|
Stepton High [femdom, mind control, teen]
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
STEPTON HIGH
(A sequel of sorts to "The Stepton Slaves")
by Dani
Arnie Howard opened the letter from his stepmother again as the train
left the next-to-last stop on his journey. He'd been away at boarding school
when his father and his new wife decided to move to Stepton...and he'd never
understood why they did it. Now, in this letter, Diane, his step-mother, had
requested that he come to their new home town and start his high-school years
there. She promised him lots of surprises when he arrived.
By the time he had finished re-reading the letter, the train pulled
into Stepton. As he stepped off, Arnie noticed that he seemed to be the only
male--outside of the conductor on the train--in the station. The station
master, all the other departing passengers, and all those waiting to greet new
arrivals were female: either women or girls of various ages. And all of them
were attractive--there didn't seem to be an ugly or plain woman in the whole
town.
"Arnie, darling, over here!" He turned at the voice calling his name.
It was Diane, dressed to kill in an expensive black leather sheath, belted
tight around her wasp waist. Her blonde hair cascaded in soft waves to her
shoulders, its golden color contrasting with the ebony of her clothes. Her
long legs, revealed to mid-thigh by the mini-skirt of the dress, were covered
in sleek black nylons and perched on black patent-leather pumps with five-inch
heels. Though she was smiling, Arnie always found the woman a little imposing.
He walked toward her with some trepidation.
"Arnie, it's so good to have you home," she cried, putting her arm
around him and leaning down to kiss the short, slender boy. "I have so much to
tell you!"
"Where's Dad?" Arnie asked. His father was a financial consultant who
worked out of their home; he'd expected to be picked up by his father at the
station.
"Ronnie's at home, taking care of his duties," Diane replied, a hint
of amusement in her voice. She led him to a dark luxury car, with a
livery-clad young woman beside it. The chauffeur (for such Arnie assumed her
to be) assisted them into the car.
"Will there be anything else?" the chauffeur inquired, in a sexily
husky voice.
"No, Jeanne, just take us home, please." Arnie had been hustled along
so effectively he completely forgot about his luggage, left behind at the
station master's office.
Arnie's impression of the town's population was not changed by what he
saw on the way to his new home. Not a male was in sight on the streets of
Stepton. The women and girls seemed to come in two types: lots of leather-clad
women and teens who walked with a sense of assuredness and the others--dressed
in frills and extreme high heels, almost caricatures of pure femininity.
"I see you've noticed one of the unusual features of our little town,
Arnie," Diane said. "Yes, there are no apparent males here--but, I assure you,
there are men and boys here. Most of those adorably frilly and frothy young
women you see out there are in reality males--transformed into images of
female beauty," she went on.
Arnie frowned. "Transformed?"
"Yes, dear. One of Stepton's prominent women, Carla Weathers, has
determined that this town shall never suffer from the depredations that male
control brings to all cities: crime,corruption, juvenile delinquency. She
developed a fascinating device that helps all the women in Stepton control
their husbands, sons and boyfriends--by converting them into feminized
slaves." Diane saw the look of consternation that suddenly passed Arnie's
face. "Yes, Arnie--that means you, too.
"And don't bother trying to escape! I'm quite capable of handling you
physically," Diane advised him. "Besides, all the car doors are locked from
Jeanne's control panel."
Subdued by Diane's words and demeanor, Arnie sat in silence for the
rest of the trip home. Obviously, his father had married a crazy woman; there
was no way she was going to "feminize" him, whatever that meant. Certainly,
his father would have no part of this scheme.
In a short time, the sullen 14-year-old and his beautiful stepmother
pulled into the driveway of a large brick home. The lovely chauffeur opened
the doors of the car and escorted them into the house. "Ronnie, darling, we're
home!" Diane called.
At last, thought Arnie, now we'll see how far this idiocy continues.
The door to the living opened and a vision in sexual femininity minced out.
The tall redhead was dressed in a classic French maid's uniform: black satin
mini-dress over a froth of white petticoats; white satin apron tied in an
over-large bow in the back; black seamed stockings; and black patent pumps
with six-inch heels, their ankle straps secured with tiny padlocks. "Welcome,
home, Mistress Diane. Hello, Arnie."
Arnie stared at this lovely creature with unabashed confusion--the
face was in some ways familiar beneath the carefully applied cosmetics, the
voice had a familiar ring within its breathy tones. It couldn't be!
But it was! "Arnie, say hello to your 'father'," Diane chuckled,
watching the embarrassment in both their faces.
"Hi...Dad," Arnie stumbled over the words.
"Lunch is ready in the kitchen, Mistress," Ronnie informed them. "And
Arnie's appointment at Miss Carla's salon is set for 3 p.m."
"Excellent, Ronnie," Diane replied. "Come, Arnie, let's eat. You'll
need all your strength for this afternoon's activities."
During lunch, Arnie could not keep his eyes off the lovely creature
who had once been his manly father. Finally, he could hold it in no longer.
"How did you do this? How could you do this?"
"Everything will be explained at Carla's salon this afternoon," Diane
answered. "Now, be quiet and eat, like a good little...boy." And she smiled
secretly.
*************
At 3, Arnie found himself in the waiting area of Carla's beauty salon.
He had been to such places before, when his mother was alive, so he knew what
to expect. But there were subtle differences to this salon. First of all, the
magazines were not just the typical women's titles, such as Glamour, Vogue and
Mademoiselle; there were also magazines with such strange-sounding names as
Transformation and Petticoat Power. The pictures on the wall also seemed
unusual--and it took Arnie a few moments to realize that all these seemingly
beautiful women were actually men in makeup and feminine hairdos. And the
attendants! They were not dressed in the usual sensible smocks, but in short,
tight mini-skirts, bustiers and six-inch heels. And a closer look let him see
that most of them were male, as well.
After a few moments, Miss Carla herself came and escorted him to a
seat in the working area of the salon. She wore what seemed to be the town
'uniform' for the real women--a leather business suit (in red), with an
extremely short skirt, white satin blouse and matching red heels. "Now, Arnie,
we're going to do the outer changes on you before the 'inner' ones, at your
stepmother's request. Isn't that right, Diane?" she asked.
"That's correct, Carla. I want Arnie to know what's being done, so he
understands the seriousness of our plans for him."
Carla strapped Arnie's hands to the arms of the chair, and his legs to
the footrest. (Though he had long since resigned himself to undergo whatever
Diane had in mind; surely, any changes she made to him would be purely
'cosmetic,' in every sense of the word and could always be undone when he got
the chance.)
As these thoughts passed through Arnie, his stepmother and her
beautician friend were looking over a number of beauty magazines, deciding on
Arnie's new look. Finally, they both stopped on the same page and smiled
conspiratorially. Carla summoned one of her assistants, a lovely "girl" named
Suzie-Q, to wash and set Arnie's longish hair.
"You're really a man, aren't you?" Arnie asked Suzie-Q. She looked
down at herself, clad in the revealing uniform of the salon. "Yes, I was, but
not anymore..."
"You mean they.."
"Oh no--my mistress would never 'unsex' me," Suzie-Q replied. "I just
never think of myself as male anymore. I can't, except when I'm reminded of
it."
"What do you mean? How can you forget you're a man?" Arnie insisted.
Suzie-Q turned around and lifted her shoulder-length brunette locks
from her neck. She pointed to the slightly reddish scar there, barely visible
unless you looked closely. "It's because of this--you'll find out."
Arnie gulped. Perhaps getting out of all this later would not be as
easy as he thought.
Arnie sat quietly as the women of the salon worked on him: cutting,
coloring and setting his hair; plucking his eyebrows; applying cosmetics,
including false eyelashes and fingernails. He even permitted them to remove
his clothes and shave his legs without protest. Though resigned to what his
stepmother had planned--for the moment--he secretly vowed to find a way out.
*******************
Two hours later, Carla swung his chair around and allowed the
transformed boy to see his new look. Arnie gasped. His hair had been dyed to
match the color of his father's coppery curls, and had been cut and set into
an attractive pageboy. The bangs carefully traced the curves of his newly
arched eyebrows. Below those brows was the face of a teen-aged model: wide,
long-lashed green eyes, an upturned nose with a smattering of freckles, full,
pouty red lips.
"Excellent!" Diane exclaimed. "And here are your new clothes."
They dressed him in the epitome of modern teen-age styles, with more
than a hint of excess femininity and submission: a well-padded underwire bra,
tap panties, matching garter belt and sheer nude stockings were his lingerie;
his outer clothes consisted of a ruffled mini-skirt in white, stopping just
six inches above his knees, a pink blouse with full sleeves and a big bow at
the collar, white ankle socks with pink ribbon through the cuffs and pink
patent-leather pumps with a T-strap and five-inch heels.
They released him from the chair and he almost fell on his face from
the unaccustomed height of his heels. "Don't worry," Carla told him. "The
final step in our process will make those heels easy to handle."
She approached him from behind, carrying the air-hypo she used to
inject the tiny computer circuit that programmed the males of Stepton to
accept their transformed, submissive status. With a sharp hiss, she pressed
the device against the back of Arnie's neck. His eyes went blank and he
slumped into a chair.
"The programming is all set?" Diane asked.
"Yes. He'll accept you as his primary dominant," Carla answered.
"Although, once he starts school, one of the unattached trainees is sure to
grab him as her personal in-class slave.
"The activation phrase is 'Curtsy for me, Annie,'" Carla continued.
"All the femininity training and submission controls will begin right then. As
you requested, he'll remain aware of his true gender--but be unable to stop
himself from acting like a girl--a slave girl."
Diane turned to the unseeing eyes of Arnie. "Curtsy for me, Annie,"
she said.
Instantly, awareness came back to his eyes, he stood and performed a
perfect curtsy. Why am I doing this? Arnie thought behind the feminine facade.
Why can't I stop myself? "Annie, we have a lot to do before you start school
on Monday. Come with me to the mall," Diane demanded.
Annie obediently picked up the purse that matched her bright pink
shoes and minced after her stepmother.
*****************
Twenty minutes after first becoming Annie, the newly transformed Arnie
Howard found himself in place he never thought he would be in his life: the
dressing room of a women's boutique in a busy suburban mall.
Diane had brought him here--to "Hot Girls"--to outfit him for his new role
in life; he was to be, like all the males in Stepton, a submissive feminized
slave to the women in his life. She had decided that her stepson/daughter
would act the role of a teenybopper, perhaps even a Madonna wannabe type, and
"Hot Girls" was the place where the coolest of the cool set bought their
clothes.
This is impossible, Arnie thought inwardly. I can't wear these clothes;
they're meant for a sexy girl. But the programming being fed into his brain by
Carla Weathers' computer-chip implant made his voice and body betray his inner
self. 'Oh, Mom, these are just the most!' his soft, feminine voice cried, as
the salesgirl came in with armload after armload of outfits. He was currently
wearing a black satin blouse, open to the belt line of his short black spandex
mini-skirt. Around his hips were two broad white leather belts, criss-crossed
at the crotch, emphasizing the false curves of his body. The stretch fabric of
the mini clung to his ass and thighs, while the sheer nylons on his legs made
them look long and sexy.
He looked at himself in the mirror and discovered one more trial he would
have to bear. The sight of himself as a sexy teenager turned him on--his cock
was swelling in the confines of his silky panties. He moved his hand to his
crotch and rubbed himself there. Diane noticed the motion and smiled. "So,
that part of the programming is working, too," she thought. "Soon, he'll be
just as aroused by the idea of being feminized as his father is." The thought
of her husband, home in his French maid's outfit, brought carnal thoughts to
Diane as well; her pussy began to get wet. "Got to finish this quickly," she
thought.
Diane picked out and paid for several more outfits,then ordered Annie out
of the store. "None of the shoes in there were suitable," she told the
boy-girl. "Not sexy enough. Come with me."
Arnie minced after his stepmother through the crowded mall. He was
surrounded by women. No--not all of them are women, he reminded himself. In
fact, the most feminine-looking ones, like himself, were the most likely to be
male. A good number were dressed in French maid outfits like his father's
--black satin mini-dresses, frilly starched petticoats, sleek black nylons and
pumps with very high heels. Others were dressed in flowing floral prints or
ultra-tight pants that revealed panty-lines and sometimes a tell-tale bulge as
well. But it was the real women Arnie found most disturbing--and alluring.
Many were dressed in leather--leather jumpsuits with lots of zippers and
plunging necklines, leather business suits with short, tight skirts and satin
blouses, short leather jackets open to the navel, often with no blouse
beneath. Others were simply dressed in the classics of career women; but all
of them carried something that signified their place in command--a strap, a
short whip, a chain.
There were a number of couples strolling through the mall as well,
displaying different levels of dominance. To his left, Arnie saw a remarkably
attractive woman of about 35, clad in a leather jumpsuit and knee-high boots
with five-inch heels striding confidently along. Three steps behind her came a
"woman" of about the same age, dressed in flowing pastel chiffons, mincing in
white pumps with six-inch heels--and carrying about a half-dozen large
packages. "Come along, Tina--don't take all day about it," the dominatrix
commanded, as her feminized slave attempted to mince a little faster, without
losing control of the packages.
Behind them, a woman in a beige leather business suit led her companion by
a leash. S/he was dressed in red satin from collar to cuff, with a matching
red collar tightly locked around her neck. The leash was attached to that and
she struggled to keep up with her mistress' determined walk.
And then there were the children...even here the sex differences could be
seen in mode of dress. The little girls were often in jeans or overalls...but
their transformed brothers were always in skirts--and generally, short
little-girlish skirts at that, often suited to a child two to three years
younger than their real age. As they approached the teens, however, it was
obvious the boy-girls were changed into something more sexual--with greater
emphasis placed on their false bosoms and long, shaven legs. And some of those
bosoms don't look so false, Arnie noticed. Obviously, some of the wives and
mothers take this transformation process more seriously than others. I hope
Diane's not one of those.
As Arnie's interior mind finished this musing, they arrived at their next
destination. "Heels" was the name of the shop--and from the products on
display it was well-named. There was not a flat or low-heeled shoe to be seen;
the shortest was four inches. They came in pumps, sandals, boots of all
heights and descriptions; with straps at the instep and ankle, with little
locking devices. It was a foot-fetishist's dreamland.
Within, a number of dom/sub couples were trying on footwear, the
submissive half's choice invariably looking more uncomfortable, more
humiliating than his mistress'. "Sit down over there like a good girl, Annie,"
Diane ordered, indicating an empty chair, "while I pick out a few appropriate
styles." His programming working like a charm, Arnie sat primly in the chair,
knees together, ankles crossed, hands folded in his lap.
Diane returned a few minutes later with four different shoes and a clerk
--another feminized man, Arnie could see--in tow. The clerk measured Arnie's
foot and then went off to find the appropriate size in the styles and colors
Diane indicated. When he returned, he began to fit the first of her choices on
Arnie's feet. It was a close match to the pair he was wearing, but in white.
The strap across the instep made them look like a pair of Mary-Janes, if it
wasn't for the five-inch heel. They slid easily onto Arnie's nylon-clad foot,
though the toes felt a touch narrow and tight. He mentioned that to his
stepmother.
"Nonsense, dear," she replied. "A little discomfort is sometimes necessary
for beauty." I'll never be able to walk in these without hurting. But the
implant's programming allowed him to only smile prettily, mince around the
carpeted store, and say "Yes, Mom," in answer.
The next pair was a classic opera pump, in black patent leather with
six-inch heels. The toe was extremely pointed and squeezed Arnie's foot
terribly. The ultra-high heel forced him to take very short steps and to
wiggle his ass provocatively. The third pair were boots--brown calfskin,
knee-high, with a six-inch stiletto heel. There was a chain around the ankle
of each boot. The clerk demonstrated how the chains could be hooked and locked
together, effectively restricting Arnie to a four-inch stride--as if the
height of the heels weren't enough to make walking a chore.
The fourth pair were sandals. Nearly bare, they were white and
strappy-looking, with several tiny buckles to hold them in place. Each of the
buckles was accompanied by a tiny padlock; the clerk locked the sandals to
Arnie's feet and handed the key ceremoniously to Diane. The open look of the
sandals allowed Arnie's red-painted toenails to peep out, glinting
salaciously. The heels--highest he had ever seen--were seven inches. It felt
like he were locked into a tip-toe position.
But the implant would not allow the grimace he felt to show on his face.
He smiled once again, flirtingly displaying the feminine length of his legs in
the sexy hose and shoes.
"Excellent, Annie," Diane applauded. "Now, it's time to go home."
********************
The next morning, Arnie dressed in the clothes his stepmother had laid out
for him--short-sleeved satin blouse in pale green; matching satin skirt cut
like a skater's circle; all over the sexiest of white lacy lingerie: bra,
panties, garter belt and lacy white stockings. His shoes were the white
high-heeled Mary-Janes. He immediately noticed that the extremely short skirt
revealed his stocking tops, garters and panties with practically every move.
What's more, the implant's programming--which was rapidly replacing even his
internal thoughts--meant that the combination of the smooth satin and the
humiliation of his constant exposure left him with a pulsating cock.
As he buckled his shoes, his father/maid, Ronnie, minced into the room in
his satin uniform. "I have been requested to aid you in your makeup and
hairstyling, Annie," the transformed servant told him. Arnie/Annie sat quietly
at the vanity as Ronnie applied cosmetics to his face and combed out his
pageboy. The final touch was a pale green satin bow tied into his coppery
hair.
Ronnie escorted him downstairs to greet his stepmother. "Mistress Diane,
here is Annie," she announced.
Diane clapped her hands when she saw her creation. "Splendid!" she cried.
"I'm sure you'll be the hit of the 1990 freshwoman class at Stepton High--and
you're certain to be picked by the top junior."
A look of puzzlement passed over Arnie's face--a look that wasn't missed
by Diane. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Annie: You'll find out all
about it at assembly this morning."
One hour later, Annie sat in an auditorium at Stepton High with about 50
other transformed boys. Most of the others had, he learned, been living as
girls since the day they were born, others had first been made into boy-girls
when their parents moved to Stepton. A stern but beautiful woman, Mistress
Joanna, the Dean of Boy-Girls, spoke to them from the auditorium stage.
"Ladies, you all know your place within Stepton society. Our task, here at
Stepton High, is to train you for your individual niche in that world. Many of
you have had your future places chosen for you by your mothers and guardians.
Our classes in modeling, home economics and, yes, sex education, will prepare
you for the duties they have chosen. Other women have left your proper
training to us...we will discover your natural inclinations and train you for
the positions that best suit your imposed personalities.
"To aid the faculty, the upper class women often participate in training,
frequently choosing a particular boy-girl to become a special project. Along
those lines, it has become traditional for the five top female scholars in the
junior class to have their pick of the incoming freshwoman class boy-girls to
train for the next two years--and often far beyond that time."
At that, five young women strode on stage. Like their mothers, the
16-year-olds of Stepton were the image of confident female power. Three of the
four wore leather of one kind or another. A fourth was in spandex. The fifth,
surprisingly, wore the lace that normally designated a feminized male.
But no one would ever mistake Destiny McGiver for one of the submissive
playthings of Stepton. Despite the ladylike crispness of her lace-bestowed
blouse and calf-length satin skirt, her face was the picture of determination.
She wore a white velvet choker with a black cameo at her throat. The white
patent-leather boots showing below her hem had six-inch stiletto heels...and
what looked like real spurs. She carried a white riding crop hanging from her
left wrist by its thong.
Mistress Joanna introduced each of the prominent juniors, indicating that,
as top in her class, Destiny was to have first choice of the available
freshwoman boy-girls. About half the class were asked to stand--those whose
future had not been determined by their mothers--Annie among them.
Destiny walked up the aisle, eyeing each of the boy-girls carefully. She
passed Annie and inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not sure he was
ready for the rigors of individualized training. But then he felt a tap at his
shoulder from behind. "What's your name, Red?" Destiny asked. "I don't think
I've seen you before."
"Annie Howard, Mistress," Annie responded, in the best female voice her
programming could create. "I've just moved into town."
"Really? Should be interesting training a newcomer," Destiny replied. "And
I've always like redheads. You'll do." She turned to the stage. "Joanna--I
claim Annie Howard as mine!"
**************
Thirty minutes later, Annie was on her knees in the "training room," a
converted gymnasium, awaiting the arrival of her new school mistress, Destiny
McGiver. With her were the other four boy-girls chosen by the top women of the
junior class for training. Two places to Annie's left was Connie, once Conrad.
She was dressed in classic schoolgirl attire: white man-tailored blouse with
middy bow, red-and-green plaid kilt, with an oversized pin in the front, white
ankle socks and loafers. The kilt, naturally, was short, revealing Connie's
smoothly shaven legs to mid-thigh.
Between Connie and Annie was Jessica, formerly Josh. Unlike most of
the other boy-girls in the freshwoman class, Jessica's mother had begun her on
a more complete transformation program, before turning the details over to the
school. Jessica had been on female hormones since sixth grade...and over the
summer between junior high and high school she had undergone breast
enhancement surgery. Jessica now had a 35C bosom, a fact that was not hidden
by the skin-tight white spandex top that clung to her every doctor-given
curve. Below she wore equally tight black jeans with zippers at the ankle. Her
shoes were black patent pumps with six-inch heels.
To Annie's immediate right was Danielle. Danielle's mother, like
Diane, had heard of Stepton through the grapevine and decided it was just the
right place for her family. Danielle looked like a model...and with good
reason. She had spent her pre-teen years modeling slightly kinky little girls'
clothing at a boutique owned by Miss Michelle, one of Stepton's founders. But
now that she had gotten older, Sharon, her mother, had decided it was time for
her to get some real training.
The strangest of the five new trainees was undoubtedly Louisa. She was
dressed as no teenage girl in any other town might be for a schoolday. Louisa
wore a tightly laced black corset that left her still flat, male-like bosom
exposed, its slight globes powdered and its nipples rouged for effect.
Matching panties encased her obviously engorged cock, while black seamed
stockings were held up by the corset's six straining garters. Her shoes were
truly strange: The heels were so high (Annie would swear they measured eight
inches) that her feet were forced into a literal tip-toe position. Her hands
were bound behind her back and a red ball-gag was forced between her lips.
Seeing Annie's shocked look, Danielle explained. "Louisa's mom is
Gretchen...she's really the town bitch. She and her dad, Marsha, aren't under
the control of the implants like the rest of us. Gretchen uses bondage and
discipline to keep them in line and feminized. I don't think I've ever seen
Louisa in anything more than a corset."
Danielle quickly stopped speaking as the doors swung open and Destiny
and her four compatriots strode in. The others were named Samantha, June,
Justine and Hazel. Their leather outfits gleamed as they each approached one
of the chosen freshwomen.
"Well, Red," Destiny began, "I hope you're ready for a tough first
year of high school. See--I've got it in my head that it's just too easy to
dominate you boy/girls with your implants. I need a challenge."
She stopped a moment as it seemed Annie's face brightened. "No, that
doesn't mean you won't be my slave, honey. But I'm gonna fix you up good and
proper as a cock-tease. I think it might be fun to have a sexy little thing
working for me to bring some new male blood into Stepton--some male blood I
can dominate and feminize without Carla's little electronic thingies...at
least until I'm good and ready to use them."
Annie looked at her quizzically. "You still don't get it, do you, Red?
You're going to be my bait," Destiny explained. "I'm going to dress and train
you to be the biggest little tease in all suburbia...then you and I will go to
some school dances in the surrounding towns and pick a likely candidate for
you to work on. All the boys in Markham and Sutterville have heard the
'legends' of the unapproachable beauties of Stepton--now they'll get to meet
one face-to-face. It'll be a meeting they'll never forget!"
Deep beneath the implant-imposed calm, Arnie shuddered. It was one
thing to subjected to his feminized fate by his stepmother--but to become the
lure for other boys to share his humiliation? That was truly bizarre.
Destiny produced a leather leash and belt, then buckled them around
Annie's waist. "Okay, come with me," she said, tugging the cross-dressed boy
to his feet. "First, we have to get your mom's permission for my little
scheme--then it's time to schedule some of the changes I have in mind for
you."
She walked confidently from the room, Annie mincing behind at the end
of the leash.
*****************
Hours later, Annie's step-mother Diane had agreed to Destiny's plan,
and Annie was in the dressing rooms of the swankest boutique in Stepton. The
clerks brought in dozens of the most beautiful dresses--cocktail frocks,
evening gowns, designer suits--for her to try on.
Destiny sat on a little settee, approving or disapproving each of the
choices. By the end of the afternoon, Annie's wardrobe had been expanded by
some 15 expensive outfits.
"All right, Red--here's the plan," she announced to Annie as they
drove back to Diane's home. "Saturday night there's a big college dance in
Markham. You and I are going to be there--dressed to kill. I want you to pick
out the likeliest candidate for domination and transformation and get him to
come back here to Stepton with you. I'm going to do the same. Then the fun
will begin." Destiny unhooked Annie's seatbelt and let her out of the car.
"I'll meet you here Saturday night, Red."
Saturday evening seemed to come all too fast for Annie. What am I
going to do? Arnie thought from deep within the recesses of his feminized
mind. She's going to want me to make time with one of those college guys--and
then help control him the way they control ALL the men in this town!
Destiny arrived at 6:00 and was escorted to Annie's room by Ronnie.
She carried a garment bag with her own dress in it.
"This is a formal affair, Red--so we're going all the way," she told
the transformed boy. "Strip out of those teenage clothes and we'll start with
your face."
Though deeply embarrassed by the demand, the implant's programming
gave Annie no choice. She took off all her outer clothing--revealing the lacy
red bra and panty set beneath--and sat at her vanity. With Ronnie's aid,
Destiny soon had the young boy-girl's face looking luxuriously exotic and
elegant. Her eyes were enhanced with several shades of green eyeshadow as well
as the longest, thickest false lashes Annie had ever seen. The weight of them
seemed to pull her eyelids to half-mast, giving her a heavy-lidded,
bedroom-eye look. The blush used made her cheekbones look high and
well-defined, while the wet red lipstick turned her lips into "kiss me, fuck
me" signals.
And then there was the dress: It was white satin with a halter neck,
leaving her back bare to the waist. It clung to every one of Annie's
artificial curves, its hobble skirt outlining the sensuous curve of her
nyloned legs. Together with the six-inch heels on her satin pumps, it
shortened her stride to a mincing five inches, causing her ass to wiggle most
provocatively.
Destiny was dressed more comfortably, but equally as sexy. Her gown
was black leather, cut in a strapless bustier style, with a short jacket over
it all. The straight skirt hung to her ankles, with a slit up the left side
revealing her black-hosed legs perched on six-inch patent-leather pumps.
Destiny reached into her purse and produced a silver collar and locked
it around Annie's throat. "OK Red," she announced. "Let's go trap some college
boys!"
****************
One hour later, Annie was on the floor of the gym at Markham College,
her body pressed close against that of Randall Shuster, a tall, slender,
sandy-haired freshman. Destiny had helped her slave pick out the boy as a
likely candidate--he seemed shy, he was alone, and his face and figure would
lend themselves to transformation.
Destiny herself was busy leading on another Markham freshman, Grant
Collins. The dark-haired young man was a touch on the fleshy side, the
dominatrix observed, but all that flab might turn into an impressive bosom if
treated properly, she thought.
Both Destiny and Annie played up to their conquests, promising greater
joys to come, if they would just accompany the girls back to Stepton. Why am I
doing this? Arnie struggled with Destiny's commands, deep inside Annie's mind.
She's just going to make them like me--her little feminized pets! Eventually,
neither Randall nor Grant could resist. The four of them piled into Destiny's
car and headed for Stepton.
"You know, we've heard a lot about Stepton ever since we got to
Markham," Randall told Annie. "The girls there are all supposed to be
lookers--and you two certainly live up to that description--but they're also
supposed to be sort of cold and aloof."
"Don't believe everything you hear, Randall," Annie responded. She
reached out and stroked his burgeoning cock through his trousers. The slender
boy moaned softly, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, for a
soft but demanding kiss. Oh, jeez! I'm kissing a guy--what next?
Destiny, in the driver's seat, had unbuttoned Grant's shirt and was
playing with his nipples. Then she let her hand stray down to his crotch. His
cock was rock hard. "Just as I thought," she mused. "This one is a prime
candidate for a breast fixation--his own breasts!"
The short drive drew to a close outside Destiny's house. Her mother
had promised to leave the place deserted so that her well-trained daughter
could spring her trap. While Annie helped the two unknowing victims settle in
in the playroom, Destiny fixed drinks. She carefully offered them to Randall
and Grant--who very quickly dropped off to sleep.
"Why did you drug them?" Annie asked a little sheepishly. "I thought
you wanted to control them without help?"
"And I will, Red--don't you worry," Destiny responded. "I just didn't
want them fighting me the whole time I got them dressed appropriately. There's
a whole wardrobe of girl's clothes over in the closet. Start pulling stuff out
while I get these two undressed."
The closet indeed held a veritable cornucopia of feminine finery
--everything from formal wear to short- shorts; from dominatrix outfits to
little-girl party dresses--all made in sizes to fit grown men. Annie guessed
at Randall and Grant's sizes and pulled out one of everything that might fit.
Meanwhile, Destiny had stripped the two sleeping college students
naked and, working quickly, had shaved their legs and chests smooth as silk.
She selected black lingerie for Randall and red for Grant: bras,
panties, matching garter belts. She sleeked their legs with sheer stockings,
making certain the hose were taut and smooth. Ruffled miniskirts in matching
colors covered the college boys' hips (and that's about all they covered).
After padding the bras with lifelike prosthetic pads, the dominant high school
girl put white satin blouses on them.
As Annie submissively held a tray covered with a wide array of
cosmetics, Destiny made up Randall and Grant's faces--foundation, blusher,
eyeliner, mascara, shadow and luscious red lipstick. Annie fetched a pair of
matching wigs, one in a sandy blonde color for Randall, while Grant's was a
close match to his own brunette hair.
Working quickly, for the drug in their drinks would wear off soon,
Destiny slipped red six-inch spikes on Randall's feet, black ones on Grant.
"Well, there they are, Annie--your new sisters, Randi and Grace!"
Destiny exclaimed as she stepped back to examine her handiwork.
The boys' well-mascaraed eyelids began to flutter and they strained at
their bonds. Randall turned to look at his buddy and registered shock at
Grant's transformation. "What the hell is this?" he shouted. "What's goin'
on?"
Destiny reached out and slapped him on the cheek, leaving a red
impression. "Shut up, Randi, dear," she ordered.
"What's going on," she continued, "is the beginning of your
enslavement to the women of Stepton. We have videotaped the entire process you
have undergone since arriving here...and those tapes will be sent to Markham's
local television station, unless you do exactly as I tell you."
In short order, Randi and Grace agreed to the deal. The next several
hours were spent teaching the two college "girls" how to handle their heels
and skirts. When Destiny was satisfied with their progress, she locked them in
a spare room at the high school, to await the next day's assembly.
***********
At 9:30 that morning, Mistress Joanna, Dean of Boy-Girls, announced
that Destiny had a special surprise for the school. Destiny came on stage and
called for her video to be projected on the auditorium screen. The audience
gasped as they saw the two Markham college students transformed--without the
aid of Stepton's usual electronic gadgetry. As the screen faded to black, a
spotlight hit the left side of the stage and Annie led Grace and Randi before
the assembly.
Blushing in embarrassment, the latest boy-girls of Stepton proved
Destiny as the premier dominant of Stepton High!
?FC?THE END
|
|
