissy-Poo. Marsha's eyes implored the
others to understand his situation and not to laugh. Sharon couldn't
help but smile--someday she would have to experiment with bondage on
Chris.
"Come along, Chrissy-Poo," Carla said, taking the new TV slave by the
hand. "It's time to complete your transformation." The satin- clad
man-woman was seated in one of the salon's comfortable chairs and a
lovely staff member came up to begin work on his hair.
"Wait!" Sharon halted the process. "I want Chris to be aware of what's
going on. Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo!" That was the code phrase
that would permit Sharon to impose specific, unopposable orders upon
Chris through the implant. "Until I reactivate your implant," she
ordered, "you are Chris again. Carla, perhaps you'd best tie him down
as you did Marsha."
Instantly, Carla and the attendant strapped the hapless Chris into the
chair. He pleaded with his wife. "Sharon, why are you doing this?"
"When I met Carla while house-hunting," she explained, "I discovered
that the women of Stepton had the best of everything. About half of
them own their own very successful businesses--like Carla here--and
have no need of a traditional 'breadwinner' as a husband. The others
all have husbands whose jobs, like yours, do not require them to be
seen frequently in public. Hence, it was simple for them to develop
this feminization process."
"Most of us are confirmed lesbians or bi, anyway," Carla interjected.
"Certainly I can testify that Sharon is--or didn't you know that when
you married her?"
The women all laughed at the surprise that registered on Chris's face
at that assertion. But now, the final steps in his transformation
began. One of the boy-girl attendants appeared and introduced herself.
"Hi Chrissy-Poo, my name is Francie. I'll be washing and setting your
hair. I'm also told that your mistress has instructed that it be
frosted."
Chris gulped. < How far was Sharon going to go with this?> He felt
the chair fall backward as his head was lowered into the sink. Francie
began washing his hair.
*********
Meanwhile, at the high school, Sharon and Chris' 15-year-old daughter
Karen was getting her indoctrination to the joys of petticoating and
dominating young men. She was meeting with the leaders of the school's
"domination team," who had brought along their personal slaves--all
boys who also attended the school in feminine disguise--to demonstrate
their control over the male sex.
The girls, like their mothers, favored leather clothing--while the
boys, like their hapless fathers, were dressed in the most feminine of
styles. The leader of the team was Melinda, Gretchen's daughter, who
wore a clinging outfit of black leather jacket and jeans, with
spiked-heel knee-length boots. The other two girls, Sondra and
Kathryn, wore similar outfits. They had all lent leather clothing to
newcomer Karen, so she would not look out of place.
"C'mon, Misty, show Karen how you greet your mistress," Melinda ordered
her slave, a mincing 17-year-old senior once named Michael. He was
dressed in Parisian high fashion, as Melinda preferred him to be: silk
blouse, tight slim-cut navy skirt, topped by a fitted jacket.
Underneath, she had him dressed in what she termed "slut
lingerie"--black lacy half-bra, black lacy crotchless panties, matching
garter belt and black seamed stockings. He was perched on
six-inch-heeled black patent pumps.
Misty fell to her knees at Melinda's feet, pressing her red glossy lips
against the gleaming leather of the teen-age dominatrix's boots. She
ran her tongue up the length of each boot. Then Melinda took the
cross-dressed boy's scarlet-nailed hands and drew him to her face,
planting a passionate French kiss upon him, thrusting her tongue deep
into the boy-girl's lipsticked mouth. She reached down and rubbed her
hand over the growing mound beneath the navy skirt Melinda wore. Then
she pushed him away, nearly sprawling him on the ground.
Misty's hands strayed toward her turgid cock. "Don't you dare!"
commanded Melinda. "Who does that little dicky thing belong to?" she
asked.
"To you and you alone, Mistress," Misty responded, blushing.
"Drop your skirt, Misty," Melinda demanded. The embarrassed femme
obeyed. "Pull out your dicky thing." Again Misty complied. "Now jerk
off!"
Misty began to pull and rub his cock, feeling it grow larger and larger
in his hands. Then--just as he was about to explode-- Melinda cried,
"Stop!" Immediately he dropped his hands to his sides.
Melinda turned to her compatriots. "Janice," she cooed, "don't you
think your little Judy would like a taste of come? I know she loves
it."
All eyes turned to Judy, nee Jules, a petite young slave dressed in
little girl drag: taffeta party dress with ruffled petticoats, smooth
bare legs with white ankle socks. The little-girl look was belied by
the size of his breast implants and the seven-inch white heels he was
forced to wear. He looked to his mistress, a tall well-built black
girl.
"Well, you heard Mistress Melinda," she told him. "Suck that cock,"
she ordered, pointing to Misty's still-swollen member. The little-girl
TV dropped to her knees and took the cock in her mouth, sucking off the
other cross-dressed lad until he shuddered with pleasure.
Melinda turned to the stunned but smiling Karen. "You see, Karen, the
implants make them unable to defy us. All you have to do is make your
pick of the unattached femmes in the school."
**********
At Carla's beauty salon, Chris was just seeing the results of Francie's
efforts. His hair was now a coppery red, falling into gentle waves to
his shoulders. His eyebrows had been reshaped into ladylike arches;
even his ears had been pierced. Little gold studs now graced his
lobes. His face had been artfully made up, with eyeshadow, mascara,
blush, lipstick and powder. He couldn't believe his eyes. He actually
looked like a woman--albeit a bizarre one, given the satin outfit he
was still wearing.
In the mirror, he saw Sharon come up from behind him. "Well,
Chrissy-Poo, now you know that the women of Stepton mean what they say.
You'll stay a man-woman from now on."
He turned to face her and began to speak. She put her hand to his lips
and whispered, "Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo." < Oh no! She's done
it again--I'm helpless!>
"Now, Chrissy-Poo," said Sharon, settling into one of the salon's
chairs, "I'm horny. Satisfy me."
"Yes, Mistress," he responded, burying his face in Sharon's hot pussy.
< Why is this happening? Why can't I stop? Why am I so excited?!>
**************
Later that day, Chrissy-Poo and Sharon arrived home. Though the
implant permitted no outward sign of it, the transformed sissy was
shocked to find Carla, her own little boy-girl Charlotte and her
maid-husband Deirdre waiting for them in the living room. < What are
they doing here?>
The answer came in a moment, as the three stepped aside to reveal Chris
and Sharon's son Danny--looking very little like a son at the moment.
Laid out on the couch, he was dressed in a pink taffeta party dress,
with starched white crinolines and opaque white stockings underneath.
He wore charming black patent leather Mary Janes with a two-inch heel
upon his feet and white lace gloves upon his hands, folded neatly below
his childish bosom. His face was artfully made up to disguise his
masculinity, a disguise furthered by the curly, shoulder-length blonde
wig he wore. < Oh no!> thought Chris, < has Danny already had the
implant done? Is it too late for him?>
"I thought you were going to wait for us to get home to transform
Danny?" Sharon asked.
"Oh, this is just a preliminary stage," Carla replied. "Charlotte was
visiting--under my orders--and slipped a drugged juice drink to little
Danielle here. We've found that the implant works particularly well on
adolescents if they are already in a transformed state."
"Good," Sharon commented. "I want to be here to establish the proper
pecking order among my little transformed beauties."
< What does she mean by that? Is Sharon planning something even more
bizarre with Danny?>
While Chrissy-Poo pondered, Carla prepared the implant injector. She
pressed the "muzzle" of the air-gun against the back of the
cross-dressed Danny and pulled the "trigger." There was a brief hiss
and she withdrew the device. "It's done," she announced.
"Get the little dear to his feet," Sharon requested, "and wake him up."
Charlotte and Deirdre hauled the still-sleeping boy-girl off the couch
and shook him to rouse him.
"Huh--what's goin' on...Mom? What is all this...." he mumbled,
blearily.
His mother turned to Carla. "What's his activation phrase?" Carla
whispered in Sharon's ear. "Oh, that's good." She turned back to
Danny, who was starting to notice how he was dressed--and how his
erstwhile father was dressed as well.
"Dad? Why are you in those clothes? What's happening?"
"Danielle, blow me a kiss!" Sharon announced.
Danny stopped speaking in mid-sentence, pursed his lips and blew a kiss
to his domineering mother. "May I do anything else for you, Mother?"
he asked, in feminine tones.
< Oh God!> Chris thought. < She's done it--now we're both helpless.
We're just boy-girl sex slaves...just like every other male in
Stepton!>
"Danielle, Carla informs me that her friend Michelle needs a model for
her children's clothing store in New York," Sharon informed her
transformed son. "I have told her you would be happy to take the job.
Naturally, all your salary will be turned over to me."
"Oh, Mother, that's wonderful! I so love to wear pretty clothes!"
Danielle enthused.
< I hate hearing him talk like that--but partly because I want to be
the one wearing those clothes,> Chris realized. < What else does
Sharon have planned for us?>
Sharon turned to her husband-slave. "As for you, Chrissy-Poo, Michelle
also has a section of the store that sells exotic and bizarre clothing
for transformed males like yourself. I have told her you would be
pleased to act as a sales girl--and model--for her."
"Oh, I can't wait, Mistress Sharon," Chrissy-Poo exclaimed. And the
horrible thing was that he couldn't.
The next day, Sharon drove Chrissy-Poo and Danielle to the city.
Chrissy-Poo was dressed in her most elegantly bizarre clothes. On the
outside, it seemed as though her skintight jump suit was shining red
satin; but the satin covered only the outer surface. Beneath it was a
form-hugging rubber suit. Under that outre outfit, Chrissy-Poo wore
her usual corset, laced to a breath-tightening 19 inches, 37C false
boobs, and rubber panties. Her shoes were red patent leather pumps
with seven-inch heels; they were secured to her feet with tiny
padlocks--"so you don't kick them off when you get uncomfortable,"
Sharon advised her. In order to prepare her for the bondage she might
sometimes have to display in her new position at Michelle's shop,
Sharon had also laced Chrissy-Poo into a single glove, her elbows
tightly bound in the small of her back.
Danielle, on the other hand, appeared to be the epitome of youthful
femininity. The transformed boy wore a white cotton dress with lots of
lace on its Buster-Brown collar, cuffs and hem. The skirt of the dress
stopped six inches above her knees and was thrust out at nearly right
angles by the three layers of white taffeta petticoats that rustled
beneath it. Despite her youth, her bust had also been padded
out--though not to the same extreme as her erst-while father's.
Beneath the dress she was all in satin--satin camisole, satin garter
belt, satin panties. Her sheer white nylons made her legs look both
sleek and childlike--especially with the pink-trimmed ankle socks and
white patent Mary Janes she wore on her feet.
Both boy-girls had been artfully made up. Chrissy-Poo's face looked
adult and sensuous--but innocent as well, with her cheeks rouged to
imitate the embarrassed blush of a woman ashamed of her flaunted
femininity. Danielle's make up, though, was subtle and gentle, making
the 12-year-old boy look the picture of shy youth. Still, she was
beautiful, certain to attract the eye of any young lad--and be the envy
of the customers for whom she would model in Michelle's store.
Sharon parked the car near Broadway and 79th on Manhattan's fashionable
West Side and directed the two "girls" to follow her. They were
greeted at the shop door by Michelle, who clapped her hands in delight
at the sight of her two new employees.
"Sharon, honey, they're wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I just love what
you've done with Chrissy-Poo's bondage. And Danielle--her dress is
just darling!" The shop owner reached down and took the skirt of the
youthful boy-girl's dress in her hands, rustling the petticoats across
Danielle's legs. Beneath her panties, Danielle could feel her cock
grow from the stimulation.
"Now, you just leave them to me," she continued. "I close the shop at
six. You can come and pick them up then. Enjoy your day in the city."
********************
Two hours later, both boy-girls were well into their respective jobs.
Danielle was modeling for one of Michelle's exclusive customers, a
young matron who had petticoated her own little boy.
She was outfitted in a red velvet party dress with white lace collar
and cuffs. Her hands were tightly encased in white cotton gloves.
Like the dress in which she had come to the store, the skirt was buoyed
by the three starched petticoats beneath it. Her legs were bare, with
just white ankle socks with a red satin ribbon through the cuff and red
patent leather strapless pumps upon her feet. This customer preferred
to keep her charge in mild bondage, so Michelle had demonstrated how
this pretty party outfit could be accessorized with white satin ribbon
wrapped tightly around Danielle's wrists tied in a big bow, keeping her
hands locked tightly together, while the ribbons in her socks had been
tied together as well, restricting her step to a scant eight inches.
The young matron looked thoughtfully at the bound vision Danielle
made--and then glanced at her own "daughter," sitting beside her, with
her neck immobilized by a punishment collar so that she had no choice
but to look at her counterpart, despite her deep desire to avoid
knowing her fate.
Chrissy-Poo, on the other hand, was modeling even more bizarre clothing
for a professional mistress who frequently ordered her cross-dressed
clients to accompany her to Michelle's shop. The dominatrix had one
such slave with her today. He was dressed in tight-fitting green
sheath which set off his red wig beautifully. The extremely tight
corset he wore was perfectly obvious beneath the sheath, as were his
garters and stocking tops below the short tight skirt. He wore
eight-inch heels, in which he couldn't really walk. He was completely
at his mistress' mercy.
Chrissy-Poo, perched on a pedestal in the center of the shop, was
equally at Michelle's mercy. She was still in her corset, but now her
clothing consisted of a black leather miniskirt and white satin halter.
Her hands were chained in front of her, locked to the belt of the
skirt. She could move them perhaps three inches in any direction. Her
legs were tightly encased in white patent leather, thigh-high boots
with six-inch heels. They had been carefully posed in a feminine
gesture--one foot slightly in front of the other, toe pointed, knee
slightly bent. To ensure that she could not change her position,
Chrissy-Poo's feet were chained to the pedestal.
Michelle stood next to her, demonstrating the various bondage gear sold
in the shop. Finally, when she wished to prove how helpless a
cross-dressed slave could be in this outfit, she began to massage
Chrissy-Poo's breasts, hips and crotch, stroking the transformed man's
body through the sensuous leather and lace. Chrissy-Poo's growing
excitement was obvious.
< Oh God!> Chris thought. <Even under this skirt, my cock must be
visible! It feels so big! Please, Michelle, don't make me come! Not
here, not now!>
Michelle leaned over and whispered in Chrissy-Poo's ear, "Now come for
me, little Chrissy-Poo."
She shuddered and came, unable to resist the power of the implant that
turned Chris Martin into one of the Stepton slaves.
The End
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