NOT THAT BAD

BY MARLISSA

Being a girl wasn't all that bad, thought Kim. You could wear the
prettiest clothes and make yourself as beautiful as you could
with all the make up and perfume and nail polish and everything.
The catalogs were filled with such nice things too. You could get
lost in the wonderful clothing catalogs from all those great
stores-- Spiegel's, Royal Silk, and of course, Victoria's Secret.
Even Frederick's of Hollywood had pretty things. The bras
especially. Kim dreamed of going to Hollywood sometime and
visiting Frederick's Bra Museum some day. Wouldn't that be fun?

Not that Kim had breasts that required most of Frederick's
brassieres, that was for sure. Kim had small, no be honest
Kimmy!, very small breasts-- 32AAs to be exact. Oh, they were a
heartbreakingly small pair, like a little girl's. But Kim was
sixteen-- the age where most girls had the breasts they would
live their lives with. Kim's hands caressed the bare breasts,
making the pink eraser-looking nipple tips stand up in trembling
excitement. Ooooh! This was naughty! Kimmy, stop yourself this
instant, the teen thought. The hands dropped away.

Bored and frustrated, Kim waited, sitting naked on the bed. Life
was about waiting. Without thinking, the teenager did a
self-inspection. The nails, painted glossy pink, were perfect--
finely filed and about a half inch long. The toenails were
likewise painted in the glossy pink. Was the long clean blonde
hair tied in a ponytail? Yes, and not a stray hair poked from the
bow. The underarms were as smooth as silk, the long pale legs
shaven as close as possible, giving them a caressable glow. May
as well do a face check, Kim thought and bounced off the bed.
Looking in the mirror revealed the same face as always--the same
berry blue eyes, the thin pink cotton candy lips that made up the
small, puckish mouth. The thin blonde arcs that were the eyebrows
so carefully plucked each and every day. The light blonde, almost
invisible, lashes that needed the black Mabelline to allow the
blue eyes to tease with their batting. The small, straight nose.
The pink ears that poked out of the drawn-back blonde hair with
their pierced lobes. And the small dimpled chin. Oh it was all
perfect as always. Kim sighed and dropped gently back onto the
bed again, wishing to be given permission to dress soon. It was a
drag not to be able to do anything, even dress.

Normally, there was a lot to do-- aerobics, doing chores,
watching teevee, chatting with the other girls, and more.
Activities at least kept Kim busy, so busy as not to dwell on the
facts. But with nothing to do now, Kim could only be reminded
that the world the teen lived in was a prison. It was a nice
prison. the bedroom was comfy, filled with pretty clothes,
makeup, a comfy bed, lots of books and magazines. And Kim was
allowed to play and talk with the other girls, who like Kim, were
brought, trained and kept here by the strong silent men. But it
was a prison nevertheless. Much like the prison between the long
smooth legs. But like the male chastity belt that Kim had worn
for two and a half years, the teen was used to it.

Between the legs, taut thigh crushed thigh to hide something else
that kept Kimmie under lock and key more than the locks on the
doors of the Complex. Between the legs, there was a small
metallic pouch, held there by nylon-thin metal strands as tight
as guitar strings. And in that pouch was imprisoned what was left
of the old Tim. Kim could feel it even now, resting in the snug
cocoon, could feel air between the legs where the poor thing was
pressed, starting from right below his crotch, running up between
the cheeks of his butt. Kim could do what he needed to do for his
physical necessities, but no more. When it got excited from Kim's
handling or frequent punishments, the metal pouch was such a
harsh warden. The poor thing would thicken a bit, then press
against the metal that never gave. There had to be a lock for the
thing, probably a tiny one between his legs. But he knew
instinctively from the tautness of the pouch and restraining
metal strands that unless the key was used to free him, there was
no way he was getting it off himself. And Kim had been at the
Complex long enough to know the key would never find purchase in
the lock.

It was the least of the changes Kim had undergone here at the
Complex. The Treatments had transformed him from a growing
fourteen and a half year old boy that was 5'5" and weighed 130
pounds into what he was now-- a pretty sixteen year old blonde
girl with firm little boobs, nice curvy hips, long legs and a
tiny cute little butt. It was so weird. The Treatments had hurt--
all surgical procedures and casts were painful-- but the
Guardians all said not to worry. At this age, it was much easier
to make the transformation than for boys who were older. He
struggled against the changes, but then the Treatments switched
from surgery to injections. And the injections in a way had
deeper effects on him than the surgery.

In the beginning they simply made him groggy. The Guardians had
wanted to ease him into his new body and to dull the shock, Kim
guessed. That phase had lasted a long dreamless month. Then when
Kim began to use his new body and exercise the newly strung
muscles, the injections had dulled that pain too. But there were
other effects too. Kim suspected that the injections had changed
the way he thought about things. Not the thoughts maybe-- he
still hated being called Kim when his name was Tim-- but the way
he thought about them. He wasn't so sure about things any more--
he became confused.

For example, when the Guardians explained to Kim that "she" had
to keep "her" legs and underarms shaved with "her" pink Daisy
razor every day, he didn't ask why. He knew it was all wrong, so
very wrong that he should be called a "she" but couldn't
explained why. It was true of the make-up as well. It was
absolutely critical, the Guardians instructed, that "Kimmie" keep
herself made up and pretty. But it wasn't, was it? Why couldn't
they just let him go? But he didn't even try to argue. He learned
how to make himself up instead. And wait for the next instruction
on how to be a "proper girl"-- there were always more.

So Kim waited. Over the last two and a half years, Kim had been
taught to wait though. The teen had been trained to react, not
act--to anticipate, not formulate. It was true of speaking. When
Kim had first been brought to the Complex, he had found that when
he spoke, no one answered his questions, or even noticed he was
talking! The Guardians just ignored him. All his screaming, all
his yelling was wasted. Gradually Kim learned that when he was
spoken TO he had the opportunity to speak back. But initiating
conversation was useless, as if there was no point in the minds
of the Guardians in listening to anything Kim might say.

It was frustrating not to have your words even acknowledged. Even
when he was spoken to, if he didn't respond properly, the
Guardians wouldn't answer his many questions. Over the weeks and
months, Kim had learned how to respond in a way that the
Guardians did find acceptable. Instead of answering in a surly
tone, he began answering in a pleasing way. This brought
approving nods from the Guardians and encouraged Kim to put even
more work into his speaking. They liked it when Kim tried to
listen harder. When Kim tried to interject comments when
speaking, they turned cold. But when Kim learned to nod and smile
when he was being spoken to, they were pleased. When Kim did
speak, he kept his voice low, his words simple and clearly
enunciated. Always Kim smiled. Smiling pleased the Guardians. So
did using your hands in little flippy twists and gestures. And
using "nice" words were looked on favorably too. "Please" became
"oh pretty little please?" and "thank you" became "thank you sooo
much!."

Then Kim found that just making statements wasn't even simple. At
first, when Kim was asked a question, he would answer promptly.
But the Guardians frowned on this simple direct way of talking.
Again, as time passed, Kim learned the Guardians were more
pleased when Kim answered a question with a question. So when a
Guardian asked Kim if he was through with aerobics training for
the day, he no longer answered "Yes Sir." Instead he would look
up, smile and answer "Why only if you think I've done enough for
today, Sir. Is my tummy trim enough or should I work harder on my
hips or bust?" They liked this, liked it when Kim tried to please
them this way. At first Kim felt silly saying things like this,
but it gradually it became so natural he forgot he had ever
spoken any other way. Being a boy had made things hard at first.
Just like Kim had talked like a boy, always loud and
interrupting, so too was his way of acting all wrong. The way he
had to act now was the opposite of how he had acted before being
brought here. Before he had done stuff-- run, jumped, horsed
around with other boys. Now he had to restrain himself, had to
mind the way he moved. Now Kim knew better about what kind of
activity was appropriate for him to take part in. Skirts needed
to be patted down and legs crossed to keep thighs properly
covered, otherwise anyone could get a peek at Kim's panties. And
anything outdoors could cause problems-- ruin Kim's carefully
prepared hair, chip a nail, put a run in a stocking. Talking and
listening to the other girls was easier and caused less problems.
Experimenting with clothing and make-up was o.k. too and aerobics
was absolutely necessary for figure shaping. But no activity that
was messy was allowed, or anything where you had to think about
things too much.

A Guardian had told Kim not long ago that "she" was turning into
"a regular Barbie doll" and it was proof that he was growing used
to his new life that he had two immediate thoughts. First,
absolute joy that he had received the compliment and second, that
his boobs weren't Barbie-sized. Maybe Kim was a girl after all.
He was used to acting like a girl now-- quiet and smiling like a
girl, picture perfect appearance like a girl. And the Guardians
didn't expect Kim to be anything other than a Barbie doll kind of
girl anyway.

The door was being unlocked! Kim hopped off the bed, waiting. One
of the Guardians, the younger bald man entered this time, the one
with the moonshaped scar on his face. He didn't like this one. He
was called Hercules by the other Guardians and was one of the
sternest. If you were unlucky enough to be corrected by Hercules,
you were sure to regret it. Kim modestly clutched the soft hands
to the bare breasts and lap. The man chuckled as Kim did this.

"Put on some underwear, something pretty." He stood and waited
for Kim to obey.

Kim hated when they did this. They would come and watch you do
everything and keep their eyes on you all the time. It was so
humiliating never to have any privacy. As if they thought you
were going to escape or something. Kim had talked to the other
girls and knew you couldn't escape. From time to time, one of the
other girls tried, usually one who hadn't been there long enough
to receive the Treatments. But they were always found out and
punished in front of the others. Kim hated "Example Nights",
couldn't bear to watch the guilty girl being whipped till she
fainted. Kim never thought of escape anymore. Oh sure, Kim had
been punished on "Example Night" a few times, but Kim had earned
at most a good paddling. Kim's crimes had been nothing that the
other girls hadn't been punished for-- poor posture, clumsiness,
unladylike manners, fashion faux pas, makeup mistakes, being a
few pounds over the required body weight and so forth. Once a
week for two and a half years of Example Nights had taught Kim to
keep mistakes to a minimum. But still one of the Guardians needed
to watch Kim put on panties and a bra! Ooooh! It was so
aggravating!

With hands still protecting breasts and crotch from view, Kim
backed up to the dresser. then turning around, the hand deftly
dropped from the breasts to hide the now exposed ass.
Frantically, Kim dove into the top drawer, the one where the
undies were. The hand fished in and came up with a simple pair of
white full-cut cotton panties.

"You can find a prettier pair than that I think," the Guardian
urged impatiently. He pointed at the dresser/

There were prettier pairs. Kim had only reached for the top pair.
But in the drawer were panties and bras of all colors and
styles--cute floral bikinis, adorable white panties decorated
with cherries, daring red French cut panties from Bloomie's,
boring white training bras (Kim hated them but the Guardians
insisted; her breasts were small, they said and needed shaping),
white sport bras that Kim wore while doing aerobics, a darling
pink underwired bra trimmed with lace that gave Kim's breasts
some a needed lift, and others, so many others. There were nice
slips for dresses, and half slips for shorter ones, plus pairs of
sheer thigh highs, stockings and garter belts to show off Kim's
legs. There were pastel teddys for lounging in bed, as well as
camis and tap pants that Kim would slip into at night when
readying for bed.

Kim dropped the white panties back in the drawer and pulled out a
pair the Guardian would accept. It was the sexiest pair Kim
owned-- a pair of black cotton Calvin Klein thong panties. When
Guardians said "pretty" it meant "sexy." The dark cool cotton
thong was quickly pulled up the long legs, covering and shaping
Kim's buns tightly. Underneath the chastity belt kept the natural
bulge flat and level as much as stainless steel could. No word
from the Guardian meant acceptance and Kim continued to slip on
the matching black cotton soft cup brassiere. Pleasure throbbed
in the nipples as the cotton cups snugly lifted the petite
breasts upward.

The sixteen year old turned, no longer as self-conscious. The
Guardians saw the other girls in their undies regularly. At first
Kim had thought that he had been brought to the Complex for the
same reason that Joe Bob had wanted him to stay- - for sex, pure
and simple. But the strange thing was that the Guardians never
touched the girls in their charge, except to punish them. The
girls were taught to dress, to make themselves up as attractively
as possible, to put themselves on display as femininely as
possible, but never had Kim seen any of the scantily clad
prisoners abused by the Guardians. Yet they were encouraged and
expected to act like dainty teenage virgin girls! And they were
treated like prized possessions, not like whores at all. Why, the
Guardians complimented them when they exhibited the shy curiosity
of girls about things sexual. Kim had learned early to be demure,
to smile a lot, to giggle, to keep himself on display for the
Guardians. Playful flirting was becoming mandatory. Pirouettes in
pretty flowing party dresses, hands on hips to show off subtly
tightening miniskirts, chests stuck out playfully to present firm
teen breasts-- it was all happening more and more as Kim grew
older. But it was o.k. to act this way because while the
Guardians liked this behavior, they never pressed beyond it. For
whatever reason Kim was here, it wasn't to service the needs of
the Guardians.

Hecules then pulled out something that began to scare Kim-- a
pair of shiny cuffs. "Put your hands behind your back," he
gruffly ordered.

"Oh! Well, may I finish dressing Sir? I'd love to put on
something pretty for you!" Kim offered. Though the girls
scampered about in undies, they usually were kept dressed. And
Kim hadn't been bound for a long, long time in cuffs. Something
was happening.

The Guardian held the cuffs up, shaking them. He repeated the
order.

Kim obeyed, shivering as the metal encircled and captured the
thin wrists. Next the obedience collar, a stiff long-armed lead
with a collar that fitted over the teen's neck. Now the Guardian
pushed the teen out of the room, using the obedience collar to
guide Kim. Kim's bare feet were cold by the time the Guardian
unhooked the obedience collar in the Amphitheater, a place rarely
visited.

Kim was relieved at first as the cuffs were unlocked, but that
was only to draw the wrist together over the teen's blonde head
and slipped over a hook. Then Kim hung suspended, arms high over
head. He could see he was one of nine other girls who were
similarly suspended. Like him, they weren't really girls but
boys. But they all looked so pretty in their own way that Kim
thought of them as girls, not boys. It was a little sad to think
that they thought of him that way too. The prisoners looked at
each other shyly and in quiet terror. What was happening?

Lights blazed on and chattering voices approached. One of the
Guardians. At last Kim could see him. Of course it was Sampson,
the tall one who had lured Kim into this new life two and a half
years ago.

Kim blinked back the tears. Sampson had seen him at the bus
station, after having traveled for hours to escape his stepfather
Joe Bob. The memory still upset Kim. Joe Bob had been so nice at
first. Momma had meant him at the bar where she waitressed. He
was a rich Texas oilman, she had said-- very rich. Not long
after, he had married her and Joe Bob had taken the two from the
dreary trailer park into his mansion. It had been so pleasant at
first, till Joe Bob had started to make Momma DO THINGS, not
caring if Tim was there or not. And then Momma had died. Joe Bob
said it was Her Time, but Tim wasn't so sure. She had seemed
healthy, if not happy about her new husband.

Not long after, his stepfather told him he wanted Tim to DO
THINGS for him, things that it wasn't right for a fourteen and a
half year old boy to do. "Now that you're Momma's gone, you'll
mind me better. And now that she's gone, you'll have to do the
things she did to make me happy," Joe Bob had said. Joe Bob had
pulled out his Momma's panties and bras and told him he'd have to
wear them. "You're the girl of the house, now," Joe Bob had said
and the big, older man had made him put on the ladies' underwear.
And then Joe Bob had made him do THOSE THINGS.

The next morning when Joe Bob had been sleeping, he had left--
TIM had left. He hated being treated that way and made to act
like a girl for Joe Bob and knew if he stayed, he would indeed
have to become the "girl of the house" as Joe Bob wanted. And
that was how he wound up in the bus station alone without money
and scared. 'Sampson,' if that was his real name, had said he was
with a church shelter-- he could help him get a place to sleep
for the night. He understood what he was going through and could
help him escape his stepfather. Tim had been relieved to find
such a good friend as Sampson and took the Coke he gave him,
drinking it down at once.

But the Coke had been drugged. And then he had wound up here in
the Complex. When he awoke, he was nude, and except for the hair
on his head, he was hairless. Tim felt the pouch then for the
first time. Sampson told him in a kindly way that he had been
taken to the Complex, a wonderful place where Tim would learn how
special being a girl was. Why? asked Tim. And why me? Because you
are going to become a girl, he was told, and because you will
make a very pretty girl. The Treatments will help you to become a
girl, to look like a girl, to move like a girl, to act like a
girl, to think like a girl and most important to feel like a
girl. "You'll come to understand that if you behave yourself, it
isn't all that bad being a girl, Kim," Sampson had said. That was
how he found out what his new name was to be Kim, though when he
was good, the Guardians called him Kimmie as well, and when he
was bad, they would call him Kimberly.

***

And now he stood in front of ten of his prettiest pets of the
Complex, rubbing his hands. He smiled appreciatively at the
sight. The ten girls were so darling there, awaiting inspection
from the buyers, squirming in their undies. He let his eyes dance
over his merchandise, satisfied with them all, imagining which
girl might be bought by whom.

There was the one on the end, the one he had transformed from
Peter to Pam, the short haired pageboy blonde in the yellow
panties and camisole. He had been such a boy's boy at thirteen.
And now at fifteen, Pamela was such a mincing little priss with
her dainty 32B titties. She make a wonderful upstairs maid with
her sense of place. Pam was naturally tight-- a tightness that
would fetch about $100,000.

And there was John now Joanie, the curly brunette in the red and
white polka dot teddy who struggled next to her. Hadn't John been
a junior varsity football player? Now Joanie was more of a
cheerleader type--all ditzy, head full of air and chest full of
34D tits. Probably make a nice "niece" for some older man. Joanie
was a cutey-- could she bring as much as $110,000? He thought she
might.

He loved the long legs of Donna, once Don. She had such
expressive blue eyes too, blue that matched her gauzy nightie
negligee. It was lovely lingerie for such a "mature" girl of
eighteen. Don had been hitchhiking when Sampson had picked him
up, but now he was a she and was sure to make a wonderful dancer
for a strip club owner with those bursting 34C breasts of hers,
swaying underneath that nightie! She was older, but big tits went
a long way-- maybe $75,000.

Poor Mandy, who had been Andy, seemed very afraid. She was so
skittish now-- and to think Andy had been a Boy Scout! Now Mandy
was a timid chestnut haired sweetie in pink Hanes For Her bikini
panties and bra. A proper little pansy in a penis in her panties
and 32C breasts stuffed in her bra cups. What would she be best
suited for-- a personal secretary in the office of some strict
Fortune 500 boss? Easily $90,000.

And Mary who had been Marty-- a pale long redhaired Irish rose.
She dangled there limply in her snow white cotton panties and
plain white Olga bra. Mary had been an altar boy who he had
stolen from a Boston church at twelve. Now at sixteen, he would
make a wonderful bed companion for a powerful Catholic Bishop,
one who longed to touch the taboo flesh of a 35C chest. From
Marty to Sister Mary? Sampson chuckled. Sure--for $125,000!

And there was Natasha, once Sasha, his Russian import. The
break-up of the Soviet Empire had brought wonderful dividends
such as Natasha, his pale, raven haired honey. He had bought
Sasha wholesale for a pittance from some traders in the Black Sea
and now she hung there like a true Russian minx in her red cotton
teddy. Sampson knew one of his auction guests ran a very unusual
cruise service in which such talent as Natasha kept leashed at
the foot of each cabin bed for the use of the paying passenger. A
cool $115,000 for the 34C busted babe.

Look at Danny, now Annie! Long soft brown hair, nice wide brown
eyes, and big pouty mouth--wasn't she a dish? She looked so
forlorn hanging there in the beige strapless, front closing
demibra that gave her ripe seventeen year old 32B breasts such
tempting definition, not to mention those tummy-control top beige
panties. What buyer wouldn't be interested, especially one with
oral needs? He could think of a madam who ran a call girl service
for politicians who was sure to bid a minimum of $85,000.

Erin would fetch more though. Had she been Eric in her former
male life? The wench with the long bleached blonde hair who now
was dressed in the dark navy blue string bikini had been a cabin
boy on a private yacht till the Guardian's pirate attack had
"liberated" the boy. Now Erin was one of those "beach girl" boy
toys with 34B breasts and especially widened hips that were some
accentuated by panty and bikini bottoms. Sampson had a wealthy
widowed yachtsman who would love to have a "first mate" with
these measurements for a clean $100,000.

Linda was a little prize. Taking Lenny, a fourteen year old
delinquent at a heavy metal concert and turning him into Linda, a
sassy little punk bitch with short spiky auburn hair and an ass
that wouldn't quit-- now there was a successful transformation!
The sixteen year old looked like the world's hottest teen
groupie-- her 36C boobs wanted to pop out of her "This Slut
Property of Megahead Rock Group" cropped t-shirt top and her ass
wriggled in those neon purple thong panties in the most inviting
way. How ironic that the band was a customer-- Linda was likely
to indeed become the property of Megahead for a mere $80,000!

And now Hercules was adding Kimmie to the menagerie. Kimmie, his
little blonde bimbo. What a find she had been! She had been Tim,
he thought so anyway, a runaway-- his biggest source of cuties.
And now she was Kimmie, sixteen year old debutante. How darling
she looked in her snug, stylish Calvin Klein undies! Of all his
girlies, Kimmie was the biggest clothes pony. She loved making
herself up and being a girl. They all were girls now, but Kimmie
liked being a girl the most. Of course she had been here the
longest. Sampson had kept her for an extra year, hoping against
hope that the injections would boost her pathetically flat breast
size. But to no avail-- the breasts were firm little 32AAs and
that was that. Training bra for life. It was too bad. Despite her
high school teen queen prettiness, it would keep her price down.
Kimmie would sell for no more than $50,000. And then if at all,
for why buy her when there were such other buxom young beauties
for the having? Perhaps one of the pimps would buy her for
"retail" street use. How sad.

The thought of Kimmie working a corner for a demanding pimp
excited Sampson. He thought of one the new boys who had just been
brought in sometime ago. He and his teammates had been on their
way to a Little League game when the "accident" had occurred, all
staged by the Guardians easily enough. The bus driver and coach
had been dispatched with ease and the boys were trooped off the
bus into the Guardian's semitrailer quicktime. The bus had been
tipped off the bridge into the ravine and exploded on impact--
there would be no investigations and the tragedy would be
lamented and forgotten. These big hauls were dangerous but
profitable. The entire raid had netted fifteen teenage and
preteen boys, most of whom would make desirable and thoroughly
feminized lovers for their future owners.

As they were being processed into their new home the Complex,
Jack had caught his eye. Sampson generally preferred natural
females and resisting the charms of using his own chattel. Like
the drug dealer who refuses to be tempted by the addiction of
using his own products, Sampson had controlled his lust for the
teen flesh for the most part. And certainly the Guardians were
kept from likewise being tempted by the huge salaries they
received. No Guardian had disobeyed this injunction to date-- the
money was too good and all knew Sampson wouldn't hesitate to
exact a supreme revenge on the one who did use the merchandise.

But this Jack had such spunk. He watched as the unconscious boy
had been stripped, shaved and chastity-belted. And as the weeks
had passed, he kept track of the drugged boy's transformation
into girlhood-- the hormonal injections, the growing breast buds
on the thirteen year old, the lengthening black hair, the
softening milk white skin. And as the boy slowly regained
composure, the dawning horror as he realized what was being done
to him. The day he was told his new name, he had wept so
piteously that Sampson was even touched.

"I'm NOT Jill-- I'm Jack!" he had screamed over and over, till at
last he had been sedated. The following days the feminized boy
had been sullen and angry. The Treatments' effect on his behavior
were taking hold and were channeling his boyish anger into a more
appropriate feminine sulkiness. Whines were understandable even
in the best behaved girlies-- outright rage were not.

"What is your name, girl?" Sampson had asked at last. Sampson had
forbidden any Guardian to speak to the boy-- most unusual. But he
had already decided that he would train this one personally.

In anguish, the naked teen raised his head. His pursed lips were
fuller, seductively poutier now with the collagen injections. His
blue eyes were big with frustration, powerlessness and fear as
they looked up at him.

"Jill-- I guess."

"You guess?" Sampson questioned sternly.

The feminized boy bowed his head. "I mean, I know. I know my name
is Jill from now on." His voice was melodic, sing-song now.
Sampson nodded with approval.

"Good. Now let us try it again. What is your name, GIRL?"

The teen didn't lose a second. He could interpret the annoyance
growing in Sampson's throat. "Jill. My name is Jill."

Sampson had smiled. "Better. Would Jill like something to wear?"

The boy had nodded. He had been kept naked for weeks now. He
would very much like something to wear. Sampson unzipped the
small garment bag he had brought with him.

"What would Jill like to wear?" he asked, feigning interest.

At once Jill was jack again. "Some jockey shorts, a pair of jeans
and a t-shirt, please. And a pair of tube socks and sneakers."

Sampson shook his head. "First of all, do girls wear jockey
shorts, Jill?"

The boy looked down, shell-shocked. "No."

"What do they wear instead?"

"Panties," he whispered softly.

Sampson nodded and pulled from the bag a pair of pink cotton
panties, handing them to Jill. "Put on your pretty new panties
Jill."

The boy took them, eyes downcast. Obediently he slipped them on.
The close- fitting bikini panties covered his midsection.

"And what else do girls wear underneath their clothes Jill?" he
pressed.

But Jill didn't answer now. Instead he sat across from him in his
pink panties, looking away, realizing at last that he would be
wearing panties from now on.

"Here's a clue, Jill." Sampson leaned forward and flicked the
nipple on Jill's small left breast. Jill closed his arms over his
chest at once. Good-- natural modesty. "Now, what else do GIRLS
wear underneath their clothes, Jill?"

he mumbled something and I told him to speak up. "Bras," he
answered. "That's right, Jill-- bras. And with your little
breasts growing you need a bra too. A special kind of bra. Can
you guess what kind of bra you need?"

His pale face was so downcast, so doleful. I could tell he knew.
He was thirteen and what thirteen year old Little Leaguer hadn't
snapped one that a young girl might wear? "A training bra," he
answered softly.

I nodded and handed him one. "Put it on Jill. Put on your
training bra, girl."

He fumbled with the strange new article of clothing. "Not to
worry, Jill. I've taught lots of girls your age how to put on
their first training brassiere. Put your arms through the
shoulder straps first. Good. Now hook the bra snap in the back.
That's o.k.-- you'll get better at it-- you'll be wearing a bra
every day from now on. Now, slip your pretty breasts into the
soft cups. Now since your breasts are so small now, you can
adjust the shoulder straps higher so that your training bra will
lift them up. Good girl, Jill! You've got it! Now stand up and
model your new underwear for me!"

Jill stood up uncertainly. He obviously didn't know what to do
with his hands and they danced nervously from his bra strap to
pulling out his panty to cover up his backside. "Let's keep those
hands still, Jill. Put them on your hips. No-- not like that--
with palms up and thumbs pointing out at me. Good girl." He
looked so sweet-- a young teen in his first panties and training
bra. I twirled my fingers, insisting he spin for me in his new
undies. He did, keeping his hands on his hips, looking just like
a little ballerina.

"Now sit down, pretty girl. And tell me, Jill-- what do girls
wear over their training bras?"

"A shirt," he answered firmly.

I shook my head. He most certainly wouldn't be wearing a shirt!
"Boys were shirts. What do girls LIKE YOU wear Jill?" He seemed
confused, so I answered for him. "They wear blouses. Here is one
for you. You will put it on now."

Jill took the white cotton blouse and looked at it. It was a
darling short sleeved blouse with a lacy pink ribboned collar and
lacy trim on the sleeves. It buttoned in the back. As Jill
slipped it on and awkwardly tried to button it behind his back, I
consoled him. "Most girl's clothing buttons in the back, just
like your training bra. You'll get used to it." This seemed to
draw a spark of resentment in his big blue eyes, but he was
careful to keep his pretty mouth shut tight.

"Very cute. Now, let us continue. What do girls wear over their
frilly underwear?"

His face was flushed and his long black hair all tousled from his
pirouettes. I could tell he was mortified by his panty and bra
modeling, and now the fit of his snug white blouse. The tension
of the material was giving him a precious little bust! "Uh, a
dress?"

I smiled. "Sometimes. And sometimes they wear a kind of dress
that shows off their nice smooth legs. What kind of dress would
do that for you Jill?"

"A s-sk-skirt?" Tough to get the words out now, but you'll learn
Sampson had thought.

"Yes! That's right, Jill! And here's one for you-- you're first
skirt! Put it on!"

Jill took the pink denim garment doubtfully. It wasn't the jeans
he had asked for, that was written all over his face. He stepped
into the skirt zipper side on the front and pulled it up.

"What did I just say about girl's clothing, Jill? The zipper goes
in the back!" Hurriedly, he turning the waist around and pulled
it up. It got tight around his hips. "I--uh--can't get it on.
It's too small!" he whined.

"No, it isn't. It is the perfect dress size for you-- a Junior
Miss size five. You're just not familiar with how much tighter
girls' clothing is. Just keep huffing and puffing-- you'll get it
on!"

Jill gritted his teeth and managed at last to wriggle himself
into the pink denim miniskirt. Sampson had been impressed-- Jill
had properly tucked the blouse into the skirt, sucked in his
breath and zipped it up gallantly. The denim compressed the
pantied teen buns delightfully, giving the thirteen year old a
shapely little figure!

"And finally, what do girls wear on their pretty feet, Jill?"

"Shoes." He knew what was coming. Sampson could tell. He had
asked him what kind of shoes girls wore, like his own mother wore
to be pretty for his father. "High heels," the thirteen year old
had responded limply. He took the pair of three inch pink pumps
and slipped into them with quiet submission. Sampson then told
him to stand up. The feminized boy did so with surprising grace.

If you got them early enough, it was a grace they kept, Sampson
knew. Instead of using that grace to catch flyballs, Jill's grace
would be harnessed for such activities as curtseying. He imagined
his Jillie in all her future prancing, and capering in silly
female play-- the things SHE would be trained to like and find
expression in. Jill would soon forget he had ever partaken in
anything as messy and unfeminine as baseball. No, HIS Jillie
wouldn't be running in sneakers, SHE would be skipping in her
dainty high heels. He wouldn't be rounding bases, SHE would be
gliding around a dancefloor in the arms of her "boyfriend." He
wouldn't be reading comic books, SHE would be invited into the
naughty mysteries of teen romance novels. He wouldn't be playing
with balls, bats and mits, SHE would be imagining the life of a
young woman with HER Barbie doll collection. He wouldn't be
collecting baseball cards, SHE would be collecting lipsticks and
nail polishes. He wouldn't be reading Sports Illustrated, SHE
would be devouring Sassy and Teen Beat. He wouldn't be watching
baseball games, SHE would be watching nice "girl" shows like
"Saved by The Bell" and "Blossom." And when it was time, he
wouldn't be scoring with some babe, SHE would be surrendering all
her girlish charms to the hunky boyfriend of HER dreams, the one
SHE worshipped and adored.

Sampson looked at his creation and was contented. This one, he
had decided, he would keep for himself. And Kimmie reminded him
of his Jillie, now waiting for his summons somewhere in the
Complex. Ah well, back to work.

He clapped his hands. "Ladies, your attention please!" Instantly
ten femininzed faces listened hard to his words, eyes wide in
fear and pouty lips trembling.

"As you know, while you've been at the Complex, you've been
changed-- transformed. Once, if you can remember that far back,
you were all boys." Sampson noted the wistful look on some of his
girlies' faces and grinned. "But now you're all girls, pretty
teenage girls. I'm extremely proud of you all. In your own ways,
you have become so very well-behaved, deferential and obedient
young ladies. Even you know your place, don't you Linda, you
little punker! All of you are now so interested in being such
exquisite, charming young missies. You've become so aware of how
important it is to make yourselves up, to look your best in your
frilly new feminine clothes. You have learned how to make the
Guardians smile at your girlish flirting and you know how to
tease and please with the sweetest of glances and slightest purse
of your lips! Just like real teenage girls, you have discovered
the power of your shapely, firm bodies and your sweet smiles.
Look at you all! You look so lovely and bewitching in your
alluring under things. So sweet, so innocent--- and so sexy."

The feminized boys grew restless at this comment, but Sampson
continued. "As you know, the beauty and sensuality of the teenage
girl is a most sought-after and wonderful thing. Men and women
the world over and throughout history have sought out pretty
girls. And the same is true now. Who won't want a pretty girl to
have for your very own?

Now you know none of the Guardians have ever touched you. That is
because you were brought here to become girls. And even though
you have tempted them and put them to the test with your
ever-increasing femininity, none have touched you in an intimate
way. But now comes the time in every girl's life when she
discovers why she has been blessed with her girlish beauty. And
so now you shall be told the reason why you have been transformed
into such desirable teen babes."

The girlies looked at him as filled with curiosity as their
chemically altered minds and emotions could comprehend. He
continued.

"Outside there are a group of men who find girls like you-- girls
with little twigs between their legs in nice tight chastity
belts-- very sexy. You should be flattered that they came so far
to see you! They came because they want to look at and perhaps
buy some of you and take you home with them, if you are very
lucky. Sort of like picking out kittens in a pet store! And when
they get you home, they will do to you what people like to do to
pretty teenage girls. They will touch you and teach you how to
make them happy."

Sampson could tell that all the girlies were terrified. They had
been shielded from the idea of sex for so long they had forgotten
that along with the beauty of their new softened bodies came the
obligation their alluring bodies promised to men. He went on. "I
can tell you are all afraid. It is right to be afraid, little
ladies. Be afraid-- be afraid that if you do not please your
masters, that you will be hurt. Believe me, you will be.
Depending on your luck, the man who buys you may be kind or
cruel. Whichever they are, you must try as hard as you can to
bring a smile to their lips with your sexy little girl ways. Do
you understand?"

The girlies remained deathly still and silent. They had not
expected this. Perhaps they thought they would always remain in
their pretty pink teen girl world of the Complex. But soon it
would be time for these girlies to know what it was to be used as
a sexy young slut. Sampson turned and called his guests into the
Amphitheater.

Hercules led the group of men into the room to him. "Gentlemen, I
think you'll enjoy the latest bevy of beauties we've prepared for
you. They're all between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, all
perfectly ripe specimens of teenage femininity. They come in all
hair colors, all breast sizes, and all kinds of temperaments--
from prudish young ladies to playful little kittens for you to
break to your will. They're all virgins-- naturally-- and," he
leered, "they all have the naughty little thing that make them so
restless and special in your beds-- that little twig that we've
put under lock and key for you. Please, take your drinks and
inspect them all you like! Just remember, the bidding will begin
in one hour."

Bidding? Kim and some of the others began to struggle as the
strange men converged on them. They seemed to be of all races,
all cultures. Almost immediately, an older Arab dressed in the
traditional garb of a sheik approached Kim. He had a natural
scowl on his hard leathery face till his stony eyes rested on
Kim. Then the hard mouth opened to reveal a grinning set of white
crooked feral teeth. The sheik's hand cupped Kim's breasts
tightly through the thin cotton bra.

"Small fruit, but is it sweet my dove or not yet ripe?" the sheik
asked softly.

Kim twisted impotently on the hook. "Don't!" he pleaded softly.
He still hadn't recovered from the shock of learning that he
would soon be sold off to one of these hard looking men. Why?
Hadn't he behaved? Hadn't he become the girl Sampson said he
wanted? Why couldn't he stay here? he screamed inside his head.
he would try harder to be prettier! He would try harder to be
more girlish! Then Sampson would let him stay, wouldn't he?

The sheik smiled wisely. "My little dove, should I purchase you,
you would coo your love for me in my ear should I caress you so.
You would dream of taking my lance between these small treasures
and in your soft mouth. Would you not dream of pleasing your lord
and master so, pretty maid?"

Kim twisted again. "Please leave me alone!" he tried again. But
the words seemed catty and weak. They were meant to offend the
sheik.

But the sheik just shook his head. "You are a willful infidel
bitch. After I purchase you, I shall attend to your training
personally. After these," he squeezed Kim's nipples viselike
between his finger and thumb," are pierced for Obedience Rings,
perhaps my dove will learn humility! You should be honored to be
one of the Sheik of Abadan's Passion Slaves-- not beg to escape
him!" The Arab narrowed his eyes in greed. "Oh yes, I shall
purchase you, little one. You will be a pretty pet to train. Will
you dance in your chains to tempt your new master?" His crooked
white teeth were bared in anticipated pleasure.

Kim began to cry. He would not dance for this ugly old man! "No!
Please, I'm not a girl! I'm a boy! An American boy!"

The Arab dropped his hand to Kim's black thong panty, cupping the
backside it tightly sheathed. "As if American boys cannot be
turned into American girls and these girls sold as playthings to
wealthy masters! I have bought five such as you from Israel,
Lebanon, China, Ethiopia and Greece, little dove, all to serve in
the Royal Stable! You shall learn to frolic with them as well!
Your master enjoys watching his pets play with one another! Soon
you shall join them, your new sisters. They will help me train
you. You will learn the taste of each of your slave sisters in
the Stable." He patted Kim's rump. "And like each of them, you
will be branded with the mark of the Wench Boy That Delights."

Kim shrieked, but the response from Sampson and his other guests
was merely laughter. "A spirited filly for you to break, My
Lord?" Sampson asked cheerily. The Sheik nodded grimly. "You
choose your words well. The little Golden haired one is in need
of a strong man's hand to teach her respect and training her in
the ways of mounting! But," his flinty eyes glinted, "she has
much to commend her." The sheik stroked Kim's backside longingly,
slipping his horny hand underneath the tight black panty and
tugging on the chastity pouch. "She would bring much joy after
being tamed. I think I shall buy her. I should enjoy training a
Western wench like this," he promised. With that, the sheik
departed.

Kim was white with terror. The other men had seen the exchange
and had assumed the sheik would indeed purchase Kim. Not one of
them approached to inspect Kim. The teen sobbed. The sheik would
buy him and do those things to him. All he could do was cry.
Sampson looked over once and smiled.

The time for the auction was approaching. The men chatted with
one another quietly, pointing at the teens they would bid on. Kim
hung limply, waiting for the inevitable. The auction was to begin
even as a man hurriedly joined the other guests. He approached
Sampson.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I just got back from a business trip," he
explained. Kim thought the voice sounded familiar. As the man
turned toward him, he could see the clear and unmistakable face
of Kurt-- his stepfather. Kurt looked at him without surprise as
he continued to speak to Samson. "May I speak to her?"

Sampson nodded. Of course, he should have the opportunity to
inspect the merchandise before the bidding. Joe Bob walked toward
Kim, smirking.

"Never thought you'd see me again, did you? I saw the catalog
with your face in it and had to be here to put a bid in. Damn
nice changes on you, I'll say that. Heard you got you're name
changed to Kimmie, that true you little faggot?" he sneered.
"Course you're no faggot, you're a hot lil girlie now aren't you,
baby? A hot lil piece of ass like yo' momma!" Joe Bob's face bore
a furious scowl which slowly was transformed into a wolfish leer.
" Damn I like these pint-sized titties," he said as he clutched
Kim's breasts. "Stick 'em out for me, girlie. Show me your
hooters!" And with that, the Texan oilman ripped up the soft
black cotton bra, pulling it up over the tops of the small
succulent teen mounds.

Reluctantly Kim closed his eyes and thrust his chest out. In the
dark, he could hear the rough breathing of his stepfather as his
callused hands pulled on his sensitive breast buds, fingered the
nipples and turning them into red hard tips. "Gettin hot for yo'
Daddy, ain't you bitch? Open your eyes and answer me Kimberlee!"

The use of his full name shocked him into an answer that would
please the older man. He obeyed, looking Joe Bob full in the
eyes. "Yes, Sir!"

Joe Bob smiled. "Course you are. Bet you want to come home and
take your momma's place in my bed, doncha you lil whore? Like me
to take your titties in my hands and wrap 'em round my big Texas
dick!"

Kim watched him in utter silence considering. Joe Bob had been
cruel to him but he would probably be better that the Arab. Kim
made a decision and smiled. It was time to start acting like what
he was-- a teenage sex kitten. it was what all his training and
the Treatments had been about. Kim could make it easier or he
could make it harder on himself, but the result wasn't going to
change. In a way, he was so lucky Joe Bob was interested in
buying Kim. maybe it was time for him to show Joe Bob just what a
good little girl Kimmie could be for HER stepdaddy.

"I'm glad you like them," Kim purred, continuing to stick HER
chest out. "I can't wait for you to hold them and to be in your
bed."

Joe Bob ran his hands down to Kim's ass. "I never did fuck you,
did I?"

"Not that!," Kim purred as SHE licked HER lips. "Oh, no, but I
fantasized about it!" Kim cooed. SHE wriggled HER hips as Joe Bob
felt them. "I'm still a virgin. They keep us that way till we get
bought. Then Sampson says we have to do whatever our owners say.
What would you make me do?"

Joe Bob snickered. "All the things your whore of a momma did and
more. Too bad she didn't understand you were going to be my slut
just like she was. I tole her I wanted her to train you to be a
girlie for me. But the stupid cunt was stubborn and I had to
snuff her out." Joe Bob's face blazed in furious remembrance of
that rebellion.

A cold core of chill bored through Kim. But it didn't change
anything did it? And maybe if HER mother had obeyed, Kim would
have been taught to please Joe Bob and... Ooooh! HER stepfather
was playing with HER nipples again! It felt so good! Maybe it
wouldn't be so bad, being Joe Bob's girl. At least SHE would be
taken care of. At least SHE would be the only one.

"Gentlemen! The auction will now begin!" Sampson's powerful voice
promised. "Take your seats!"

Joe Bob let HER nipple go with a snap and took his seat. Kim
caught the eye of the Arab and winced. The ugly brown man nodded
as if assuring HER that he would soon indeed be HER master.

Sampson was caught the exchange between Kimmie and the Texan, as
well as taken note of the Arab's angry stare. He hadn't planned
on putting up the blonde with the tiny tits, but if there was so
much interest, the bidding was bound to be high. That would put
the auction off to a very prosperous commencement! He walked over
to Kimmie.

"Gentlemen, shall we begin with Kimberlee? She is a gorgeous
sixteen year old, all-American girl who just loves to play
dress-up. Imagine this girl-next-door waiting for your return in
nothing but her sexy black Calvin Kleins. Oh nothing will come
between Kimmie and her Calvin Kleins-- until you snap your
fingers!"

Sampson slapped Kimmie's ass hard and SHE jiggled in HER bounds.
Keep your eyes on the floor, SHE told HERSELF. Be a good girl!

"Then," Sampson went on, "she'll strip out of them faster that
you can say 'blow me'-- which you'll say quite often with Miss
Hoover around the house!" Kimmie blushed and the men chuckled at
this.

Samson swung Kimmie around, so HER back was to the audience.
Sampson yanked HER panty waist up effortlessly. "See this ass?
Nice tight American teenybopper ass, gentlemen! You'll get plenty
of use out of this piece!" Sampson slapped HER butt again
unnecessarily. "Let's go! Shall we start the bidding at say,
thirty thousand?"

The Arab raised his hand.

"Ah-- thank you Sheik! And thirty-five, have we thirty-five for
this virgin blonde? Ah-- the gentleman from Texas! Thank you!"

Kim listened to the bidding on HER with a nauseous feeling of
unreality. Boys changed into girls and bought for money! It was
too strange to think HER fate was to be a girl, to serve on e of
these two cruel men! Desperately SHE hoped the Arab would stop
bidding. Maybe HER breasts would be too small to interest him.

"Sixty thousand! Thank you very much Sheik!" Sampson was saying.
Kimmie flushed. Joe Bob was quiet and he should be bidding!
please Joe Bob, SHE begged. SHE would be a good girl, a very good
girl! Just please bid!

But Joe Bob wasn't looking at Kimberlee any more. His eyes were
on the shy brown haired bitch, Mandy. Now those were a ripe pair
of titties! Sampson had said she'd make a great secretary too.
Joe Bob smiled. Mandy, the Boy Scout, in a tight mini bent over
his desk taking it up the ass doggy style from Boss Joe Bob! Shy
Mandy taking "dick-tation"! She looked so arousing up there in
her pink panties! Why did he need Kimberlee when the Mandy cutie
had such nice titties and a good attitude? Tim had run away-
fine, let him learn what it was like to suck Arab dick for the
rest of his life as a harem girl. He'd regret he had ever given
up the chance to be Joe Bob's private whore. That would teach
him! Screw it-- let the towel-head have her! Joe Bob would buy
the brown haired missy instead.

"Sold to the Sheik for sixty thousand!" proclaimed Sampson
triumphantly. Ten thousand more than he had figured for the
flat-chested blonde! And things were off to a bang!

An hour later when the owners came to collect their new
possessions, Sampson toted the final bids and was pleasantly
surprised. He had exceeded his expectations by well over 30%. Pam
had brought $125,000 from a conservative member of the House of
Lords who found her "English" looks and "respectful" attitude
quite appropriate for a pleasure maid in his summer house on the
Dover coast. Joanie's cheerleader looks had attracted the
interest of a professional football coach, who had paid
$140,000-- quite a coup, but the coach was a new client and had
nervously overbid. Donna would be going to her new home, the
Exxxcstasy Club, to begin her new career as a lap dancer. The
club owner thought she had potential. "She might make stage
dancer if she works very hard," he had said after closing the
bidding at $95,000. Natasha, his exotic Russian beauty, had
caused quite a sensation. Her winsome presentation and seductive
accent had brought on a bidding frenzy till a prominent Southern
U.S. senator had bought her for $200,000! Sampson made a note to
touch base with his Russian contacts-- he would need more of
these Russian boys to transform! The Catholic bishop would had
bought Mary for $150,000 seemed unable to keep his hands off her
already. Look how he was caressing her breasts even as the
boy-girl cried in shame. Sampson was pleased-- he sensed unique
opportunities from other Catholic prelates and anticipated the
word would spread should the bishop be pleased with his purchase.
Make a note-- procure more altar and choir boys! Annie had been a
disappointment, fetching only $60,000. The madam he thought might
buy her hadn't shown up and instead she had gone in a solitary
low bid to a Mexican whoremaster even Sampson didn't like taking
money from. The Mexican wanted Annie because real "gringo" girls
were just too expensive. "My customers, they no care if she real
girl or not. After all, she still have two holes to fill, no
Senor Sampson?" the seedy whoremaster had commented. Too bad her
breasts hadn't been a bit larger-- she might have merited a bid
from one of the other clients and led a more pleasant life. Erin
had made up for it though. The perky blonde beach bunny had
brought $210,000 from the leader of a mid-sized African nation.
The dictator seemed enchanted by the pale blonde Erin, who seemed
equally terrified of her new large coal-black master. Linda, the
punker groupie, had been a bargain for Megahead at $80,000. The
lead singer had come to bid on and pick up the teen. Her eyes
bulged at the singer, so well had she been indoctrinated to adore
and worship the rock group. The singer had confided to Sampson
that they would no doubt be back-- with four band members using
her constantly, Linda wouldn't last long. Did he take trade-ins,
the singer had asked. The band was also interested in buying a
girl for their roadies. Sure, he could take a trade-in-- the
girlies had excellent re-sale to pimps and whorehouses. Sampson
liked volume business. And shy, scared Mandy-- to the Texan for a
sizable amount of money. There had been some interest in this
one-- cute, decent boobs and an innocent face-- so the bidding
had shot up right away. Then the Texan had closed it off with
finality at $150,000! Sampson had thought he was interested in
the blonde, some family connection. The white slaver wasn't
surprised, though. When his clients came to shop for one thing,
many times they left with something altogether different. And
even the boobless blonde Kimmie-boy had brought in $10,000 more
than he expected from the Sheik.

It all came to a total of $1,270,000 US dollars. Minus expenses
for the Guardians, facilities and overhead, the transformation
treatments, the girlies' pretty clothing, make-up and other
female accouterments, he had $790,000 left in profit-- a 63%
margin. And with quarterly "crops" of new girl-boys, the Complex
under his guidance netted over $3,000,000 in profit per annum.
And with the dismantling of trade barriers and access to
virtually every market in the world, the business of turning
teenage boys into sultry little slave girl sirens had blossomed
into a very hot business. Not to mention the side benefits, he
thought with pleasure. After escorting his clients out he would
have Jill brought to his private suite for "evening instruction."

The aforementioned Kimmie hung limply. She watched in sadness as
Joe Bob walked out with the boy-girl Mandy, who followed him in
confusion. It didn't matter. It wouldn't be so bad, belonging to
the sheik. SHE was till shivering but SHE was composed. The Sheik
was HER master and owner now. SHE had to be a good girl for him,
had to be pretty, had to make Master forget SHE had been such a
little bitch, had to please him, had to--

The Sheik roughly collared Kimmie and leashed his new slave girl.
"Heel Golden one!" he commanded and Kimmie lowered herself to her
knees by his side, like a trained animal. As he stroked her long
blonde hair, he spoke to Sampson.

"I am pleased. Such a bargain for this one! But she has small
breasts, true."

Sampson nodded. "She'll make up for it in other ways, I should
think. You should find her ready to please you and follow your
every command."

The sheik smiled and laughed. "But she is not for me, Sampson! I
would never waste the Royal seed on one such as this! Such a
small-titted wench for the Sheik of Abadan? I should be insulted
except I know you so well. Allah, no! I have my own harem of
pretty girls-- real girls, with big breasts and soft, wet coves
for the Royal member. I have not bought her as a serving wench
for MY pleasure!"

Sampson shook his head in confusion. "My mistake my Lord! I was
to understand you had five others such as Kimberlee in your
private stable?"

The sheik nodded. "And I do! Kimberlee will have five other
pretty slave sisters she shall become quite intimate with. As I
said, I do enjoy watching them play. No, they DO serve in the
stable. And I shall train Kimberlee. She shall serve in a harem
for one I love dearly. Kimberlee shall toil in the harem of my
Royal Mount, the stallion Cinnabar!"

Kimberlee looked up at her new master, her mouth forming an "O"
of unadulterated horror. The Sheik pushed her golden face down to
the ground again.

"She will bring Cinnabar much pleasure after she learns to
accommodate the size of his equine member! He stands seven hands
tall and has ferocious needs that will be serviced. He has grown
so bored with his other wenches and I thought to surprise him
with a blonde like Kimberlee. He will be so surprised and
pleased, I think. She shall make a delightful mare for him to rut
with her firm behind, will she not Sampson?"

But Sampson had turned green. He nodded politely, looked with a
trace of guilt at Kimmie and moved to speak to the other
departing customers. After they had all left, he drew Hercules
aside. "Take over the Com, my friend. I'm retiring for the
afternoon."

******

His trusted second in command smiled. "To enjoy the fair Jillie,
I assume. Then we shall conduct Example Night without you?" His
scare seemed to glow at the prospect of laying paddle to teen
flesh.

He liked to manage Example Night himself, but Hercules had done
such a commendable job recently. He nodded. "Enjoy yourself, my
friend--just don't mark the merchandise. You have a wicked cruel
streak!" Hercules laughed at the compliment appreciatively.

Sampson stopped at his office for the brightly packaged present,
then walked to his private suite on the far side of the Complex.
It faced out over the very top of the high gorge overlooking the
Red Sticks river, which flowed some thousand feet below. There
wasn't any need for the security system of cameras and electric
barb wire on this side of the Complex, since there was no way for
his chattel to escape. Besides it would have ruined the fantastic
view he enjoyed so. He placed his thumb print over the sensor and
his door slide up, descending as he entered.

Jillie sat on the bed, a model of teenage femininity. He marveled
at how mature she had become. She was far from the whining,
awkward and sullen boy of thirteen. Now she was a sparkling
prize, a lissome ornament, face fill with bliss at his entrance.
She stood expectantly. "Hello my Master!"

Sampson smiled. The idea that he owned this bauble filled him
with rich satisfaction. As always, when he summoned her, she was
properly prepared and clothed. Her face was properly made up--
not whorishly overdone, but lightly made up with just a thin dab
of rouge to highlight, a wholesome and girlish pink lipstick and
the slightest whiff of the cheap "California Gal" perfume she
liked. Her long black hair, now falling halfway down her back,
was braided and ribboned with a flowery band. The cropped yellow
tank top was ribbed and drew out Jill's small, perky breasts. She
had long ago graduated from training bras to her current 32As. He
liked the shape and feel of her small pointy breasts and so had
forgone implants for now. The stone-washed denim miniskirt gave
her once boyish hips a smooth swell of 34". Jill had been trained
to work hard on her waist and even that was down to 29". On her
feet she wore her pink pumps. Underneath it all, Sampson could
only guess. He would find out soon enough. Sampson lowered
himself into his wingback chair.

"Jill, is everything ready for our afternoon?"

Jill kept her eyes down. "I think so, my Master. The K-Y jelly is
by your bed. My vibrator is on the nightstand should you want me
to play with it for you. And I hope I am wearing some panties and
a bra I hope you will find pleasing."

"And the crop, Jill?"

Jill bite her lower lip. "Yes, my Master," the feminized boy
admitted. "The crop is by the bed too."

Sampson liked the smell of fear that suddenly filled the room.
"And why is it important that the crop be ready, Jill?"

The boy-girl shifted from pink pump to pink pump nervously. "You
need the crop to punish me if I don't please you well enough, my
Master."

"Good. Now Jill, sit here on my lap and tell me what you did
today."

The teen scampered up into Sampson's lap, immediately feeling his
hands on her hips. Shakily she began to speak.

"Well, nothing very interesting to you, my Master. I got up this
morning and after breakfast-- just a slice of melon--I slipped
into my pink exercise leotard and did the exercise tape you
wanted me to do--the Cindy Crawford one?-- and I did that with
some of the other girls till before lunch. Then I took a quick
shower and had lunch-- just a salad!-- and read my new issue of
Seventeen till you sent for me!"

"Oh, very nice," declared Sampson. "And you feel so trim now
Jill!" He slipped his hands over her breasts and squeezed.

As she was expected to do, Jill closed her eyes and sighed.
"Ummm! I love you to feel me like that my Master!"

"Of course you do, little girl." Sampson cupped the breasts in
his hands, weighing them like a pair of tangerines. "Tell me, who
do these belong to?"

Jill scrunched her breasts forward. "You, my Master. They belong
to you."

"Take off your top, Jill."

The slavegirl who was still technically a boy obeyed, pulling off
the snug top even as she remained anchored in Sampson's lap.
Underneath she wore a yellow soft- cup brassiere.

"No underwire bra Jill?" Sampson growled. His hands were back on
her titties now.

Jill twisted her pretty pale face to one side in embarrassment.
"No, my Master."

"And why not, LITTLE girl?"

"Because my Master says I don't need them, because my breasts are
so small," Jill whimpered softly in shame.

Sampson tugged on the nipples through the pale yellow cotton.
"Take off your skirt, pretty baby."

Jill slipped her hands in back, unzipped the skirt and flipped it
off, along with her shoes. Under the seat of the matching pair of
pale yellow bikini panties, Jill could feel her master's manhood
rising. She squirmed. He liked it when she squirmed in his lap
this way. Jill would do anything to avoid the snap of the crop.

Sampson snapped his fingers. "You're getting to be such a good
little girlie for me. I thought I'd reward you, Jill. Go get your
present on the table and go to the bed to open it."

Jill fetched the red wrapped gift box and sat on the bed.

"Go on-- open it, Jill."

As she did, Master rose to get his camera. "Like it?"

Jill's face was flushed. She held it up. It was a black lace
push-up underwired bra and a lewd little matching black lace
g-string! She smiled, pouty lips curved up in ecstasy! Her master
had given her pretty things to wear-- just for him! A tear of joy
flowed down her downy cheek. "Oh yes! yes, my Master! More than
anything!"

He leered at his teenaged mistress. "Go on-- put them on. I want
to see you model them for me."

Jill turned to obey. Never--never had she been given anything so
wonderful! She had learned at first to like her cotton undies,
then resent them. She was sixteen now-- old enough to wear things
like this. And she felt so feminine in them! The naughty bra
lifted her little boobs up so much! And the g-string, it made
Jill feel soooo naughty! For the first time, Jill felt like a
young woman, not a girl! And she would show her master she could
be soooo good to him!

For the longest time, it had hurt to be thought of as a girl.
Jill had been a boy, no matter what her master had said. He had
been a boy who played baseball, a boy who had even started to
like girls, who had parents and a family. Now Jill knew that was
all long gone. And she had accepted her growing femininity. She
had been scared of her master's needs at first, been frightened
of the way she had to offer up her body to the Master. But he had
been so good to her, keeping her as his special little girl.
After a year, Jill came to suspect her master really loved his
baby. She began to not be so afraid of the things Master did to
her, came to be lonely if Master didn't summon her. On her
fifteen birthday, Master had called her his "mistress" and she
had been so proud!

And now, Master had given her these sexy things to wear for him.
She was a REAL girl now and he must love her! She was swooning
now, she couldn't wait to turn around. Jill wiped the silly tear
of joy from her face, stuck her perky bra'd breasts out for
Master and turned. She would tempt him, she would love him so
hard, and please him with her mouth, her breasts, her whole body!
He would be so excited to see his little Jillie wearing this! She
turned and her heart broke. Sampson had set up a camera on a
tripod and was aiming it at her. He was going to take dirty
pictures of her! Jill's eyes grew heavy with tears. Even as the
flash burst, she felt so dirty, so betrayed.

"Hey Jill, I'm going to take some pictures of you to show my
friends my hot little centerfold! Come on, sexy girl, stick those
tits out! Show me how much you want to give them to me! And wipe
those tears away or I'll REALLY give you something to cry about!"

Jill quickly wiped the tears away though betrayed frown remained.
She rose on shaky knees and looked at the camera.

"Go on, cup them and smile. A hot dirty girl smile, Jill! Or I'll
crop that tight ass of yours!" Sampson barked.

Jill raised her palms to cup her small black laced boobs, then
held them up for the camera. As her Master reached for the crop,
she grinned a plastic smile, showing lots of teeth. She felt like
a piece of trash as the camera clicked.

Sampson smiled. He'd use these pictures in his brochure. After
photographing her, he'd screw the hell out of her. And if she'd
cried then, he could care less. He had been far too patient with
Jillie.

"Good. Now on your back and spread your legs nice and wide. Like
you want me to climb on top and put it to you! Good girl! Now on
your fours, butt towards me. Good girl! Now look behind you. Play
with your g-string, hands between your legs. Good! Now spread
your knees apart and stick your ass up, like you do before I
stick my cock in. Good. Now on your back again and spread your
legs--"

***

It was Mandy's first day and Mr. Joe Bob had told her the rules.
"You call me Boss at all times, got it darlin'?"

"Yes, Boss," the teen replied promptly. She wanted to be the best
little secretary she could be for Mr. Joe Bob. He had been fairly
pleased with her performance at home and she wanted to keep him
as happy as possible. Even when he had introduced Mandy to her
new duties in his bed, she had been brave. Mandy was girl now and
had to perform like one for her owner. The feminized boy moaned
in bliss as he handled her breasts, smiled lewdly as she tried to
engage him in foreplay. He seemed pleased that Mandy had been
able to suck cock so well for a virgin. "You know just what to do
darlin' and you like it don't you?" he had asked. She had
answered by kneeling and taking Mr. Joe Bob's thing in her mouth
again. And when he wanted to use her, she had bucked like a
little wildcat in heat for him, faking orgasm after orgasm for
him as he rammed her from behind. It had only been a couple of
days, but she hoped against hope that she had been lucky enough
to land a kind owner.

And if Mandy DIDN'T perform just the way Mr. Joe Bob wanted, he
made it clear she wasn't the only girl-boy around. "Almost bought
that blonde slut, you know that Missy? So if you don't get it
done for me, back you'll go to the Complex. And I hear that ole
Sampson don't much care for Returned Merchandise, you
understand?"

Oh yes, she understood all right! That was why she was swinging
her hips nice and wide for all the employees of the corporate
offices of Elite Oil to see. She heard the other secretaries
whisper behind her.

"Joe Bob's got himself a little piece there, ain't he?"

"Little bitch! Got her claws in a sugar daddy all right! Lord,
she can't more'n sixteen!"

"Looks like Sugar Daddy got himself some sugar britches!"

Mandy knocked on the door lightly and brought the coffee in,
shutting the door behind her softly.

"Boss?"

He lookedup and smiled. "Good. Just in time for some dictation
Mandy. You ever take dictation?"

She shook her head.

"You know how I give you your protein drink at home?" he sneered.

She kept the bimbo smile on her face. Protein drink meant his
cum. He wanted Mandy to give him a blow job here at the office!
She nodded.

"Don't take off your silk blouse. It'll force you do an extra
good job or you'll get your pretty blouse all gummed up. Now
kneel."

Mandy minced behind the desk and knelt on her stocking knees. She
kicked her high heels off.

Boss Joe Bob said "You should buy some knee pads for yourself,
Mandy girl. YOU'RE GOING TO BE DOING A LOT OF THIS."

She fumbled with her buttons to reveal her push-up red lace bra
to him. Not that he didn't know what she was wearing. He had told
her precisly what to wear to work-- red lace panties and this
slutty push-up bra. She bent her head and took the erect cock in
her wet mouth. Why did she get a little hardon of her own when
she did this? But there was no time to think when the Boss needed
her. Oh, he was playing with her tits-- she pushed her breasts up
to his lap. She gulped the cock down as hungrily as she could
pretend to. He slammed it in and out and then it popped out.

Mandy looked at the cock and saw the thin strand of cum that
began on the tip of the cock and led to her lips. Looking up at
Mr. Joe Bob, she extended her tongue and carefully drew in the
strand of the priceless goo, drawing it in and rolling it around
in her mouth till it had disapperaed down her throat. Mandy
suddenly hated a little prostitue she had been made into, hated
this man who was degrading her so, hating the men who had turned
her from a perfectly normal teenage boy into a cocksucking bimbo.
The Boss Joe Bob patted her on her brown curly haired head.

"Good lil slut, girlie. Good lil slut!"

Mandy smiled angelically and licked cum drops off her lips. It
could be worse, she thought furiously as she was lifted and bent
over the desk. It could be worse she thought as her red lace
panties were ripped off her butt. It could be worse she thought
as her cruel master sodomized her over his mahoghany desk. It
could always be worse!

And it could.

Meanwhile on a plane thirty thousand feet in the air, a girl
named Kimberlee, once a boy named Tim, sat in a steel cage,
thinking ferverously. Her Calvin Klein underwear had been taken
off and she had been "fitted" with a metal formfitting bra that
snapped over her chest tightly. "Cinnabar will have no use of
your little buds Golden One. He has a busty whore from Israel
that he suckles from," the Sheik kindly explained. Instead of
cloth panties, Kimberlee now wore a thong made of bronze links.
"To protect your little thimble from Cinnabar's hooves," the
Sheik elaborated. As he stroked her long hair, he whispered in
her ear, "Cinnabar likes his mares with long manes! You shall
please him mightily, Golden One! And he shall soon show you his
love by mounting his lovely new companion. Perhaps if you should
please him, he would favor you by making you his preferred mate!
Wouldn't you like that? It is a shame you cannot foal for him!"
the Sheik regretted, even as he fed her a cube of sugar.

She remained silent as he spoke. She couldn't speak-- the bridle
that had been fitted in her mouth wouldn't let her do anything
more than swallow the lumps of sugar in the sheik's hand. He
stroked the blonde boy-girl's soft leg, then ran it high on the
inside of Kimberlee's thigh. The feminized slave obliged her
owner by spreading her legs to give him more access in his
explorations.

"Here," he lightly pinched the skin below Kimberlee's imprisoned
scrotum, "is where you shall be branded as a concubine of the
Royal Stable, Golden One. The pain will be most intense, I'm
afraid. But all animals of the Sheik must bear the Royal brand.
Be grateful I shall not have you gelded, but I am told the
passion of the feminized boy decreases if he is gelded. And
Cinnabar enjoys frolicking with only the lustiest of mares."

Kimberlee winced and the Sheik grabbed the bridle. "Hold still
Golden One as your owner addresses you, for I have one last piece
of news for you-- the last you time I shall apeak to you as
anything other than an dumb animal."

Kimberlee remained still. The bit was something she could get
used to, yes, it could be worse!

The sheik continued. "I have thought of many possible names for
you, my Golden One and I think I have decided on one that fits
you well. From this day on, you shall answer to no other name
than Blonde Beauty." With his work done, the sheik rose to return
to his front cabin.

As the horse boy-girl sat in her cage, all that ran through
Kimberlee's bubble head was a manic string of hopes: "Maybe it
won't be so bad, being a mare for a stallion; it won't be so bad
to be mounted by a horse; it won't be so bad taking a horse cock
in my mouth; it won't be so bad being the concubine of a
stallion, it won't be---"