Author’s note: Despite the dark aspects of some of my stories, I do not in any way endorse the use of force or pain to compel anyone to do anything. This story, as with all my stories on this site, deals with issues of an adult, sexual nature. No-one under the age of eighteen and no-one who finds forced feminization stories to be offensive should read any further.
If you are still reading, then you are an adult with an interest in stories of this nature, and I hope you will find my offering to be enjoyable. Regardless, constructive comments (and, of course, lavish praise) are always welcomed.

Second note: this is new to Crystal’s, but many readers will recognize it from another site.
I have a new story in the works, but cannot promise when, or even if, it will be finished.

 

The Feminization of Michelle

by: Aleisha James

 

Michelle paused to examine her handiwork in the mirror, looking closely for any flaw or failure. Perhaps her right eyebrow was just slightly too bushy, she thought. She picked up the pair of tweezers which lay on the cluttered counter top and carefully plucked one hair, concentrating hard on not wincing. Any negative expression, such as frowning or wincing, might help create ugly lines in her smooth facial skin, which in turn would merit punishment.

She lowered the tweezers and looked again at her reflection. Yes, that had done it!

She sensed someone approaching from behind. She quickly sat up straight and, keeping her head high, she lowered her eyes, so as not to be caught looking in the mirror to see who was behind her. Discipline was lax these days, but only because the girls now behaved appropriately from instinct. She put down the tweezers and laid both hands in her lap.

She felt the warmth emanating from the visitor. The room where Michelle sat along with the other seven trainees was deliberately kept a couple of degrees below comfort level, especially for the way that the trainees were dressed.

Michelle held her breath and focused on appearing calm and peaceful.

She felt a hand caress the back of her neck, lightly rubbing the skin beneath her long hair.

"You’re ready, Michelle. I’ll see you tonight!" came the words she had been hoping to hear.

The hand was removed and Michelle sensed the Master, for it had been a male voice and a male touch this time, move away. She breathed deeply, tempted to sneak a peek towards her room-mate, Julie. But this pleasure was a special treasure, something to savor for a while before sharing

Instead she consciously smiled, appreciative of the compliment paid to her by the Master. She knew that every move, every expression was closely monitored, and any trainee receiving any praise, or what passed for praise in this upside-down world, was expected to react appropriately, or pay a penalty.

Any indiscretion carried a price. All choices bore consequences. When she had first arrived here, the lessons were crude, lacking finesse. The trainees soon learned the basic rules, but with every lesson learned, the next lesson was more subtle, while the penalties were incurred less and less frequently.

Michelle found her mind going back to those early days. She knew that no good could come of such memories, so she mentally shook himself and applied herself diligently to finishing her makeup.

She picked up a soft brush, the strands made of the finest fibers, hairs from some unknown animal, perhaps even a mink, she thought. She stroked the ends of the fibers gently against the rouge she had decided to use on her cheeks today. The Masters and Mistresses seemed to like her using dramatic colors. She brushed the rouge below her cheekbones, feeling the soft bristles against her skin while concentrating on making sure that the color blended smoothly.

Eyeshadow was always the most difficult for her. She had not paid enough attention to the earliest lessons they had had in cosmetics, and somehow she never quite seemed to catch up. As a result, she spent far more time on her eyes than any of the other trainees. Fortunately, she thought, she had developed physically faster than any of them, and those attributes, combined with her obvious devotion to her lessons, now at least, had brought her favor amongst the Masters and Mistresses.

Ten minutes later she leaned back on her chair. The motion brought the usual, now enjoyable, sensation from the plug in her rectum. She had worn this plug for four days now. It was the fifth plug she had been given, each slightly wider than the previous. She doubted that she would ever be asked to wear any bigger than this; it was certainly far bigger than any of the penises exhibited by the trainees, even before the effects of the hormones and other drugs had taken hold.

None of the trainees had liked the butt plugs at first, although she suspected that all of them would find their absence upsetting by now. Michelle’s mind flitted back to her first sight of a butt plug.

Julie had been the first to be told to insert hers. The trainees had all been assembled in the classroom, naked and uncomfortable in the chill air. Sitting on hard wooden chairs had not made the ordeal any better.

None of them had known any of the others. None of them had any idea where they were nor why they were there. Michelle later found that her story was much the same as the others. She had run away from home, hoping that life, even on the street, would be better than at home, with her drunken mother and abusive stepfather. She knew all the stories that adults circulated about the dangers of street life, about the predators who preyed on young people such as she was. So she had been careful at first, but she had been caught by a woman of all people. She would have never been trapped by a man, but a woman! None of the stories had told her that women could be as evil as men.

Drugged into unconsciousness, she never knew how far she had been taken to this place, where she awoke cold and hungry, with a fierce headache. She had been given water and aspirin, which had dulled the headache by the time she was led, weakly protesting, to the classroom. She had been almost the last led into the room and told, firmly but not cruelly, to sit and be quiet. She had been very weak, feeling tired as well as unfed and cold.

After the eight trainees, not that they knew of their role then, were seated, their escorts moved to the back of the room and two others entered, to stand at the front.

The newcomers were a man and a woman. They were both tall, she easily six feet and he another four inches over her, even though she was wearing three inch heels on her leather boots. They looked sufficiently alike that they could have been brother and sister. Both were in their mid thirties, as best as Michelle, whose name then was Michael and who thought of himself as a boy, could tell. They wore black leather tunics, the man in matching trousers and the woman in a long sheath skirt made of the same material. They were slim to the point of thinness and their dark eyes gazed out of sharp featured faces. Black hair cut short added to their sinister appearance.

The two adults surveyed the shivering group with expressionless faces. Then the woman stepped forward and smiled. Michael noted even then that the smile did not seem to reach her eyes.

Her voice was sultry, an unexpected contrast to her appearance. But her words were as black as her attire.

"You are all wondering where you are, how you got here, and what’s in store for you. I will answer one of those questions, but first I am going to tell you about the rules."

"The first rule: none of you will ever speak to any of your superiors unless you are spoken to first"

The boy to Michael’s left chose that moment to speak.

"What the fuck are you talking ab."

The words were cut off by the sound of a scream. Michael had barely noticed an escort sidle quickly past his chair. The escort had reached out and barely touched the boy’s shoulder. The scream which resulted seemed far out of proportion to any pain which such a trivial touch could have caused.

"The second rule is that any, and I mean any, violation of any of the rules will be punished immediately"

"The third rule is the most important, and the most difficult to understand, so pay close attention. Every choice carries consequences. If you stand on the edge of a cliff, you have a choice. You may walk away, back to safety. Or you may choose to walk off the edge, falling to your death. In this facility we offer choices. None of you will be compelled to do anything. We want you to change. We want you to learn a new role, one which will ultimately afford you great pleasure. But it will always be your choice. You may choose to comply. At first compliance will result only in the absence of consequence.

Later, compliance will result in pleasure. But you are always free to refuse our wishes. Just remember the cliff. All choices have consequences"

The boy next to Michael was rocking back and forth, hunched over with tears rolling down his cheeks. Michael could see two small red marks, close together, on his shoulder, but thought that it couldn’t hurt as much as the boy was acting. Maybe it was the shock he thought.

His attention was drawn back to the front of the room.

"I mentioned your superiors. Everyone you meet here, other than each other, will be your superior. Males will be addressed as Master and females as Mistress. You will include these terms of respect in every phrase you are permitted to speak to any of us. Any failure to obey the rules, or any choice we deem inappropriate will result in the offender paying the consequences."

"You will find that the consequences of poor choices may be difficult to take. You will also find that choices that we believe to be appropriate will generate rewards, which will become more apparent and more enjoyable as your commitment to your intended role deepens. Ultimately, should you make the right choices, you will be free to leave"

The woman stepped back and the man moved forward.

"You heard Mistress. You will find that your Masters and Mistresses will be fair, but firm. We will make suggestions to you from time to time. You need not accept our suggestions, but be careful when making your choice. Every choice has a consequence!"

Michael moved restlessly on his seat, the urge to protest quelled only by the continued sobbing from the boy beside him, and the fear that any word would fetch a similar treatment.

The others must have felt the same way, their instinctive reactions cowed by fear and the sense of vulnerability engendered by their nakedness in a cold room confronted by tall, dominant leather-clad strangers.

The Master paused before continuing. When he did so, it was apparent that he held something in one of his hands, but Michael could not make out what it was.

The Master looked towards the back of the room, presumably making eye contact with one of the escorts. He nodded and Michael sensed an escort coming forward on his right. It may have been the one who had struck the boy next to him, since the escort tapped that unfortunate on the shoulder.

"Stand up!" the escort commanded.

The boy stood, his face blotched with red,

The man at the front of the room spoke. "Come forward"

The boy moved forward hesitantly, one hand before his groin, covering his nakedness.

"What is your name?"

The question contained no hint of curiosity.

"Steve" the boy replied.

"Aaarrggghhhhh!"

The Master held out the hand with which he had just touched the boy, who was now curled in a fetal position on the floor. Michael and the others could see a small egg- shaped device. Whatever it was seemed too small to have caused the agony inflicted upon the boy.

"You are speaking to a Master" the tall man said, his tone hard.

"What is your name?" the man in black asked again.

"Steve, Master" the boy sobbed, still lying on the floor.

The Master grimaced.

"I don’t think so. Steve doesn’t suit you at all. No."

He placed a hand beneath his chin, striking a pose as if deep in thought. The answer came to him and he smiled.

"I think we will call you Julie! That’s it. You are Julie, do you understand?"

Michael held his breath. What was going on here, he wondered, as he waited to see how Steve would react.

Michael could not tell whether he was relieved or disappointed when the boy responded.

"Yes, Master. My name is Julie"

"Stand up, Julie!"

The boy obeyed, his legs trembling. Every inch of his body proclaimed that he was thoroughly cowed, all resistance at least temporarily vanquished by the egg-shaped objects.

"Good girl" The Master spoke.

"Now take this and insert it in your rectum"

He held out his hand. Michael’s view was partially obstructed, but he could tell that whatever it was, it was in a plastic bag.

Julie hesitated and in that instant the escort, who was still standing close to him, made a tiny motion with his hand. Julie must have seen the motion, subtle though it was. In any event he reached out and took the bag.

"Show the other girls the gift we have given you, Julie"

Julie turned to face the group, his head held low. In trembling hands he displayed a plastic bag containing something pink and slick. He opened the bag and withdrew an object which looked like a plastic penis, with a circular base. It seemed to have been coated in a lubricant of some kind.

"Bend over and insert it in your rectum, Julie"

The escort moved beside the hapless lad, showing his whip all too clearly. Tears were running down the boy’s face. Michael’s stomach was knotted. He fought back the momentary urge to leap to Judy’s aid. Sitting cold and naked in a room full of larger, clothed tormentors made the thought of resistance difficult to entertain for more than a moment. A quick glance at the others revealed that they were all acting the same way, perched forward on their chairs, hands over their genitals, sorry for Julie but glad that it was not them up there.

Julie bent over, still facing the group.

"No, Julie. Turn around. Let your classmate see how you do it"

Julie shuffled his feet until his rear faced the group. He bent over until his face was visible between his legs. He reached back and tentatively pressed the tip of the phallic object into his asshole. His whole body was shaking and his sobs were now clearly audible.

"Good girl" The Master’s voice delivered the praise, if praise it was, with a tone of utter indifference.

Julie pressed harder and the butt plug became to slide into his rectum, until the flat circular flange around the base was snug against his buttocks.

"You may return to your seat, Julie"

The boy walked back to sit beside Michael. He was walking awkwardly, his legs further apart than was normal. He avoided looking at any of the other trainees, and sat with his head down, staring at the floor. His cheeks were now fiery red, and tears continued to roll down his face.

"Julie has learned the first lesson well, although at a cost. Each of you should learn from her example. You will be dismissed to your rooms. You will be sharing rooms with another girl. You and she will become friends. You will be given breakfast in one hour. By then each of you will have inserted your plugs and chosen an appropriate name. You will have your choice of clothing.

Chose well! Any girl who refuses to chose a proper name or appropriate clothing for herself will be punished, until she does. Julie was lucky. We chose her name for her. I suggest that you try hard to come up with several names so that if we find your first choice unacceptable, you can offer us an alternative before the punishment becomes severe. You are dismissed"

The Master and Mistress left without a backward glance. The escorts moved forward and the boys stood. They were led in groups of two to new rooms.

Michael found himself walking in silence with Julie, who was still walking oddly. The two boys, still naked and cold, were led down a long hallway, which ended where it met another hallway running at ninety degrees. They were told to turn right and then were brought to a halt in front of the second door along.

The elder of the two escorts, a woman dressed in the same manner as the two instructors, used a plastic passkey to unlock the door. The two boys filed inside.

"You heard your instructions. Assume that everything you do and say is known to us, and maybe you will stay out of trouble"

Michael walked in ahead of Julie. The door clicked closed behind them. A quick turn of the handle revealed that they had been locked inside.

The room was furnished as if it were a hotel room, with two double beds and, on the opposite wall, a long, low bureau. A door set into the wall immediately inside the entrance revealed a small bathroom, with toilet, sink and shower. A second doorway gave onto a closet, which was full of female clothing, although neither boy ventured an inspection just then. Floor to ceiling windows on the far wall let in light filtered through long sheers. Thin steel bars made it clear that no escape lay through those windows. The walls were painted in a faint pink, while the beds were covered in snow-white duvets. Framed prints of still-life’s and landscapes hung on the walls. Clock radios sat on the night stands beside each bed, while in one corner stood a circular table accompanied by two chairs. A vase of fresh cut flowers, sitting on the table, added color to the room.

A twenty inch television with a built-in VCR sat on top of the bureau.

Michael saw that there were no telephones anywhere to be seen.

Michael moved quickly to the thermostat, hoping to dispel the chill in the room. The thermostat was locked, the temperature set at 64 degrees.

"Shit! It’s too fucking cold in here!"

Michael turned to Julie as he swore, but Julie refused to meet his eyes or to even acknowledge his presence. Instead the boy was standing beside one of the beds examining the clothing laid out on the cover.

Michael’s eyes followed Julie’s gaze. Hope burgeoned for a moment.

Each bed bore an assortment of clothing, both male and female. Michael moved to stand beside Julie, who was holding a pair of satin panties.

Julie noticed him as if for the first time.

‘I think this is my bed" he said.

"The other bed has one of those."

The boy faltered, tears coming again to his eyes. A glance in the direction of Julie’s outstretched arm revealed that the boy was pointing to an all too familiar plastic bag which lay beside the piles of clothes on the other bed. It was a butt plug, and evidently meant that that bed was Michael’s, since the one they were standing beside bore no similar bag.

"What are you going to choose?" Michael was afraid to ask, yet felt that by making Julie choose first, he could avoid making the inevitable choice himself. If Julie chose to wear the girl’s clothing, then he could pretend, to himself if to no other, that it was Julie’s decision, not his.

Julie seemed not to hear him. The boy was still holding the panties, staring at them with a blank expression. Michael waited for a response. None was forthcoming so he walked over to his bed, fear rising like a tide within him. He picked up the plastic bag. The plug lay inside, it’s pink hideousness waiting for him. He could feel the slipperiness of the lubricant, as the plug slide beneath his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the bag. The plug felt cold and greasy. He cast a look towards Julie, but Julie had not moved at all, still staring mesmerized by the panties he held in his hands.

Michael almost ran to the bathroom. There was no way he was inserting this device in front of anyone else. Julie’s humiliation was too raw an experience!

He paused to look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His face was pale, and he could see goosebumps on his flesh from the cold. He felt as if he were in a dream,, some awful nightmare. He prayed silently to himself, desperate to awaken. Nothing happened. The plastic plug was still in his hand, warming slightly from his body heat.

He bent over, as he had seen Julie do. Gingerly he inserted the plug into his anus. It felt weird. It was not painful, but he definitely felt stretched. He straightened up, feeling violated. The plug made him walk with his legs slightly separated. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had, and he was acutely aware that he had crossed some hidden divide.

When he returned to the room Julie was wearing the panties and was wrestling with a cotton bra. So Julie had made his choice.

Michael tried to ignore Julie, as the latter was ignoring him. He looked through the assortment of clothing.

The male clothing consisted of gray short, gray socks, a woolen plaid shirt and blue jeans. There was no belt. A pair of Nike shoes lay on the floor next to a pair of girl’s sandals, open-toed with thin straps for the ankles and maybe a two inch heel.

The girl’s clothing comprised panties similar to the ones which Julie had chosen, white satin, and a white cotton bra. A pale lemon skirt lay next to what Michael thought at first was a white shirt. Picking it up he noted that the collar was softer than any shirt he had worn and bore embroidery in the shape of flowers. Looking closer, he realized that the buttons were on the wrong side: he was holding a blouse, not a shirt.

He wavered. He did not want to give in without a fight, yet he knew that his options were limited. Their captors had not hesitated for a second in meting out punishment to Julie. He suspected that the physical pain had not been as great as Julie’s reaction might indicate. Probably much of the boy’s response had been due to disorientation, surprise and shame. The tactic of keeping them naked and cold while dealing with dressed adults had certainly weakened his own resolve.

He turned to see that Julie had finished putting on the bra. It was padded, making Julie seem as if he had small, pointed breasts. The boy was now trying on the blouse, which seemed identical to the one before Michael.

Michael came to a decision. He pulled on the male shorts and then picked up the bra. He realized that it would be immediately apparent if he was not wearing the padded garment: his chest would be too flat. He felt better about giving in this much. Unlike ‘Julie’, he was still claiming his male identity by wearing shorts rather than panties.

He had trouble with the bra strap, his fingers fumbling with the tiny hooks, unable to grasp them with sufficient dexterity to close them.

He felt fingers touching him.

"Here, let me help"

It was Julie. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at his room-mate.

"Thanks" he muttered.

‘How did you get yours on?"

"I remembered seeing my sister once; she was putting it on in front of her, where she could see the hooks. It was only a glimpse, but the memory stuck"

"Okay, thanks" Michael mumbled again.

"You’re taking a chance, wearing those" Julie gestured towards Michael’s shorts.

"I know. But I can’t just give up!"

"You mean, like me?" Julie was still close to tears.

Michael felt embarrassed. In fact he had contrasted his decision with Julie’s apparent surrender, thus fortifying his own sense of bravery. But he did not want to criticize this poor boy, who had been singled out for punishment and humiliation. Would he have withstood the assault any better?

"No. it’s just that."

Words trailed off. The two boys looked at each other for a moment and then, shame- faced, turned their attentions towards their clothes.

Michael pulled on the blouse, having little difficulty with the buttons. The skirt was a tight fit, even with the zipper along the side completely undone. He had to hold his breath in order to do it up.

Then he put on the sandals. By then Julie had been walking up and down the room, getting accustomed to the height of the heels.

"Put your weight in the balls of your feet" Julie suggested, as Michelle staggered for the first few steps.

Sure enough, Julie’s advice made walking easier, although each step reminded Michael of the presence of his butt plug.

"Have you thought of a name?" Julie’s voice interrupted his concentration and he almost fell as he was making a turn.

"No, I haven’t" he replied.

‘You don’t have a lot of time. I think they are serious"

"I know. This is so bizarre! They’re making us act like girls! They must be a bunch of fucking perverts!"

Julie looked away, his voice low.

"Maybe you’re right. But what can we do? We’re trapped here. I don’t even know where we are"

"Nor do I, but we can’t give up. There’s got to be a way out of here. If we can just find a telephone or a door that leads to the outside.. we have to try."

"Okay.." Julie did not sound eager, but Michael thought to himself that Julie would no doubt regain confidence later.

The two boys continued to walk until they felt that they had gained the ability not to fall over on their heels. Then they sat in silence, having tried the television and finding that it did not turn on.

They sat wrapped in their own thoughts until Michael, tired and fearful of the silence, asked Julie where he was from. They soon exchanged brief life-stories, finding out that they had much in common. Each came from an unhappy home and each had tried to improve their life by running away, only to fall into the same trap. But they came from different States and had been kidnapped in different cities.

The observers watching the picture from the hidden video camera smiled to themselves. All was going according to plan. The two boys wearing their blouses and skirt still looked more like boys than girls. They had yet to learn the art of looking pretty, and their hair was cut and worn like a boy’s. Even their legs were hairy. But they were beginning to bond. The establishment of a bond between room-mates was a key component in the conditioning which lay ahead for the trainees. Each would look to the other for support, but each would find instead a reinforcement of the conditioning. Ultimately they would willingly follow each other into femininity, reassured by the knowledge that they were not alone.

An hour had passed before a click from the direction of the door announced that they were free to leave the room. A chime sounded from hidden speakers and a voice, of neutral gender, told them to leave.

They walked towards the door, Julie leading the way. An escort awaited, and led them back the way they had come. Michael saw that the other trainees were also in the hall, all dressed in the same manner as he and Julie, except for one pair who were defiantly wearing the boys’ clothing which he had elected to ignore, other than the shorts he wore as his form of protest. Seeing the two boys who still looked like boys made him wish he had been as brave. He looked towards the escort to see whether she was reacting to the two defiant ones, but her expressionless face betrayed none of her inner thoughts.

The eight boys, six in skirts, blouses and sandals, were led into a new room, larger than the classroom where the initial indoctrination had taken place. Windows unshielded by any blinds or drapes allowed the morning sunlight into the room. Michael saw that the windows did not appear to open, but neither were they barred. Perhaps an escape lay that way; it would take only a moment to smash one of the windows with the plastic and steel chairs which were clustered in groups of six around the two large circular tables.

The boys were sat at the tables, in groups of four. Michael and Julie were seated with the two boys in male clothing, while their escorts sat between the two couples. A bowl containing a small serving of dry cereal stood in front of each youth. Each setting had one spoon and an empty glass. In the center of each table was a jug of what looked like skim milk and another jug containing orange juice.

Michael realized suddenly that he was ravenous, and he was bitterly disappointed that the promised breakfast was so modest. Nevertheless he was eyeing his food with hunger when the Mistress from this morning entered the room. Michael’s attention was drawn to her presence by the motion of the escort to his left, who sat up even straighter than she had been.

"Trainees. You are about to have your first meal here. But before you start, we have to dispose of some business left over from this morning."

She nodded to the escort sitting across from Michael. He in turn touched the boy sitting beside him.

"Stand" was the sole word that escaped the escort’s lips.

The boy stood, his trembling betraying the fear which must have filled him. He had to have known, Michael thought, that refusing to dress as a girl would cost him.

"What is your name?" the Mistress asked.

"Jim" came the answer, the tone of defiance at odds with the stress visible in every line of his body.

The escort reached out casually, his right hand seeming to graze the boy’s hand.

"AAARRGGGHHHH!!"

The boy dropped to the floor, holding his left hand in his right, curling into a fetal position, exactly as Julie had done yesterday.

Nobody moved. The Mistress had not changed expression at all, and the escort was seated as if nothing had happened.

Jim was weeping, even more copiously than Judy had.

The Mistress nodded again to the escort, who commanded the other boyishly clad youth to rise.

Michael watched in horror as the boy stood. The Mistress stared at the boy for several seconds, without a sound. The sound of liquid splashing on the floor prompted Michael to look down. He averted his eyes in embarrassment. The boy had peed himself from fear.

The Mistress asked the boy for his name.

"Carol" the boy quavered, then hastily added: "Carol, Mistress"

She looked back at him, as if weighing a difficult decision.

"No, that won’t do, I’m afraid. Pick a prettier name for yourself, girl"

"Denise, Mistress"

There was a note of desperation in the boy’s voice.

"All right, dear. You are Denise"

The voice was soft, but then hardened.

"What do you think you are doing in those repulsive, hideous clothes, girl?"

Her rage seemed genuine. Denise cowered under the glare.

The nod, when it came, seemed almost anti-climatic, but the scream torn from Denise’s throat was as disconcerting as that which his room-mate had uttered when he was punished.

"Get those two girls out of here"

The Mistress’s words were full of disdain. Two adults, clad in the ubiquitous black leather, materialized and half carried the two distraught youths from the room, the escort who had inflicted their punishment trailing behind. Michael noted through his growing fear that the escort had taken two glasses of juice with him, but none of the cereal.

Michael prayed beneath his breath that the Mistress did not know that he was not wearing the panties. His hopes were dashed as his escort told him to stand.

"What is your name?"

"Michelle, Mistress" he replied, trying to convey his obedience by the tone of his voice.

"Well, Michelle, that’s a pretty name and it suits you. You may keep your name. And you chose well in selecting that pretty blouse and skirt. Do you like your bra?"

"Yes, Mistress. I love my bra"

He felt humiliated, but it seemed that he might be getting away with it. He vowed to put on the panties as soon as he got back to the room.

"Remain standing, Michelle" the Mistress commanded as she nodded to the escort.

Julie was next. He identified himself as Julie and was complimented on his quick learning.

"Julie, be a good girl and tell me whether your friend Michelle has done anything wrong"

Michael felt as if he were going to vomit. Julie did not even look at him, although the tone of his voice revealed that speaking was not easy.

"Michelle is not wearing panties, Mistress" Julie said, in a voice so quiet that even Michelle was not sure he had heard him correctly.

"Speak up, girl!"

"Michelle is not wearing her panties, Mistress" Julie spoke loudly.

The other trainees were staring at him now, some showing horror while others looked numb.

"Well, Michelle. Is this true?"

"Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry Mistress. please let me wear my panties.."

He felt a tickle on his hand and then agony filled his senses. He heard the scream almost as if it had come from outside his body. He lurched, almost knocking Julie over, but was able to remain standing.

Moments passed as he dealt with the pain which filled his universe. It diminished slowly, but soon he became aware that he was still standing, his left hand cradled in his right, tears rolling down his face. Julie was standing to his right, motionless.

Mistress appeared to swim within his vision, growing larger and then receding, all without making a move.

"Michelle, that was a minor consequence. You escaped the full penalty because you did wear most of your clothes. You may remain here for breakfast, although you may not eat. Sit"

Michelle sat, unable to do more than dimly follow the sounds of the remaining four trainees introduce themselves with their new, feminine names. He found that his appetite was gone, so the deprivation of the breakfast meant little to him. He was permitted to drink the juice. He noted that none of the escorts either ate or drank anything. Once the pain subsided to a sharp ache in his arm, he looked to see what damage had been done. He was surprised to see that other than two tiny marks, already fading, there was no sign of the assault. He supposed that that made sense; that his captors had no desire to inflict visible injury.

Despite the small servings and the terror-filled atmosphere, breakfast lasted longer than Michelle would have expected. Finally the escorts stood and led their charges out of the room.

The six boys walked amidst their escorts to the classroom where they had first encountered each other that morning. Michelle, bringing up the rear, noticed how each of the boys ahead of him swayed on their heels. He imagined that he and Julie must look the same, due in part to the heels and in part to the still disturbing presence of the butt plug.

Just before they turned down the hallway that led to the classroom, Michelle and Julie were guided aside. They returned to their room, where, without any instruction being required, Michelle hurriedly removed the offending underwear and pulled on the panties. He shivered as he pulled the silky material up his legs and adjusted the garment around his waist.

Then it was back to the classroom.

The boys sat in the two rows of chairs, with Julie and Michelle seated in the second row. The remaining chairs in that row were vacant, obviously intended for Denise and Jim, or whatever name he would be sporting on his return.

The escorts retired to the back of the room, the three of them seated patiently in chairs much the same as those occupied by the trainees.

Ten minutes passed, during which the first whisper from one of them to his neighbor was met by a single hissed command: "Silence".

The trainees remained still and silent. Then Michelle saw that the two recalcitrants from the breakfast session walked in. They were holding hands, and both were now wearing the skirt-blouse combination that the others wore.

As the two newcomers sat themselves beside him, Michelle noted with a queasy feeling that the two boys wore traces of makeup. Each appeared to have had blush applied to their cheeks and each had bright red lips, shaped to appear fuller than nature had intended.

Neither of the boys made any sound as they sat. They had released each other’s hand and now theirs lay folded in their laps, their attention turned to the front of the room as if waiting for further instruction.

Which came soon.

Another tall woman clad in black entered. Michelle thought for a moment that this was the same woman who had tormented them before, but as soon as the instructor opened her mouth, Michelle realized that this was someone new. He wondered how many Masters and Mistresses there were, all for just the eight of them from what he knew.

"Good morning, girls" the woman announced cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mistress" came the response, the voices slightly out of sync as some were slow to react.

"Before we begin, there is some business left over from breakfast, I believe?"

Denise stood and spoke to the room.

Thank you Mistress. My name is Denise and I would like to thank you for allowing me to wear these pretty clothes"

He ended by bobbing his head. Michelle could see that his cheeks were much redder than would be accounted for by the makeup, and he could only imagine the inner torment behind the obsequious words.

Denise’s room-mate stood next and in a high falsetto announced that his name was Suzanne and he promised never to embarrass the other girls again.

Mistress beamed at the two feminized boys. They sat quietly, focused on being as obedient as they could. Michelle knew that what he had experienced in the breakfast room had been less than had been meted out to them, and he felt very sorry for them. A niggling voice within him felt glad that it was they who had suffered, and not him.

The escorts now came forward and handed out notebooks, pencils and what turned out to be a catalog from a woman’s clothing store. The next hour was spent going through the catalog and learning the correct way to describe various items of female attire.

"It’s important that you become familiar with fashion, and with fabrics. You will be tested on a regular basis. If you do well, you will be rewarded. You already know what will happen should we conclude that you are doing less than your best"

Michelle detected Denise’s body momentarily spasming as the Mistress spoke the last words. Clearly Denise had been deeply affected by his punishment.

The terror of the morning became dulled by the tedious routine of reading the catalog and making notes. The continuous presence of the escorts coupled with attention paid by the instructor kept the trainees engrossed in the material but nothing could diminish the sense of unreality which Michelle felt as the morning dragged on.

After looking at scores of dresses, skirts, blouses and sweaters, the trainees turned to hosiery section. Most of the contents consisted of various kinds of pantyhose, but the instructor commanded them to focus on the stockings.

She called upon Karen, a thin pale boy with dirty blond hair.

"Karen, what would you have to do in order to be able to wear a pair of the stockings shown on page 56 as item g?"

Karen stood, looking perplexed.

‘I’m not sure, Mistress"

"Well, girl, how do you think those stockings would stay up?"

"Oh" the boy said, relief that his answer had not brought down instant retribution evident on his face.

"I would need to wear a garter belt, Mistress"

"If you were given a garter belt, Karen, would you put on a pair of stockings immediately?"

"Yes, Mistress. I would love to wear a pair of stockings"

"Come here, girl"

Karen walked forward, his uncertainty plain.

"Turn around and bend over, touching your toes"

Karen complied, her arse sticking out prominently due to the elevation of her heels. Mistress lifted her skirt and, reaching onto the desk beside which she stood, retrieved a wooden yardstick and struck Karen repeatedly on his panties.

Karen let out a yelp, but managed to control himself.

Mistress relented after only three hard swipes.

"Stand up and return to your seat"

Karen did so, sitting gingerly.

"You may wonder why Karen was punished. That was the lightest form of punishment, because she was trying to please and made a mistake out of ignorance. As you will have seen while she was up here, and as you are all aware, Karen and the rest of you have ugly, unfeminine hair growing on your legs. Had Karen been permitted the pleasure of wearing a pair of nylons, she would probably have ruined them. At the least, her legs would have looked ugly. The correct response to my question would have been a request for permission to shave her legs, before receiving the gift of being allowed to wear stockings"

"Now Michelle. Would you like to wear a pair of nylons?"

Michelle stood. He swallowed, knowing that with every surrender to these people, his ability to resist was diminished by a tiny but ever accumulating amount. He also knew, without anything being said, that a mistake by him would not be treated as innocent. The punishment would not be a caning but another, possibly worse, brush with whatever device had been used on him at breakfast. The outcome was inevitable.

"Please, Mistress. I would like to shave my legs and have a garter belt. Then I would love to wear nylons, Mistress"

Mistress smiled at him, and relief welled in his stomach. He was surprised at how important her smile was.

"Come forward, girl"

He minced forward, acutely aware of the gaze of his fellows, of the swish of his skirt, the feel of his butt plug and the effect of his heels.

Mistress motioned beyond him and one of the escorts came forward, carrying a small opaque plastic bag, of the kind in which lady’s stores sold small items.

"Michelle, take these and go to your room. You should return as soon as you are properly dressed"

Michelle took the package and followed the escort who led him wordlessly to the room he shared with Julie. The escort allowed him in.

He went into the bathroom. Sure enough a pink-handled razor was on the edge of the sink along with a container of shaving gel.

Michelle stepped out of his sandals and skirt, removing the blouse for good measure. He looked around, and realized that he would have to climb into the shower, so he removed his panties and bra as well. He took advantage of the opportunity to take a leak, standing before the toilet and watching his urine stream into the bowl.

Once in the shower he wet his legs with warm water and applied the gel. It was difficult work, since he could not see the backs of his thighs very clearly. He even cut himself a couple of times, but fortunately the bleeding was minimal.

He toweled himself off before opening the bag. Within, as expected, were a garter belt and a pair of nylons.

The garter belt was white, which he noted matched his panties and bra, which he hastily put back on.

He did up the garter belt, which fit him well. He sat on the toilet to draw the nylons up first one leg and then the other. The coolness against his smooth skin was unnerving. He fumbled with the plastic tabs on the garter belt, and then had to spend a full minute learning how to adjust the straps so that they were taut.

He became worried that he was taking too long. The prospect of more punishment compelled him to put his bra and panties on quickly. He found that his urgency was slowing him down as in his haste he made a mess of fastening the bra. He took a deep breath and consciously tried to calm down.

‘They won’t hurt me if I’m obedient’ he said to his reflection.

He had no problem with his skirt of blouse. However he found that the experience of walking in a skirt while wearing nylons was completely different than when he had had bare, hairy legs. The swish of his skirt against his legs was louder, yet felt softer. A delicious coolness tingled along the full length of his legs. He felt guilty about experiencing this momentary pleasure and resolved not to admit it even to himself.

He knocked on the door, which opened quickly. The escort eyed him up and down, before nodding and pointing down the hallway.

Michelle obediently led the way back to the classroom where he found the other trainees having their notebooks reviewed by Mistress.

Mistress looked up on Michelle’s entry.

"Welcome back Michelle. We’d thought that you had lost yourself in the pleasures of being a pretty girl. Do you like your nylons, girl?"

Michelle looked straight at his tormentor, paying no attention to the others, even though he knew that they were watching him. He sensed that they were torn between a hope that he would resist and a fear that he would be severely punished if he did.

"Yes, Mistress. I love my nylons. Thank you Mistress"

Mistress smiled.

"That’s a good girl!"

Michelle felt relief and moved towards his seat.

"Stop right there Michelle!"

He froze at the barked command, wondering what had gone wrong.

"Come here, girl"

He walked in front of the class, wary but lacking any choice.

"Lift up your skirt so that everyone can see your pretty garter belt and nylons"

He did so, avoiding looking at anyone.

Mistress stood beside him. She bent over ostentatiously looking at his groin. He knew that his penis was making a bulge in his panties. She reached in and stroked the soft satin where it bulged, and despite himself he felt a response. He heard a suppressed snicker from one of the trainees, but he could not tell who.

"Very nice, Michelle. although we will have to train you how to hide that ugly remnant of your earlier self"

Mistress straightened and Michelle began to lower his skirt. A quick word from Mistress made him stop.

"Michelle, how do you plan to use the lady’s room wearing your panties under your garter belt?"

He looked at her, feeling trapped. How was he supposed to answer?

"Sitting down, Mistress?"

"But how can you lower those pretty panties without a fuss, when the garter belt lies on top of them?"

"I’m sorry Mistress. I will wear my garter belt under my panties from now on"

"That’s right, girl. Unless you are being asked to pose for a photo shoot, you should be practical. Now you know that you made an error. Do you deserve to be punished?"

He wanted to scream at her. "No, you cruel, evil bitch! None of us deserve your sick, twisted punishment! Your crap about choices is just that: crap!!"

But he couldn’t bring himself to it. Instead he lowered his head and muttered.

"Yes, Mistress, I deserve to be punished"

"Louder, Michelle"

"Yes, Mistress. I deserve to be punished!"

Mistress leered at him.

"You do indeed, girl. And not just for wearing your clothes the wrong way.

How do girls use the toilet when they need to pass water?"

Oh god! They must see everything, he thought.

‘I’m sorry, Mistress. I forgot what I was doing. I stood when I should have sat, Mistress"

"Because you acknowledged your mistakes, Michelle, you will get off lightly today. Bend over."

Michelle bent over, emulating the position he had seen Karen assume earlier. He hoped for just three strokes, but Mistress administered six. Michelle was crying by the fifth stroke and was barely able to hobble to his seat when he was released.

He saw Julie smile sympathetically and despite his anguish that gesture made him feel marginally better.

The rest of the morning was spent watching a slide show, demonstrating more varieties of feminine fashion. The trainees made notes, spurred on by the promise of rigorous testing.

Then came a break for lunch. Michelle was ravenous by now despite the pains he had suffered so far. He was disappointed by the meager meal. Each trainee had a small green salad, without any dressing, and an apple. The only beverage was more of the orange juice which had been served at breakfast. Each trainee, other than Michelle, was led of to a bathroom, whether they needed to go or not.

Then it was off to a new room. This room had eight cubicles set up around the perimeter of the room. Before each cubicle sat a padded armless chair. A counter top was backed by a mirror surrounded by as many as a dozen low wattage bulbs. The counter tops were busy with jars, tubes, spray bottles, compacts, combs, a bewildering array of brushes and other paraphernalia.

The center of the room held an even more elaborate display of cosmetics and cosmetic applicants. The trainees were told to choose a cubicle and to turn their chairs so as to face the center.

What followed next was their first lesson in the proper use of cosmetics. It was this lesson to which Michelle paid little attention. He maintained an appropriate outer appearance, as if riveted by the lesson, but inside he was bewailing his fate, and in particular the cruel twist which had seen him singled out for two punishments that morning.. This self-pity combined with fruitless musings on the possibility of escape or revenge, distracted him from much of the lesson, including the half hour spent on the importance of blending shades of eyeshadow to obtain the most sensuous effect.

None of the trainees seemed to have much of a beard. However, none of them was permitted, or compelled, to actually use any makeup that afternoon.

"Not until you have properly smooth skin, girls" was the instruction.

Michelle was amazed at the apparent size and complexity of the place when he and the others were led to yet another room. Here eight desks, arrayed in two rows of four each, as with the chairs in the classroom, sat in the middle of the room. Atop each chair was a complicated device which resembled a cross between a computer and a tape machine and a pair of heavily padded headphones, attached to which was a small microphone.

The trainees were instructed to don the headphones. Michelle adjusted the arm carrying the microphone so that it was before his lips.

The set up reminded Michelle of a language laboratory from high school, from the time he had studied French. It turned out to be much the same idea, but instead of teaching a second language, the purpose was to teach the boys to speak as girls.

Michelle found himself being told to speak a phrase. He then listened to his voice played back to him. The machine voice told him whether his next attempt was an improvement.

This class was run by a male. The Master sat at a larger desk at the front of the room. It seemed that his monitor and headphones were connected to all of the trainees’ machines. Thus Michelle heard his voice interrupt early in the lesson, to warn that improvement was advisable.

"I want to be pretty. I want to be feminine"

Time after time, Michelle spoke those words and heard his own voice repeat them to his ears. Each time his voice was modulated a little differently. Each time his voice became a little softer, its pitch slightly higher, and he learned to raise his voice a trifle as he neared the end of the sentence.

The class took a break after about an hour. Michelle’s throat was dry and he eagerly joined his classmates in yet another glass of orange juice.

Their thirst slaked, the class resumed the voice lessons.

"I choose to be a girl. Obedience is important. Being pretty is important"

The new words became almost a mantra, repeated endlessly.

The long class was interrupted only once more, when Mary, a youth who had to this time avoided punishment, was deemed by the Master to be faking his compliance. Mary’s shrill protests were cut short by a shock administered by his escort. The sobbing victim was helped to his room by his room-mate, Karen, and the escort. Neither returned until the class was wrapping up. Michelle saw that both Karen and Mary were now wearing nylons. He shuddered at the inexorable nature of the treatment. Each punishment seemed not merely to inflict pain but also to move the victim a step further along the path laid out for them.

Speech class was followed by dinner, the most substantial meal they had been given yet. The trainees were served a soup, consisting of vegetables in a clear broth, followed by pasta with a rich creamy sauce. There was even dessert in the form of cheesecake. Each trainee was encouraged to drink two glasses of milk with the meal. Michelle felt full for the first time since he had awoken.

A Master announced that the evening was free. They were to remain in their rooms, but would be provided with reading material and there would be programming available on their televisions.

"As always, you will have choices to make. The reading material will be useful should you choose to co-operate in moving towards your new future. So too will the television programs. We do not insist that you make use of the opportunities afforded you, but we will be testing you to see whether you have. And you understand the implications of choice. I want you to tell me now: choices come with?"

The boys responded, in higher, softer tones than they had used earlier in the day:

"Consequences, Master"

"Good girls! You may go"

Michelle and Julie found themselves in their room. The bureau now displayed, in piles next to the television, an assortment of magazines and thin binders. Michelle sorted through the pile.

The magazines were all women’s or girls’ titles, including several copies of Cosmo, Young & Modern, Sassy and Sweet Sixteen. The binders turned out to contain what seemed at first glance to be reprints of romance novels.

Meanwhile Julie had turned on the television. Two channels offered selections. One seemed to be a video on makeup while the other offered a fashion show.

Michelle felt exhausted and emotionally spent. He was in no frame of mind to watch either of the channel selections, since they reminded him of the lessons they had endured that day.

"I’d rather read" he said.

He coughed to clear his throat. His voice had been too girlish, too influenced by the speech lessons. He determined that within this room, at least, he would try to sound like a boy.

"Okay, let me look" Julie rifled through the selection. Michelle looked at his room- mate, bent over the pile of magazines. He did look surprisingly feminine. His hair was unkempt, long enough to cover his ears and touch the collar of his blouse. He was small- framed, but then, Michelle realized, all of the trainees shared that basic characteristic. Julie was probably no more than five to ten pounds lighter than he was. They were much the same height, less than five foot seven. Of course, he thought, they wouldn’t have chosen any of us unless they thought that physically we could be made to look like girls.

Julie picked up a Cosmo and looked at him, raising his eyebrows as he asked, still in a girlish voice:

"You’re staring at me. What’s going on?"

Michelle turned away.

"It’s nothing, nothing at all"

He felt Julie’s hand on his sleeve.

"Don’t be like that, Michelle. We’re in this together. We all are. We have to hold together if we are to have any chance"

"It’s just that we’ve been here only one day and already we look as much like girls as we do boys!"

Despite his decision to maintain a male tone, he found with dismay that midway through his protest his voice took on a higher modulation.

Frustrated, he snatched up a binder at random and turned away. He laid on the bed, his back against the pillows, ignoring Julie who was still standing by the bureau, a look of consternation on his face.

Julie gazed at him for a few seconds more and then, shaking his head, sat in a chair and began flipping through the pages of his magazine.

The two boys spent the next hour quietly. Michelle noticed that Julie had browsed through several magazines while he read the first half of the novel. He had wondered why the novel was printed in a binder, on regular paper, rather than being provided, like the magazines, in the format in which it might have been sold in a store.

The mystery was solved early in the book.

The story was quite basic. The heroine was a beautiful young woman, who had little appreciation of how pretty she was. She had a sad history, looking after her invalid, widowed mother. There was a suggestion of an unhappy love affair in her past. She encountered a tall, dark and handsome young man, who despite obvious shyness, was attracted to her. She too felt a similar attraction, but obstacles were cast in the path of the two lovers-to-be. Dire peril threatened.

Michelle could tell that in some as yet undisclosed manner those perils would be overcome and true love would triumph. What caused him to gasp out loud was not the transparency of the plot or the overblown stereotypical description of the characters but the discovery of why the book was printed as it was.

‘Lucy wore her prettiest nightgown to bed that evening. She rarely wore this delight of silk and lace since it evoked feelings and possibilities which she feared might never come true for her. Feelings and possibilities of romance, of passion and fulfillment , to be found in the arms of some man. But tonight she succumbed to the temptation to wear her gown. Tonight she had hope that her dreams might some day come true. For this evening she had met young Dirk Graham. His tall, dark features had come to life when they had been introduced. Her pulse quickened as she recalled how his hand had lingered on hers, how his eyes had smiled at her. She felt a stirring in her groin as her penis rose, pressing against the delicate silk. She allowed her hand to stray to her groin, to softly stroke her engorged organ as she fantasized. Perhaps one day she might wear this gown to his bed. It might be his hand, or even, madly daring, his lips which brought pleasure to her, as she longed to bring pleasure to him! Her breath grew ragged and her eyes lost focus as she imagined his holding her in his strong arms, his firm lips pressing against hers and the delight in his expression as he became aware of the visible proof of her desire.’

The heroine was a boy! The book was designed to reinforce an acceptance that a boy could feel and act as a girl! There was even a sketch of the heroine, lying on top of her bed, in much the same pose as Michelle now found himself in. ‘She’ was clad in a flowing negligee, her breasts clearly visible, as was a conspicuous bulge in the area of her groin. Michelle could not help but recall the arousal he had involuntarily exhibited when the Mistress had caressed his genitals when he had been forced to display his nylons.

He threw the book down in disgust.

Julie looked up from his magazine.

‘What’s up, Michelle?"

Michelle stood up.

"This is getting too weird! I’ve got to get out of these clothes. I’m taking

a shower"

He strode into the bathroom where he proceeded to undress, throwing his clothes on the floor. A pang of guilt struck him as he was about to climb into the shower, but he refused to pick up any of the discarded garments.

He pulled out the butt plug, wincing as his sphincter muscles closed behind it. He refused to look at it, throwing it into the waste basket beside the toilet.

He turned the water on as hot as he could bear, standing beneath the cascading water trying to forget where he was, trying to immerse himself mentally as well as physically in the reality of the hot water streaming over his body.

The hot water seemed inexhaustible, and it was still running at full heat by the time that he staggered out into the steam-filled room. A fan had come on automatically, but the mirror was still clouded such that he could see none of his reflection. His skin was pink all over, and pools of moisture had accumulated on the bare tile beneath his feet. His clothes were where he had left them. Fear of retribution overcame his reluctance and he picked them up, sorting and folding them, concerned that he might have damaged the delicate weave of the nylons.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and, carrying his clothes, returned to the bedroom.

Julie was now lying on his bed, as Michelle had been doing. He had picked up the binder which Michelle had thrown down. He looked up at Michelle’s return.

"This is weird stuff, isn’t it? They are trying everything! Even writing sick stuff like this"

Michelle nodded.

"I can’t handle it. Look, they told us we don’t have to go along; we have choices. Let’s choose to stop"

"But you know they don’t mean it. The choices are illusions, unless you like pain!"

"They wouldn’t dare really harm us. This is abuse! They’ll go to jail when they get caught"

Julie looked silently at Michelle before speaking again.

"That’s just it, isn’t it? What they’ve already done would get them in big trouble. They’ve kidnapped us, drugged us, beaten and tortured us. And look at this place! How many people do you think are involved? What’s it all cost? I don’t think they expect to get caught. I think they believe that they can get away with anything!"

Michelle considered this statement. Try as he might, he could find no flaw in the argument. Maybe resistance really was futile.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked.

Julie looked sad.

"One of the reasons I left home was that my dad was so mean to me. He accused me of being a weakling, of being a no-good faggot! Just because I was small!

He’s a big man; it’s my mom who’s tiny. I take after her. I got beat up at school and I could never make any team. He was a jock and he hates me! Last time he spoke to me he called me a girly- boy"

Julie’s pain was evident in his tone. His eyes were damp with incipient tears.

"Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m supposed to be a girl. Maybe this is the best solution"

"Don’t say that! It’s not true! My step-dad was an asshole too. But I’m not letting these bastards change the way I am!"

Julie looked at him. Michelle suddenly realized that he was holding an entire set of girl’s clothing, which he had been wearing all day. His legs were smooth and hairless, and even his voice had changed!

He threw the clothes blindly atop the bureau and drew back the covers. He was part way under the satin sheets when Julie’s voice intruded on his escape.

"I think we’re supposed to get dressed before going to sleep"

He rolled over to look at his room-mate, who was holding up a peach colored babydoll nightgown.

"I found mine in the top drawer on my side of the bureau, along with some other things I think we are supposed to wear."

"I don’t care. I’m on strike from now on. I am making my choice!"

Julie looked concerned, but after a few seconds, walked to the bathroom, carrying his nightgown.

"It’s your choice" was all he said.

Michelle spent a restless night, unable to get to sleep until long after the red numerals on the alarm clock read three am. He awoke to the abrupt sound of the alarm, knowing that he had had bad dreams but unable to recall any details.

He was blessed with a few seconds of disorientation before memory returned, and with it his resolve not to cooperate. His compliance yesterday had, he thought, been caused by hunger, fear and surprise. Now he knew what was going on. He would be tougher today! Maybe, surely, others would join him in his protest.

A soft voice over the speakers, which he still had not located, announced that all girls were expected in the breakfast room in forty minutes, showered and appropriately dressed.

He heard Julie getting out of bed. He saw that he had worn his nightgown to bed. Julie grimaced at him as he padded past. Michelle stayed in bed. He had seen that all the male clothing set out yesterday had been removed before they had returned to their room, so that he had no male clothing to wear and he would be damned if he would wear any more female clothing.

Julie showered, taking longer than Michelle had expected, until he realized from the tiny smear of blood he saw on the back of Julie’s thigh when he returned, that Julie must have decided to shave his legs.

He watched with a morbid fascination the process by which Julie got dressed.

It seemed that Julie had given up, and was now actively co-operating. The towel which he wore on leaving the bathroom was wrapped not around his waist, but around his chest, as if he were concealing breasts!

Julie stood with his back to Michelle while he selected items from the bureau. Michelle noticed that Julie’s clothes from yesterday were neatly folded on his bed.

Julie put on a padded bra first, this time with no difficulty adjusting it correctly. It was in a pale pink cotton. He chose a matching garter belt and then silk panties of the same delicate hue. The boy sat on the edge of his bed to roll on his stockings. Even from his vantage point, to the rear and side of the boy, Michelle could see that Julie was pleasantly surprised by the feel of the nylons as he pulled them up his legs. Michelle recalled how that had felt for him yesterday and colored at the memory. Nothing about this process should be feel good, he protested internally.

Julie, now clad in his underwear and looking even more like a young woman, walked to the closet, disappearing within for several minutes. When he emerged it was wearing a dress!

His had chosen a dress made of pink cotton, with a white collar. The full bodice narrowed to a small waist, which Michelle thought must be very uncomfortable, although no sign of distress was apparent on the pretty boy’s face. The skirt flared out, ending just below Julie’s knees. Julie saw him looking and stopped to twirl in place, his skirts ballooning out around him.

Michelle felt anger mounting at what he saw as a betrayal by Julie of his masculinity. How could he give up without a fight! He had not even been particularly hard done by yesterday!

He turned away and pulled the covers over his head.

His bed creaked and he felt Julie sit down beside him. Julie tried to pull the covers back, but Michelle clung tight.

"This is very dangerous, Michelle. I’m afraid you will be badly hurt"

"Go away you fairy!" he replied.

"My name is Michael; I’m not a faggot like you! I’m a guy, and I’m going to remain a guy!"

He felt Julie stand and move away. He snuck a glance at the clock. The forty minutes announced by the speaker was almost up. Tendrils of fear snaked their way through his belly. His fierce words notwithstanding, he was terrified of what might happen next. He squeezed his eyes closed and wished himself away from here.

‘Dear god, I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. I’m sorry I never went to church. If you get me out of here, I’ll be the best man, the best believer you could ever want’

His silent prayers were interrupted by the click of the door unlocking.

"Good luck"

Julie’s parting words were cold comfort as he lay huddled beneath the covers. His racing mind invented new tortures with every minute. He heard a scream, abruptly cut off, as if the victim had lapsed into unconsciousness. He knew that that meant that he was not alone in his protest. The scream turned his insides to water and he almost decided to give up now. He screwed up his courage, berating himself beneath his breath for being a coward.

It was almost a relief when he heard two adults move into the room. The covers were rudely thrown back and he cowered beneath the angry glare of two leather-clad Masters.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, girl?"

"I’m not a girl" he whispered.

"What did she say?"

"She said she was not a girl"

‘I thought as much. Well, it’s her choice I suppose"

The first speaker leaned over and held out his right hand. Michelle saw that he held an egg-shaped device on the end of which were two small metal circles.

"Do you know what this does, Michelle?"

The question was asked in a casual manner, believing the threat implicit in the gesture.

Michelle felt as if he were about to lose control of his body, but he summonsed his reserves of strength.

"You told us we have choices. I choose to be a boy. You can’t force me to be a girl"

"We don’t force anyone, Michelle. But all choices have consequences. You have chosen not to act appropriately. You removed your butt plug, you treated your pretty clothes improperly, and this morning you chose not to attend breakfast attired as an young girl eager to continue her journey to femininity. That’s a lot of choices, and that means you face a lot of consequences"

"Fuck off"

The brave, foolhardy, rebuttal lost much of its intended effect because the speaker had half-turned away, moving without volition into a fetal position.

The Master smiled almost regretfully before lowering his hand so that the metal circles on the eggshaped device brushed the youngster’s bare flesh.

The screams that followed were heard even in the breakfast room. The two Masters were thankful for the ear plugs they had inserted before administering the lesson.

Three times the device was applied, although Michelle was so lost in the depths of his agony that he had no way to count. The assault made yesterday’s pale in comparison.

The red haze which had filled his vision and the appalling sounds torn from his throat receded, leaving Michelle alone in his bed. He realized with a sense of self-disgust that his bowels had failed him, leaving him lying in a pool of his own urine mixed with his own shit.

He crawled out of bed and into the bathroom. The water from shower felt good on his skin. He scrubbed himself clean, his whimpering diminishing slowly.

He dried himself off and then stepped into the bedroom. He had wrapped himself in a bathtowel and realized, apathetically, that he was holding it in the same manner as Julie: held up around his breasts, as if a feminine modesty required that he shield them from display.

He cringed when he saw a leather-clad person in the room. It was a Mistress, which reduced his terror slightly.

She smiled at him, and he felt himself relax as she spoke.

‘I’m not here to show you any more consequences, Michelle. I assume that you have endured enough to persuade you to make a different choice? That you wish to become a girl, now?"

He nodded.

‘Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry I was so foolish"

"Honey, you are entitled to explore your options. You made a choice. That was your right. Now you understand the consequences of that choice and you are free to reconsider. We don’t penalize our girls for being slow to choose, so long as they make the right choice"

The woman made it all sound so fair, so reasonable. A small voice within Michelle wanted to hurl this nonsense back in her face. But that small voice was drowned out by an overwhelming desire not to do or say anything that might cause the pain to return.

"Thank you, Mistress"

"Now, Michelle, when a girl makes a bad choice and then seeks our permission to make a better choice, we like her to demonstrate her commitment by going a step beyond her classmates. I will leave you to decide what choice you make, dear"

Michelle swallowed hard, forcing back the fear which had risen like a tide on hearing the concealed threat. He knew that he would never hear his being offered a choice without being terrified of the consequences of another poor decision.

He waited until the door closed behind the departing Mistress before opening the bureau drawers. The top drawer contained a peach silk nightgown identical to the one worn by Julie. He pushed it aside, knowing that what he sought lay deeper within.

He chose powder blue lingerie, its lacy trimmings negating any suggestion that the color might reflect against his sought-after femininity. He fought back sniffles as he fastened his bra, accepting that this very act completed his surrender.

By the time he had fastened his garter belt and donned his panties, he was beginning to feel somewhat better. With each motion he felt as if he was reducing the possibility of further punishment; he felt as if he was making the right choice.

The feelings engendered by pulling his stockings up his legs and attaching the garters aided his recovery. The parting words uttered by the Mistress occurred to him just as he was about to walk to the closet in search of his dress.

Returning to the lingerie drawer he drew out a camisole. It was in a shimmering white silk, with lace bodice. He drew it over his head, passing his arms through the shoulder straps. It covered his bra nicely, and ended at his waist. Then he pulled out a half slip in matching fabric, feeling for the first time in his young life the delight of silk sliding over silk as he pulled the slip up his legs and adjusted it around his waist.

The coolness he was now familiar with from wearing nylons for most of the previous day was emphasized by the feel of his lingerie as he walked to the closet. He even felt his penis begin to stir. A smile rose unbidden to his lips and a careful watcher might have detected a slight increase in the sway of his hips, even though his eyes remained red and swollen, reminders of the troubles which had begun his day.

This was his first venture into the closet and he was surprised at its size. It was divided into two, with name tags displayed in the form of stickers affixed to the wall immediately inside. His name appeared on the right while the left contained Julie’s wardrobe. He saw that could choose a dress identical to the one selected by Julie, but he was not content to simply copy his room-mate. He felt that he needed to show a more focused choice.

It was the third dress he took off the rack which he thought would do. A shirtwaist dress in plain white cotton, the buttons of which were covered in what seemed to be pink velvet, it had short sleeves and a full, knee-length skirt. A pink velvet belt added a touch of color. He saw that at the end of his row stood a row of shelving, each shelf tilted at an oblique angle, displaying maybe a dozen pairs of shoes. One pair stood out.

They seemed almost too fragile to bear his weight, but he quickly discovered that they fit perfectly. They had a closed, pointed toe and a heel decorated by a small white bow at the rear. What made them perfect was that they were in a pink satin which matched the color of the buttons and belt for his dress. A shelf at eye-level, above the rows of shoes, contained several purses and handbags. He drew down a small pink purse, with a slender shoulder strap. He knew without any instruction that the purse went with the shoes.

He ducked into the bathroom to check his appearance, walking slowly since the heels he was now wearing were a full inch higher than those he had worn yesterday. He was on the point of leaving when he saw the slim gold cylinder standing on end by the sink.

He picked it up. He saw that the upper half of the cylinder would pull off. He knew what he would find inside, and he began to tremble in anticipation, half-praying that he was wrong.

The lipstick was crimson red, the same shade as Denise and Suzanne had sported yesterday. He knew what was expected of him.

His hand moved slowly. His eyes seemed expressionless, but that was an illusion. Within his mind a battle was being waged, a battle whose outcome had been decided in those seconds of excruciating agony that morning. Doomed though his resistance was, still a part of him tired to stop his hand as it painstakingly applied the crimson lipstick to his lips, taking care to magnify the rosebud appearance of his mouth.

The youth who emerged from the bathroom had made a conscious choice and was happy to have done so. He was not surprised when the door lock clicked open as he reached for the handle. An escort waited for him outside. This time Michelle watched the escort as she examined the boy and his appearance. This time, Michelle experienced not only relief but a brief feeling of pleasure at the obvious approval shown by the murmured "Good girl" with which the escort announced her opinion.

Michelle concentrated on the moment, on the second by second experience of walking down the hall. His heels clacked on the floor, while his nylons tugged at his garter belt with each step. He felt the contrasting material of his dress move against his lingerie.

Breakfast was over by the time that he was led into the eating area. He had expected to be led directly to the classroom, but saw that the others had been kept waiting for him. All but one, that is. He knew that the missing boy must be the one whose scream he had heard shortly before he had been shown the consequences of his choice.

He was allowed to sit in the vacant chair next to Julie, who smiled sympathetically at him. All the others avoided his gaze, and he wondered why. It was as he picked up the glass of juice waiting for him that he realized why.

A large television monitor had been wheeled in on a metal stand. He could see into his room, his bed still wet and stained. His suffering must have been witnessed by everyone!

He blushed fiercely as he sat beside Julie.

Julie leaned towards him and whispered.

"We saw all of it, Michelle. You were so brave!"

Michelle looked up, seeing that Julie was almost in tears. He felt a wave of compassion as he realized that Julie truly cared for him.

‘Thank you, Julie. I wasn’t brave; I was stupid. I won’t make the same mistake again"

A Master stepped forward.

"Julie and Michelle, why don’t you share your thoughts with all of us?"

Michelle came close to collapsing again but was saved by Julie’s calm response. Standing and taking Michelle’s hand in his, he turned to the Master, and in a high, fluting voice said:

"I apologize Master. I did not mean to be disrespectful. Michelle is my friend and she has had a difficult time, as we all saw. I wanted to tell her that I thought that she had been very brave to make her choice to join us"

Michelle stared at the Master, terrified that he would inflict more pain on him. The Master pondered his decision for a moment.

"Michelle, do you think that you are a brave girl?"

"No Master. I was a stupid girl. Now I have made a better choice and I thank you for allowing me to change my mind"

"Well spoken, girl!"

Michelle only realized how tense he had become when his body relaxed on hearing those words.

An escort appeared as he sat, bringing him a glass of orange juice. He drank it, feeling the cool liquid soothe his throat, which was still raw from the screaming he had done while being punished.

There remained one boy missing as the seven now present were led to the classroom. Michelle saw that all of them now wore dresses and nylons. Denise, Suzanne and he were the only ones wearing makeup. He saw Denise look at him but turn away immediately.

Michelle sat down next to Julie, trying to put the terror of the morning out of his mind. He found that the only way to do so was to concentrate on the present, to devote as much effort as possible to what they were being told to do during the class.

The same Mistress who had taught them yesterday was in charge during the first hour of class today. The topic was the material which they had read or watched last night. It soon became clear that each pair of trainees had had available the same choices, but had made different selections. Only one other couple had read one of the binders, for instance, and they had read a different story. The story may have been different, but the theme had been the same: a heroine who had been born a boy but who had chosen to live as a girl and whose plight, and eventual happiness, was that of a stereotypical romance heroine.

Each trainee was called upon to describe how he had spent the previous evening. Michelle’s turn soon came.

"Michelle, as with the others, I want you to be perfectly honest in your opinions. So long as you are describing what you felt last night, you are not making a choice, so there will be no consequences, even if you misunderstood what you were reading or watching. DO you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Michelle took a deep breath before embarking upon his fuller answer.

" I read a story about a boy called Lucy"

"Michelle, are you sure that Lucy was a boy? In what gender did Lucy think?"

"I’m sorry, Mistress. Lucy thought of himself as a girl, and he was referred to as a she, but, Mistress, she had a penis. Girls don’t have penises."

Michelle’s legs were shaking as he stood his ground. Despite the Mistress’s promise, he knew that she would not like his answer and he feared that he would suffer a ‘consequence’.

"That’s a good point, Michelle. I’m glad you brought it up, because it is a common misunderstanding amongst youngsters like you"

She paused, marshaling her thoughts before continuing.

"We believe that gender identity need have little to do with genetic makeup.

Gender identity can be learned. That’s the whole idea behind this program. You are here to learn a different gender identity than you were given while very young. Of course, it is your choice whether you adopt your feminine self as your true self, but we hope that you will. You, for example Michelle, have chosen to wear some perfectly delightful lingerie. You selected it yourself, didn’t you?

"Yes Mistress" Michelle blushed.

‘Don’t be ashamed, dear. You made an excellent choice, exactly as you did when you asked to be allowed to wear nylons yesterday. You do remember that it was your idea, don’t you?"

"Yes, Mistress"

She turned to look towards the entire class.

‘You see, children, even Michelle here, who tried so hard this morning to be a boy, admits that she prefers to wear girl’s clothing. And of course.." she smiled at them

"You’re all wearing lingerie, nylons, and pretty dresses. Did anyone tell you what to wear?"

"No Mistress" came the chorus of replies.

"There, you see. Only your second day here and you have all selected a feminine approach! It won’t be long until you all see yourselves as girls, just like the heroines in the books we have provided for your enjoyment."

She looked again at Michelle, who was still standing, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. He was all too well aware of the image he must present. Every motion, no matter how slight, reminded him of the clothes he was wearing, the clothes, which as the Mistress had pointed out, he had chosen to wear. No one had told him which panties to wear, which bra to put on. Certainly he had chosen the camisole and slip for the sole purpose of demonstrating his sincerity in wishing to become a girl.

"Michelle, why don’t you lift your dress and show the other girls the pretty slip you chose for yourself this morning. And tell the girls why you used lipstick"

He walked to the front of the class and turned to face the others before raising the hem of his dress to waist level. He stared at the far wall, over the heads of the trainees.

"I chose lipstick this morning, Mistress, because I wanted to proof that I had made the right choice"

Every word was increased his anguish, but he knew that he could not allow any sign of that to shadow his face.

Mistress seemed satisfied that she had put Michelle through enough torment. The boy returned to his seat and tried to ignore his desperation, paying as much attention as he could to the next hapless victim of the ongoing indoctrination.

The balance of the day was more or less a repeat of the first day’s schedule.

Lunch saw the missing trainee return.

His name was Louise, and he had been one of the trainees who had gotten off without any punishment yesterday. Not so this morning. He still looked pale and unsteady on his feet as he minced in, wearing an outfit very similar to Michelle’s. The other trainees looked up at his entrance and a collective gasp filled the room.

Louise had changed far more than any of the others. His hair, which as with all of them, had been worn long but untidy, had been styled. He had short bangs falling over his forehead, while the rest of his hair was pulled back and tied in two pig-tails. Pink ribbons kept his hair under control. His face too was different. Michelle realized, with a start, that the boy’s eyebrows had been plucked into two high, narrow arcs. Subtle makeup around his eyes magnified the effect of this change, leaving the boy looking somehow younger, more vulnerable, and yet more sophisticated all at the same time. More sophisticated in a feminine sense, of course.

The paleness of the boy’s face was relieved by the delicate blush which either he or someone else had applied to his cheeks. His lipstick was a soft coral pink, and Michelle saw that his nails were painted in the same shade.

The boy’s escort stopped him halfway into the room, by the merest touch on the boy’s shoulder.

The Master supervising lunch stood.

"Girls, please welcome back Louise. You all saw the difficult consequences which Michelle and Louise chose to accept this morning. Michelle, I know that you did not witness Louise’s choice, but she paid even more serious consequences than you, so you may imagine how poor a choice she must have made!"

Michelle burned inside, but merely smiled timidly in response to this attention.

"Louise, tell your friends what you have chosen now"

Louise stood with her heels pressed together, his weight on the balls of his feet. The trainees waited with bated breath. Michelle had a very bad feeling about this.

The boy began in a falsetto, which continually broke as he stumbled through his speech. It seemed to his audience that he was still struggling to regain control of his body while he did so, noticeably swaying back and forth and needing the unobtrusive support of his escort to remain upright.

"Thank you Master. I have chosen to become a girl as fast as I can. I would like al my friends and fellow trainees to think of me as a girl. Please refer to me as a ‘she’. I do not ever want to be treated as a boy again"

"Good girl! Now, let’s have a round of applause for this little girl"

Michelle found himself clapping along with the others. Louise responded with a frightened smile as she made her way to the vacant seat beside her room-mate.

The realization that one of their number apparently now thought of himself as ‘she’ was a chilling reminder of the rapid pace at which the indoctrination was proceeding. Michelle tried to summon the resolution to fight on, but the lessons of the morning deprived him of the courage or the ability. He knew that he could be persuaded to make a speech similar to the one Louise had just made, and that in all likelihood he would be doing so very soon.

The afternoon saw them learning more about makeup. This time they got to practice. Most of the lesson was on the proper use and application of foundation. They learned that many factors went into which makeup to use; the time of day, the season, the social purpose..

"Girls like you will always want to use at least a touch of makeup. You were selected because you have good skin, with only a light race of ugly facial hair. But your pores are larger than most girls. We can help you with that and, if you chose, we can permanently remove all facial hair. But even so, you will probably want to wear a touch of makeup all the time."

Louise was the first to raise a hand.

‘Yes, Louise?"

"Mistress, when can I have my facial hair removed?"

"You can be the first girl to receive the treatment, starting tomorrow morning. The rest of you should give some thought to your choice, we will want you to make a decision by lunch tomorrow"

Her tone was so light that a stranger watching the proceedings would have been puzzled by the tension evident in the faces of the trainees as they heard the deadline announced. Each of them knew the choice they would make, but each pretended even to themselves that they would postpone that decision until the last minute. Some even fantasized that they would choose to reject the offer. Michelle harbored no such fantasy. He knew that if need be he would go down on his knees to beg to have the treatment, if the alternative was to make a ‘choice’ which would generate another touch from that device used so casually on him that morning.

The afternoon finally drew to an end. The trainees filed into the eating area expecting their long-sought meal. Breakfast, which Michelle had missed, and lunch had been as scanty as yesterday and the boys were looking forward to a more substantial meal. Their hopes were dashed, for a while anyway.

By now Michelle was beginning to recognize some of the faces and voices of the various Masters and Mistresses. He had learned that some seemed to play only the role of escort while others alternated between being mostly silent escorts and being an instructor. The woman who addressed them now was usually an escort.

"Girls, we are going to have a brief discussion about what is probably the most important topic an adult human can discuss: S-E-X: sex."

That introduction drew the attention of all of the boys.

"Who among you has had sex? I don’t mean masturbation, I mean sex with another person"

Six of the eight cautiously raised their hands, Michelle among them. His experience had been limited to two encounters with a girl from school, both in the back of her mother’s car. Neither had been very satisfactory. He saw that Julie was one of the two who had not raised his hand.

"About what I expected. Now, how many of you have had sex with a man?"

All the hands lowered.

"I’m sure that at the time you had sex you believed that you were having straight sex. But each of you has chosen to become a girl. Some of you have consciously made and announced that choice"

The Mistress paused and smiled at Louise and Michelle, who sank back into his chair as if trying to become invisible.

"You others are on your way. Close your eyes and review what you are wearing and how it feels"

Michelle complied even though he wondered if the command had been directed at him as well as those who had not been public in their decision to become girls. He squirmed on his seat, feeling his butt plug move against him. He found that the sensation was no longer disturbing, it was almost pleasant. He felt cool and comfortable in his clothes. The straps of his bra, and the presence of the weight on his chest had become transparent to his senses and he realized how unusual they were only when he focused as instructed. He was surprised at how quickly he had forgotten that he was dressed in a weird, abnormal way.

"That’s enough!"

He opened his eyes. The Mistress was standing before them, her hands on her hips.

"There is nothing wrong with desiring sex with girls. For you it would be gay sex. Straight sex for girls means sex with men. But as anyone who has attended an all-girls boarding school can tell you, gay sex is quite common. It is a human reaction, and none of you need feel at all inhibited or ashamed if those urges come upon you. Sex is good, in all its forms, and we encourage all our girls to explore their sexuality. Enjoy!"

With that, the Mistress left the room, leaving behind an embarrassed silence where each trainee studiously avoided eye contact with any other.

The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of supper, wheeled in on two large carts. The trainees concentrated on eating, each acting as if he were alone.

Michelle remained silent until he and Julie were back in their room. He needed to use the bathroom. This time, when he removed his butt plug, he laid it on the side of the sink. He washed it carefully after he had finished his business. He looked beneath the sink and found a container of lubricant. Depressing the lever atop the jar, he took a dab of lubricant and carefully greased the plug before reinserting it in his rectum. He caught a glimpse of his reflection as he straightened. He looked at himself.

His hair was still boyish, and unruly mess. He had reapplied his lipstick at the close of the class on makeup, but other than that his skin was bare. He looked pale, as if he had lost weight even in the short time he had been here. His eyes seemed bloodshot and red- rimmed.

Despite the lipstick, he still looked like a boy, at least from the neck up.

Beneath the neck was a different story.

The top three buttons of his dress were undone, revealing the lacy top of his camisole. Looking closely at his reflection, he could make out the impression of his bra straps beneath the white cotton of his dress. His fake breasts looked modest but real, and the pink belt seemed to accentuate the slenderness of his waist. The vanity cut off his reflection at the waist, but he knew that his lower half was even more feminine in appearance.

He remained at the sink to brush his teeth. He decided that since he and Julie were locked in for the evening, he could remove his lipstick now. He smiled wanly at his reflection, his mind fleeting back for an instant of longing for the days before he had run away. Dreadful though he had felt his situation had been, it was infinitely superior to his current plight.

He walked back into the room, where he saw that Julie was getting undressed.

He watched as the young man took off his shoes, wriggling his toes in relief.

"Wow! I hadn’t realized how constricting these shoes are! And wearing heels!"

Julie looked at Michelle sympathetically.

"I saw that you’re wearing even higher heels. Why don’t you take them off and relax?"

Michelle nodded.

"Yeah, I think you’re right"

He noted that he was still speaking as he had been learning in the lab. He coughed and tried again as he removed his shoes and placed them neatly beneath the bed..

‘That’s better" he exclaimed, feeling his calves relax. He had not been aware of how much his legs had been aching until the pain went away. Julie interrupted him, nervously.

"Oh Michelle. I don’t think you should try to talk like that"

Michelle quailed inside. He was being an idiot. He knew from bitter experience that there was no privacy.

"You’re right, Julie. I just forgot for a second. I feel so silly!"

He looked up at the ceiling. Maybe the camera was in the airvent?

"If you are listening, Mistress or Master, I’m sorry. I do want to be a girl!

I will try harder!"

He looked down, biting his lip while trying to regain his composure. Julie was still undressing.

He was removing his dress, reaching with difficulty behind him to undo the tiny buttons which ran down the back from his collar to his waist.

‘I don’t know how I got them done up this morning" he complained.

Michelle crossed to him.

"Let me help" he said, unfastening the buttons.

He saw how white and smooth Julie’s back was, and then saw the bra strap lying against the skin. He remembered the one time he had removed his girlfriend’s bra. She had been turned away from him, seated in that old chevy. She had been impatient, urging him to work faster, while he had fumbled with the unfamiliar hooks. Her back had been freckled, with a tiny black mole on her left shoulder blade. Julie’s skin seemed softer, smoother, more feminine. He felt blood engorge his penis and almost surrendered to an impulse to kiss that soft back. Instead, he swallowed hard and stepped back.

"That should do it"

"Thanks, Michelle"

Julie walked to the closet, holding his dress carefully. There was a definite sway to those hips. Michelle thought for an instant that maybe Julie had known that he was watching and had emphasized the rolling of his hips in order to maximize the effect his appearance had on his audience. ‘Did he know that I nearly kissed him?’

Julie was not in the closet for long. His eyes locked on Michelle’s as he strode back into the room. Julie was making no attempt to hide what he was doing now.

He stopped and put one hand on his hip, bent at the wrist, and with the other he pushed his hair up onto the back of his scalp. He bent one knee, transferring the weight to his other foot, and stuck out his rear.

"Well, do I look cute or what?" he asked, plainly trying to sound seductive and coy.

Michelle stared at the youth. Julie was still wearing a bra, panties, garter belt and nylons. His legs were slim and shapely, and while it was obvious that his bra was heavily padded, he looked far prettier than Michelle had expected. Michelle’s penis rose further and he felt his pulse quicken. Julie was very aware of what was happening and his own penis began to press against the satin front of his panties.

It was that realization that broke the spell for Michelle. He forced a laugh, remembering to keep it light and girlish.

"Oh honey!" he cried, in an exaggerated manner.

"You are just too gorgeous!"

Julie looked briefly annoyed but then seemed to decide to go along with Michelle’s patently obvious attempt to pretend that what had just happened had only been a poor parody by Julie rather than what they both knew it had been.

Michelle felt uncomfortable for the rest of the evening and buried himself in the magazines, ignoring the subtle efforts Julie made to engage him in conversation. He could not bring himself to pick up the binder containing the Lucy story, but he saw that Julie devoured it, oohing and aahing under his breath and continually trying to catch Michelle’s attention when he came to a particularly ‘good’ bit.

The next morning found the two boys dressing side-by-side. Michelle was still feeling uncomfortable around Julie, who seemed to him to be far too accepting of their situation. He groused internally. He was the one who had suffered! He was the one who had no choice but to appear compliant! Julie was giving in far too easily. Maybe Julie’s father had been right, and Julie really was a fairy or something.

Michelle kept these thoughts to himself as the boys chose their lingerie for the day. Julie selected a short slip which he held up to himself and asked Michelle whether it would look good.

"No one will be able to see it, Julie! It’s underwear after all!"

"Oh, Michelle! Don’t be so grumpy. We have to wear these clothes, so we might as well have some fun while we’re doing it!"

Michelle thought that maybe Julie had read too much from that book last night.

Soon they were walking together to find breakfast. Julie was wearing a yellow sundress while Michelle had chosen a short cream skirt and a pretty white blouse, with long, generous sleeves gathered at the wrists by tiny pearl buttons.

They were finishing the modest meal when a Master made an announcement.

"Today will be different, girls. All of you, except Louise, need to do something about your hair. You will each visit our stylist who will help you make a choice of how you would like your hair to be. Then, by noon, each of you must let us know whether you wish to have your facial hair permanently removed. Those who choose to have it taken away will be called to the electrolysis studio in turn. Most of you will need at least two treatments, which will be spaced over several days."

That was not the only difference. The boys were led into a large, well lit room with a high ceiling and a hardwood floor. A row of chairs stood along one wall and the boys were instructed to sit. A single chair stood in the middle of the room, maybe ten feet in front of the others. Michelle saw that the group was now accompanied by only two escorts. He bleakly concluded that their trainers now knew that the likelihood of real disobedience was non-existent. Looking within himself, he knew that such an assessment was certainly true as far as he was concerned. And if Julie was any guide, he suspected that some of the group had internally crossed over from opposition to acceptance.

The boys had sat, all in a row, with their hands crossed in their laps when in strode the same Master and Mistress who had given them their initial lecture.

The woman spoke first, standing comfortably beside the single chair.

"Girls, it’s time you learned better deportment. There is so much for you to learn, now that you have made the choice to become feminine. And so much to unlearn!"

She continued.

"For example, look at the way you are sitting! Anyone who cared to bend down could see the underwear most of you are wearing! Put those knees together, ladies!"

As Michelle complied he heard a giggle from Julie, seated to his right. He had to bite back a surge of annoyance. No doubt Julie had already had his knees together in a ladylike fashion.

"Michelle, come forward"

He stood and walked to the indicated spot, adjacent to the chair beside which the instructors were standing.

"Now sit on the chair"

He did so, being careful to hold his knees together.

"Stand up and bend over"

He did not understand why, but he knew he had done something wrong. He saw the Master approach, bearing a yardstick. The two strokes he received told him that his error had been minor and inadvertent.

He stood silently as Mistress addressed the class.

"Michelle is a good girl, but she needs to work on her deportment, as do all of you. When she sat, she kept her legs together, which was good, but she made a serious mistake by not smoothing her skirt beneath her. As a result, she risked wrinkling her skirt. We noticed yesterday that several of you really made a mess of your dresses. Sometimes mistakes like this can leave your slip showing, or raise a short skirt so far that the hem rises above your nylons, showing your garters."

She placed her hand on Michelle’s shoulder. He felt the slight pressure as she squeezed his shoulder gently. It was a comforting gesture, and he felt gratitude towards her. He knew that his punishment had been remarkably lenient. Perhaps Mistress liked him. It was an odd thought and more than a little disquieting.

"Do it again, Michelle"

He sat down on the chair, taking care to smooth his skirt with his right hand, while keeping his knees together. It felt strange to have to worry about moving correctly when doing such a simple thing, but he knew that soon it would become second nature.

"Good girl!"

He blushed in response to the ebullient tone of the phrase.

"Now, girls, each of you practice"

The group stood and sat, stood and sat, in a flurry of skirts, Michelle remaining in the middle of the room while carrying out the instructions.

Once the instructors were satisfied that their charges had learned this lesson, the group moved on to more demanding work. They had gained some ability to walk in heels, from sheer necessity, but with one or two exceptions, and here Julie was singled out for praise, they still resembled boys in dresses when they walked.

They were provided heavy, thick books to place on their heads and told to take short steps, placing one foot in front of the other, rather than walking with their feet spread apart.

Time and again the boys would make it for one or two steps and then lose their balance, the books crashing to the floor. Michelle was worried, when this happened to him for the third time in a row, that he would be punished once more, but the instructors seemed unconcerned with the slow rate of progress.

The group spent the entire morning learning to walk properly. By noon each boy was able to stand from his chair, make two complete circuits of the room, and return gracefully to his seat without disturbing the book on his head. Michelle watched the others with a sense of detachment, observing that this style of walking caused the boys to swivel their hips in a very feminine way. He recalled how Julie had walked around the room last night, but that now seemed more parody than reality. Julie’s walk now was far more fluid, more convincing. He knew that he too looked every bit a girl as he minced around the room, one hand held on his hip and the other dangling, bent wristed, by his side.

His calves and low back were aching as he made his way with the others to eat lunch. He could tell from strained expressions on several faces that he was not alone in feeling the effects of the altered body mechanics. The Master acknowledged the existence of these consequences when he spoke at the beginning of the meal.

"You should all feel very good about yourselves. You are a delight to train.

I can’t recall any other group of girls who adapted so well to the training! We know that it isn’t easy. You are all feeling some discomfort now. That is to be expected, but don’t worry. Your bodies will adjust to these new ways, and soon it would be painful to pretend to be a boy! Keep up the good work, girls!"

Perhaps it was mental and emotional fatigue, perhaps it was the effect of three days of being forced to adopt an increasingly feminine appearance and behaviour, and perhaps something in the food or the orange juice which they were forced to drink every day, but the ‘praise’ which the instructors always repeated in tones of great sincerity seemed to be having an effect. Michelle, increasingly aware of his involuntary reactions to any indication of approval, sat silently through the meal. The previously firm rule against chatter had been tacitly relaxed and he now sat amongst a chorus of whispered conversations. It took no effort at all to see himself as trapped among a group of young ladies, their voices and now their body language emphasizing the efficacy of their transformations.

As the meal drew to a close a Master asked whether there was any girl who wanted to keep her ugly facial hair. Predictably no-one raised their hand.

"Each of you will be a full facial and hair-styling this afternoon, as well as starting some of you on the electrolysis. This will disrupt your regular classes, so you may return to your rooms. You have earned a reward, so your doors will not be locked. You may visit each other, so long as you behave in a proper ladylike fashion: no catfights and no screaming fits, okay, ladies?"

"Yes, Master" came the inevitable response from eight youths.

Michelle declined the opportunity to visit anyone else, but Julie happily darted up and down the hallway, practicing his gait. He invited Mary and Karen back to his room, where they spent an excited few minutes examining the contents of the closets. It turned out that every trainee had slightly different clothes in their wardrobe. Michelle was worried that Julie would try to instigate a fashion show, where each boy would try on different clothes from the various rooms, but if Julie thought of it, he did not carry through.

Michelle was actually relieved when he was eventually summonsed to go to the hairdresser. Dinner had come and gone, with only six boys present. Three had already had their makeovers, and he had been stunned to see how realistic they looked. The three prettified boys had sat at a table by themselves and had seemed very quiet.

It was an hour later, and he had begun to fear that he might have to endure the suspense and anticipation all night, when the call came.

He passed Denise being escorted back to the area where their rooms were located. Denise had previously had mouse-brown, lank hair. Now he sported a full head of chestnut brown hair, glowing with vitality, and with darker brown streaks. His hair was no longer straight, it flowed in waves down either side of his face, with bangs falling over his forehead. His face appeared expertly made up, and his painted lips broke into a wide smile as he saw Michelle approaching.

"Isn’t it just divine" the boy gushed, gesticulating with his hands as he minced past the horrified Michelle.

‘You’ll have sooo much fun!"

Michelle gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore those words from the departing Denise. What affected him the most was that he was afraid that Denise was correct. He stumbled for a second before regaining his balance. Dammit, but he had to concentrate. He dangled his wrist as he remembered seeing Julie do earlier, and wiggled his hips.

"Good girl!"

His escort patted him on the bum, while congratulating him. Shame at how he had courted the compliment brought tears to the corners of his eyes. He quickly dried his eyes by rubbing the back of one hand against them, while maintaining a cheerful smile.

The stylist was set up in a nondescript room dominated by a large, comfortable looking chair. Michelle saw that the chair was swivel mounted and a nearby counter held a profusion of equipment, lying either side of a sink. A low table just inside the door held a collection of magazines featuring young female models sporting various hairstyle. Another chair, similar to but smaller than the larger chair, stood in a corner beneath an ominous looking machine that Michelle assumed was some kind of hair-dryer.

The stylist was an attractive young woman in a pink colored nylon blouse with matching slacks and white canvas shoes. She was the first non-trainee Michelle had seen who was not in the uniform black leather attire worn by all the escorts, Masters and Mistresses.

The young woman looked up from where she had been standing, rearranging some of her equipment.

"You must be Michelle"

"Yes, Mistress"

"Honey, you don’t have to call me Mistress, you can call me Melanie"

"Thank you Melanie"

"Be a dear and sit in the chair. I’ll rinse your hair and then we can look at some pictures and you can choose a pretty hairdo. That is. if you would like a pretty hairdo?"

"Yes, thank you Melanie"

"Good girl!"

Michelle forced himself to smile as he climbed into the chair. He found himself smoothing his skirt and keeping his knees together without conscious thought.

Melanie swung the chair around and lowered the back until Michelle felt the porcelain of the sink against the nape of his neck. Warm water cascaded from the spray nozzle Melanie held, as her fingers worked through Michelle’s thick, wet hair.

"You’re a lucky girl, Michelle. You have such lovely hair. Most girls who start life as boys have really fine hair. Hormones can only do so much, you know. With your hair, you’d look great even without the hormones. With them, you will be the envy of even the prettiest real girl"

"Hormones?" Michelle was confused.

"What hormones?"

"I keep forgetting" Melanie said as she raised the seat back and wrapped a large towel around his head.

She looked towards the escort as if seeking permission to continue. Maybe the gesture was genuine or maybe this was all part of an act and this was how he was supposed to learn the truth.

"Honey, boys like you can look like girls pretty easily. You are the right height and weight, and I can see that you already know how to move and speak like a girl. But to really be feminine, you need to have breasts, and to have wider hips and cuter tushes. Hormones will take care of that. And you’re already well on the way. Every glass of juice gives you a full shot. It won’t be long before you have a body to match your desires!"

Michelle gripped the arms of the chair, turmoil roiling around his mind. He cast a look at the escort whose eyes, expressionless though they might be, were paying close attention to his reaction. He knew that the information was being spring on him as a test: he had a choice, and all choices had consequences.

Melanie was sorting through the magazines, but he could see that she was stalling, waiting for his reaction. Angry at himself, but seeing no alternative, he gave them what they wanted.

‘Oh, I’m so glad to hear that, Melanie. I do so much want to have real breasts! Anything that will help me become a prettier girl"

He saw both Melanie and the escort relax, an almost invisible change which only someone looking for would have seen.

It was forty minutes before Melanie announced that she was done. By then Michelle had been lulled into relative calm. The touch of Melanie’s hands and the relentless, meaningless patter she had carried on had worn him down.

"I’ve finished, honey. No, you can’t see until we’re all done. You have to have some needle work done next and then you get a treat: a professional makeup job. That’s when you get to see yourself. You’ll be amazed! Even your own mother wouldn’t recognize you then, young lady"

Melanie was replaced by an older, heavily built woman in a plain white lab coat. She paid no attention to Michelle’s attempt to say hello, instead busying herself with emptying the stainless steel tray she had carried in.

Michelle soon found himself lying prone in the chair, staring at the ceiling, with the woman leaning over him, a strange metal device in hand. The device was about six inches long and three inches thick. An electrical cord trailed out of the rear while a long slender metal needle protruded from the front.

The woman wore goggles through which Michelle saw her eyes seemed huge and grotesque. He realized that they must afford her a magnified view of his face. He kept as still as he could as she bent over him.

The process was not as painful as he had feared. When she announced that she was through, after about thirty minutes, he felt as if he had a mild sunburn on either cheek, his upper lip, and his chin. He realized that the area of mild discomfort corresponded exactly with the location, or former location, of his sparse facial hair.

‘At least I won’t have to shave my face’ he thought, in a grim attempt at humor.

The woman, whom he had mentally labeled as Olga, left to be replaced in turn by a third woman, of about the same age and general appearance as Melanie. She was clad in the same nylon blouse and slacks. She introduced herself with a warm smile.

"Hello, Michelle. I’m Cathy. It’s my job to make you even more gorgeous than you are already! It’s going to be fun! I think you’ll love the result, don’t you?"

"I’m sure I will, Cathy" he responded.

Cathy began by applying a cool, soothing lotion before laying on a smooth liquid foundation. She spent several minutes rubbing this in, massaging the youth’s temples and forehead to reduce the stresses which had accumulated under the tension of the electrolysis. She knew that the juice served to each boy contained a very mild tranquilizer as well as female hormones and a cocktail of other drugs intended to facilitate the conversion from masculine to feminine, but these boys were under so much pressure that tensions still built up. And tension expressed itself in the facial and scalp muscles, interfering with her task of making these boys look truly beautiful as young women.

Her initial phase complete, she turned her attention to completing the facial feminization of her subject. He had been well trained and did not so much as flinch as she shaped his eyebrows, tut-tutting over their unruly condition.

"How your mother ever let you get away looking so unfeminine, I’ll never know" she complained.

"And such a waste! My dear, you are positively beautiful! If you had looked after yourself properly, if your mother had taught you how to look pretty, you wouldn’t be here now! You’d be in the arms of some handsome young stud, and enjoying every minute of it"

Michelle had to lay there and smile, aware that every reaction was being monitored, to determine what choice he had made.

Soon his eyelids were painted, his eyelashes enriched by mascara, color bloomed on his cheeks and his lips gleamed with gloss. His nose seemed to have diminished in size, while his already high cheek-bones, made visible by his thin face, seemed more prominent than ever before. He looked like an expensive model, dramatic and alluring. Not a trace of his male self remained apparent to any onlooker as he gracefully stepped from the chair, smoothing his skirt as he did so.

"Thank you, Cathy" he said, his voice clear, with no sign of the annoying falsetto which several of the boys were still battling in their efforts to acquire a proper speaking voice.

"It was my pleasure" Cathy said. The warmth in her panties told her that she had been speaking only the truth to this one. Cathy enjoyed her job, especially when she was able to turn a boy into a creature as exotic and alluring as this Michelle.

Michelle was escorted back to his room, walking with an unconscious grace, half- dreading and half-anticipating seeing his reflection. ‘I don’t care what they’ve made me look like’ he told himself. But no brave thoughts could completely eliminate the niggling doubt which ate away at his fragile self-image.

The look on Marie’s face as the two boys passed in the hallway added to Michelle’s torment. Marie had looked shocked by Michelle’s appearance.

The door to the room he shared with Julie was ajar when he arrived outside. The escort left without a word. Michelle hesitated before entering, reluctant now that he had to face his reflection. No one answered his tentative call, so he pushed the door open and walked directly into the bathroom. He kept his eyes lowered until he was standing directly in front of the mirror. Then, eyes closed, he raised his head. Finally, holding his breath, with a feeling of profound fear in his stomach, he opened his eyes.

Just for an instant he thought that the mirror had been replaced by a window, a window through which a beautiful, yet unfamiliar girl was staring at him.

Surely his eyes were not so large as those vulnerable orbs which gazed back at him? Surely his lips had never been so generous, and so inviting?

Her mouth opened slightly as his own lips parted in surprise. Her hand rose, echoing his, as she gently, wonderingly touched her newly styled hair. Where had it come from, this mass of auburn curls?

He stared in disbelief at his image for an untold time. Thoughts drifted through his mind, thoughts which were foreign to everything he had ever believed. He stared and stared, until he felt his neck become stiff, he hadn’t moved in so long.

He tore his eyes away, fighting an internal war in which he tried to deny that the girl who had looked back at him could have any true existence. It was too soon! No boy, no young man, could be so transformed in such a brief period of time. Despite his outer compliance, he had still clung inside to a belief that he coul