You have to earn a black bra. Simone knew it, even from when she was Simon and first arrived at Mentor Towers.

When Simone was a boy, he had seen the other girls with their sheer blouses and different colored bras showing through. The white ones were the young, innocent new arrivals. Like he became, feeling that sense of awe and fear as his first bra was placed on his flat, 12 year old chest and fastened in back.

Thank goodness there was a real woman there to do it for him. Awe and fear? Ah yes, the awesome feeling that a boy was wearing a bra, feeling how tight it was. Making him think like a girl. The fear was easy to explain: Simon to become Simone was scared he would always be a girl from then on.

Well, fear can be irrational, can't it? Like being scared of the dark, but only because you can't see there's nothing to worry about. But it was still scary, feeling the bra on you, looking in the mirror and seeing the straps and the lace edges on the bra cups, turning to see the band across your back. It didn't matter there was nothing to fill the cups: it was the bra itself that made him feel so, well, girly.

Even knowing other boys there - boys that were boys once, at least - would see his bra. Of course, he could see theirs: that was the idea wasn't it? Each boy seeing the other girl's bras.

That was the most confusing at first, thinking that everyone at Mentor Towers had once been a boy, no matter how much they looked like a girl now. The way they moved, their long hair, the hint of make-up. The way their skirts swished as they walked. The coy looks, even a few blushes of arousal at seeing another boy they liked. Sorry, another girl.

Especially the ones in the black bras, that really showed up through their uniform blouse. They were almost entirely girls now. They'd earned it by being good at what they did. What they had become.

Simone had to get used to the idea of not only being in a bra and other boys (or girls) seeing it, but letting his mom and dad see it too. Visiting day, once a month. Standing in the visiting room in front of the comfortable chairs the parents used, standing to attention, hands at the side of his pleated gray skirt, so his parents could admire how he looked. They could see his polished black shoes, the white ankle socks, how his skirt hung (no unsightly bulges, young lady!), the sheer blouse and the bra underneath.

They could also see his blushing cheeks. Well, it was hard being studied like this. The way his mother lifted the hem of his pleated uniform skirt and examined his panties. White, of course, to match the bra. Simone was really embarrassed that the first time his mommy did it, but he got a little hard in his panties.

"It's okay, honey," said his mom. "We understand. Being a little girl can do that to a boy." She was really thinking, training to be a little girl.

"Um, yes, mommy," Simone had said, and for heaven's sake, even felt it get a little harder as she looked. Fortunately she lowered his skirt and hid his half-erection.

But he tried, she really did. But things go wrong.

Mrs Sidwell in the corridor: Simone, how many times must you be told that girls do not have swellings in their panties? It spoils the line of your skirt, young lady.

Sara, grinning at Simone between lessons: What do you think you have to do to get a red bra? No really, they have them. I know!

Miss Lee-Naylor, in her large classroom overlooking the lawns: That, girl, is naughty! Stretch your hand out and I will cane you if I see you tenting your school skirt again. You do not get excited by other girls, no matter how pretty they are. The black bra is a token of progress, not an incitement to feel aroused!

Leanne, in the dark in the dormitory: I need someone to rub me, under my nightdress, please Simone? Please!

Dr Edith Jones, Mentor Towers Principal, in her office: I understand, Simone, you have been permitting other girls to see your panties. I shudder to think what they would want to do then. Perhaps you need a few days of special lessons. On your own, in the correction class.

Myra, kissing Simone, putting her hand up Simone's skirt. Feeling and not saying anything: Oh, if only I had a black bra, whispered Simone, hands on the other girl's flat chest, stroking the lace through the sheer white blouse, feeling the girl's small but hard nipples.

Nurse Edmonds, in the examination room: I hope this isn't that disgusting male semen in your panties, young lady. Have you been masturbating again?

Madame Brigitte, French and Corsetry teacher: So, mon cheri, hold your chest up so I can see how the black brassiere fits. Ah, oui, is good.

Dr Edith Jones, Mentor Towers Principal, in her office: I am very disappointed in you, Simone. Such a promising student. Now remove your blouse and bra and put this red one on.

Mrs Hauptmann, Science and Locksmith teacher: There, that revolting little thing is caged properly now. Now, girl, pull up your panties and let's have no more of this playing with yourself nonsense.

Jennifer, running her hands over the cage and the little gleaming padlock: Does it hurt, Simone, if I tickle it with this pencil point through the little bars?

Ms Karen, gleaming in her latex one-piece with the zipper down and her large breasts spilling out, swishing the cane. Not scowling or shouting, just breathing the words: Six hard strokes on your panties, Simone, and please try to hold your skirt up properly this time.

Simone, bound to the whipping post: Please, Dr Jones and Ms Karen, no more! I'll be a good girl, I promise! I won't do that ag- Mmmmph! Mnnth!

Oh, how it hurts!

How she cried, rivers of tears soaking through her thin blouse, dampening her red bra.

This wasn't visiting day as such, though Simone's mom and dad were there in Dr Jones' office.

Simone, in her neatly pressed school uniform with her red bra prominent through her blouse, standing smartly to attention. Mouth sealed with black tape, chains at her ankles and wrists, waiting while mommy and daddy discussed what to do with the naughty pupil.

Dr Jones was saying she is probably ready, earlier than expected. Mom and dad agreeing, nodding, not looking at their chained and gagged daughter now. The red bra told it all anyway. They had heard how she needed to be corrected, refined. Trained harder.

Dr Jones was holding up some picture, letting the parents choose which man should purchase their daughter Simone. They were agreeing that the older man, the one who looked like Colonel Sanders - distinguished, responsible, wealthy - was the best of them. Colonel Sanders had given Simone a glowing report when he had inspected her too. Hardly had to spank her at all across his knee before she shot her cum into her red panties.

A good man, and a good price. Everyone was pleased. Mommy kissed her daughter goodbye, a little kiss on the girl's smooth gagged lips and of course, one last look up that pleated skirt, checking the bright panties and looking at the red marks from the whip across the front and back of Simone's legs. Something to remember her by.

Then they left, saying thankyou to Dr Jones and Mentor Towers for such an excellent education for Simone, how they hoped she'd be happy with this kind man.

Simone might have cried, but girls are taught to be strong here. Strong eventually, as they all learn.

The girl wasn't crying, but she was excited. Her little cock, inside the red panties, would have got harder if it hadn't been for the polished cage around it, he little padlock under her tiny balls. She wanted to rub it, but she couldn't. She quivered, desperately but quietly. But then all she could think of was the man who would own her. She just hoped this nice gentleman would buy her a new, all lace bra when he took her away.

White or black or red, it didn't matter what the color was providing Simone could wear it so everyone could see.

Even a pink bra, maybe. Simone trembled a little more at the nice thought and felt her small, poor cock in its cage stir in futility. Yes, a pink one please with lots of lace and a pretty little ribbon bow between the lace-covered cups. She'd do anything for that, anything at all.