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NOT THAT BAD [ part 1 ] Being a girl wasn't all that bad, thought Kim. You could wear the prettiest clothes and make yourself as beautiful as you could with all the make up and perfume and nail polish and everything. The catalogs were filled with such nice things too. You could get lost in the wonderful clothing catalogs from all those great stores-- Spiegel's, Royal Silk, and of course, Victoria's Secret. Even Frederick's of Hollywood had pretty things. The bras especially. Kim dreamed of going to Hollywood sometime and visiting Frederick's Bra Museum some day. Wouldn't that be fun? Not that Kim had breasts that required most of Frederick's brassieres, that was for sure. Kim had small, no be honest Kimmy!, very small breasts-- 32AAs to be exact. Oh, they were a heartbreakingly small pair, like a little girl's. But Kim was sixteen-- the age where most girls had the breasts they would live their lives with. Kim's hands caressed the bare breasts, making the pink eraser-looking nipple tips stand up in trembling excitement. Ooooh! This was naughty! Kimmy, stop yourself this instant, the teen thought. The hands dropped away.
Normally, there was a lot to do-- aerobics, doing chores, watching teevee, chatting with the other girls, and more. Activities at least kept Kim busy, so busy as not to dwell on the facts. But with nothing to do now, Kim could only be reminded that the world the teen lived in was a prison. It was a nice prison. the bedroom was comfy, filled with pretty clothes, makeup, a comfy bed, lots of books and magazines. And Kim was allowed to play and talk with the other girls, who like Kim, were brought, trained and kept here by the strong silent men. But it was a prison nevertheless. Much like the prison between the long smooth legs. But like the male chastity belt that Kim had worn for two and a half years, the teen was used to it. Between the legs, taut thigh crushed thigh to hide something else that kept Kimmie under lock and key more than the locks on the doors of the Complex. Between the legs, there was a small metallic pouch, held there by nylon-thin metal strands as tight as guitar strings. And in that pouch was imprisoned what was left of the old Tim. Kim could feel it even now, resting in the snug cocoon, could feel air between the legs where the poor thing was pressed, starting from right below his crotch, running up between the cheeks of his butt. Kim could do what he needed to do for his physical necessities, but no more. When it got excited from Kim's handling or frequent punishments, the metal pouch was such a harsh warden. The poor thing would thicken a bit, then press against the metal that never gave. There had to be a lock for the thing, probably a tiny one between his legs. But he knew instinctively from the tautness of the pouch and restraining metal strands that unless the key was used to free him, there was no way he was getting it off himself. And Kim had been at the Complex long enough to know the key would never find purchase in the lock. It was the least of the changes Kim had undergone here at the Complex. The Treatments had transformed him from a growing fourteen and a half year old boy that was 5'5" and weighed 130 pounds into what he was now-- a pretty sixteen year old blonde girl with firm little boobs, nice curvy hips, long legs and a tiny cute little butt. It was so weird. The Treatments had hurt-- all surgical procedures and casts were painful-- but the Guardians all said not to worry. At this age, it was much easier to make the transformation than for boys who were older. He struggled against the changes, but then the Treatments switched from surgery to injections. And the injections in a way had deeper effects on him than the surgery. In the beginning they simply made him groggy. The Guardians had wanted to ease him into his new body and to dull the shock, Kim guessed. That phase had lasted a long dreamless month. Then when Kim began to use his new body and exercise the newly strung muscles, the injections had dulled that pain too. But there were other effects too. Kim suspected that the injections had changed the way he thought about things. Not the thoughts maybe-- he still hated being called Kim when his name was Tim-- but the way he thought about them. He wasn't so sure about things any more-- he became confused. For example, when the Guardians explained to Kim that "she" had to keep "her" legs and underarms shaved with "her" pink Daisy razor every day, he didn't ask why. He knew it was all wrong, so very wrong that he should be called a "she" but couldn't explained why. It was true of the make-up as well. It was absolutely critical, the Guardians instructed, that "Kimmie" keep herself made up and pretty. But it wasn't, was it? Why couldn't they just let him go? But he didn't even try to argue. He learned how to make himself up instead. And wait for the next instruction on how to be a "proper girl"-- there were always more. So Kim waited. Over the last two and a half years, Kim had been taught to wait though. The teen had been trained to react, not act--to anticipate, not formulate. It was true of speaking. When Kim had first been brought to the Complex, he had found that when he spoke, no one answered his questions, or even noticed he was talking! The Guardians just ignored him. All his screaming, all his yelling was wasted. Gradually Kim learned that when he was spoken TO he had the opportunity to speak back. But initiating conversation was useless, as if there was no point in the minds of the Guardians in listening to anything Kim might say. It was frustrating not to have your words even acknowledged. Even when he was spoken to, if he didn't respond properly, the Guardians wouldn't answer his many questions. Over the weeks and months, Kim had learned how to respond in a way that the Guardians did find acceptable. Instead of answering in a surly tone, he began answering in a pleasing way. This brought approving nods from the Guardians and encouraged Kim to put even more work into his speaking. They liked it when Kim tried to listen harder. When Kim tried to interject comments when speaking, they turned cold. But when Kim learned to nod and smile when he was being spoken to, they were pleased. When Kim did speak, he kept his voice low, his words simple and clearly enunciated. Always Kim smiled. Smiling pleased the Guardians. So did using your hands in little flippy twists and gestures. And using "nice" words were looked on favorably too. "Please" became "oh pretty little please?" and "thank you" became "thank you sooo much!." Then Kim found that just making statements wasn't even simple. At first, when Kim was asked a question, he would answer promptly. But the Guardians frowned on this simple direct way of talking. Again, as time passed, Kim learned the Guardians were more pleased when Kim answered a question with a question. So when a Guardian asked Kim if he was through with aerobics training for the day, he no longer answered "Yes Sir." Instead he would look up, smile and answer "Why only if you think I've done enough for today, Sir. Is my tummy trim enough or should I work harder on my hips or bust?" They liked this, liked it when Kim tried to please them this way. At first Kim felt silly saying things like this, but it gradually it became so natural he forgot he had ever spoken any other way. Being a boy had made things hard at first. Just like Kim had talked like a boy, always loud and interrupting, so too was his way of acting all wrong. The way he had to act now was the opposite of how he had acted before being brought here. Before he had done stuff-- run, jumped, horsed around with other boys. Now he had to restrain himself, had to mind the way he moved. Now Kim knew better about what kind of activity was appropriate for him to take part in. Skirts needed to be patted down and legs crossed to keep thighs properly covered, otherwise anyone could get a peek at Kim's panties. And anything outdoors could cause problems-- ruin Kim's carefully prepared hair, chip a nail, put a run in a stocking. Talking and listening to the other girls was easier and caused less problems. Experimenting with clothing and make-up was o.k. too and aerobics was absolutely necessary for figure shaping. But no activity that was messy was allowed, or anything where you had to think about things too much. A Guardian had told Kim not long ago that "she" was turning into "a regular Barbie doll" and it was proof that he was growing used to his new life that he had two immediate thoughts. First, absolute joy that he had received the compliment and second, that his boobs weren't Barbie-sized. Maybe Kim was a girl after all. He was used to acting like a girl now-- quiet and smiling like a girl, picture perfect appearance like a girl. And the Guardians didn't expect Kim to be anything other than a Barbie doll kind of girl anyway. The door was being unlocked! Kim hopped off the bed, waiting. One of the Guardians, the younger bald man entered this time, the one with the moonshaped scar on his face. He didn't like this one. He was called Hercules by the other Guardians and was one of the sternest. If you were unlucky enough to be corrected by Hercules, you were sure to regret it. Kim modestly clutched the soft hands to the bare breasts and lap. The man chuckled as Kim did this. "Put on some underwear, something pretty." He stood and waited for Kim to obey. Kim hated when they did this. They would come and watch you do everything and keep their eyes on you all the time. It was so humiliating never to have any privacy. As if they thought you were going to escape or something. Kim had talked to the other girls and knew you couldn't escape. From time to time, one of the other girls tried, usually one who hadn't been there long enough to receive the Treatments. But they were always found out and punished in front of the others. Kim hated "Example Nights", couldn't bear to watch the guilty girl being whipped till she fainted. Kim never thought of escape anymore. Oh sure, Kim had been punished on "Example Night" a few times, but Kim had earned at most a good paddling. Kim's crimes had been nothing that the other girls hadn't been punished for-- poor posture, clumsiness, unladylike manners, fashion faux pas, makeup mistakes, being a few pounds over the required body weight and so forth. Once a week for two and a half years of Example Nights had taught Kim to keep mistakes to a minimum. But still one of the Guardians needed to watch Kim put on panties and a bra! Ooooh! It was so aggravating! With hands still protecting breasts and crotch from view, Kim backed up to the dresser. then turning around, the hand deftly dropped from the breasts to hide the now exposed ass. Frantically, Kim dove into the top drawer, the one where the undies were. The hand fished in and came up with a simple pair of white full-cut cotton panties. "You can find a prettier pair than that I think," the Guardian urged impatiently. He pointed at the dresser/ There were prettier pairs. Kim had only reached for the top pair. But in the drawer were panties and bras of all colors and styles--cute floral bikinis, adorable white panties decorated with cherries, daring red French cut panties from Bloomie's, boring white training bras (Kim hated them but the Guardians insisted; her breasts were small, they said and needed shaping), white sport bras that Kim wore while doing aerobics, a darling pink underwired bra trimmed with lace that gave Kim's breasts some a needed lift, and others, so many others. There were nice slips for dresses, and half slips for shorter ones, plus pairs of sheer thigh highs, stockings and garter belts to show off Kim's legs. There were pastel teddys for lounging in bed, as well as camis and tap pants that Kim would slip into at night when readying for bed. Kim dropped the white panties back in the drawer and pulled out a pair the Guardian would accept. It was the sexiest pair Kim owned-- a pair of black cotton Calvin Klein thong panties. When Guardians said "pretty" it meant "sexy." The dark cool cotton thong was quickly pulled up the long legs, covering and shaping Kim's buns tightly. Underneath the chastity belt kept the natural bulge flat and level as much as stainless steel could. No word from the Guardian meant acceptance and Kim continued to slip on the matching black cotton soft cup brassiere. Pleasure throbbed in the nipples as the cotton cups snugly lifted the petite breasts upward. The sixteen year old turned, no longer as self-conscious. The Guardians saw the other girls in their undies regularly. At first Kim had thought that he had been brought to the Complex for the same reason that Joe Bob had wanted him to stay-- for sex, pure and simple. But the strange thing was that the Guardians never touched the girls in their charge, except to punish them. The girls were taught to dress, to make themselves up as attractively as possible, to put themselves on display as femininely as possible, but never had Kim seen any of the scantily clad prisoners abused by the Guardians. Yet they were encouraged and expected to act like dainty teenage virgin girls! And they were treated like prized possessions, not like whores at all. Why, the Guardians complimented them when they exhibited the shy curiosity of girls about things sexual. Kim had learned early to be demure, to smile a lot, to giggle, to keep himself on display for the Guardians. Playful flirting was becoming mandatory. Pirouettes in pretty flowing party dresses, hands on hips to show off subtly tightening miniskirts, chests stuck out playfully to present firm teen breasts-- it was all happening more and more as Kim grew older. But it was o.k. to act this way because while the Guardians liked this behavior, they never pressed beyond it. For whatever reason Kim was here, it wasn't to service the needs of the Guardians. Hecules then pulled out something that began to scare Kim-- a pair of shiny cuffs. "Put your hands behind your back," he gruffly ordered. "Oh! Well, may I finish dressing Sir? I'd love to put on something pretty for you!" Kim offered. Though the girls scampered about in undies, they usually were kept dressed. And Kim hadn't been bound for a long, long time in cuffs. Something was happening. The Guardian held the cuffs up, shaking them. He repeated the order. Kim obeyed, shivering as the metal encircled and captured the thin wrists. Next the obedience collar, a stiff long-armed lead with a collar that fitted over the teen's neck. Now the Guardian pushed the teen out of the room, using the obedience collar to guide Kim. Kim's bare feet were cold by the time the Guardian unhooked the obedience collar in the Amphitheater, a place rarely visited. Kim was relieved at first as the cuffs were unlocked, but that was only to draw the wrist together over the teen's blonde head and slipped over a hook. Then Kim hung suspended, arms high over head. He could see he was one of nine other girls who were similarly suspended. Like him, they weren't really girls but boys. But they all looked so pretty in their own way that Kim thought of them as girls, not boys. It was a little sad to think that they thought of him that way too. The prisoners looked at each other shyly and in quiet terror. What was happening? Lights blazed on and chattering voices approached. One of the Guardians. At last Kim could see him. Of course it was Sampson, the tall one who had lured Kim into this new life two and a half years ago. Kim blinked back the tears. Sampson had seen him at the bus station, after having traveled for hours to escape his stepfather Joe Bob. The memory still upset Kim. Joe Bob had been so nice at first. Momma had meant him at the bar where she waitressed. He was a rich Texas oilman, she had said-- very rich. Not long after, he had married her and Joe Bob had taken the two from the dreary trailer park into his mansion. It had been so pleasant at first, till Joe Bob had started to make Momma DO THINGS, not caring if Tim was there or not. And then Momma had died. Joe Bob said it was Her Time, but Tim wasn't so sure. She had seemed healthy, if not happy about her new husband. Not long after, his stepfather told him he wanted Tim to DO THINGS for him, things that it wasn't right for a fourteen and a half year old boy to do. "Now that you're Momma's gone, you'll mind me better. And now that she's gone, you'll have to do the things she did to make me happy," Joe Bob had said. Joe Bob had pulled out his Momma's panties and bras and told him he'd have to wear them. "You're the girl of the house, now," Joe Bob had said and the big, older man had made him put on the ladies' underwear. And then Joe Bob had made him do THOSE THINGS. The next morning when Joe Bob had been sleeping, he had left-- TIM had left. He hated being treated that way and made to act like a girl for Joe Bob and knew if he stayed, he would indeed have to become the "girl of the house" as Joe Bob wanted. And that was how he wound up in the bus station alone without money and scared. 'Sampson,' if that was his real name, had said he was with a church shelter-- he could help him get a place to sleep for the night. He understood what he was going through and could help him escape his stepfather. Tim had been relieved to find such a good friend as Sampson and took the Coke he gave him, drinking it down at once. But the Coke had been drugged. And then he had wound up here in the Complex. When he awoke, he was nude, and except for the hair on his head, he was hairless. Tim felt the pouch then for the first time. Sampson told him in a kindly way that he had been taken to the Complex, a wonderful place where Tim would learn how special being a girl was. Why? asked Tim. And why me? Because you are going to become a girl, he was told, and because you will make a very pretty girl. The Treatments will help you to become a girl, to look like a girl, to move like a girl, to act like a girl, to think like a girl and most important to feel like a girl. "You'll come to understand that if you behave yourself, it isn't all that bad being a girl, Kim," Sampson had said. That was how he found out what his new name was to be Kim, though when he was good, the Guardians called him Kimmie as well, and when he was bad, they would call him Kimberly. ************************** And now he stood in front of ten of his prettiest pets of the Complex, rubbing his hands. He smiled appreciatively at the sight. The ten girls were so darling there, awaiting inspection from the buyers, squirming in their undies. He let his eyes dance over his merchandise, satisfied with them all, imagining which girl might be bought by whom. There was the one on the end, the one he had transformed from Peter to Pam, the short haired pageboy blonde in the yellow panties and camisole. He had been such a boy's boy at thirteen. And now at fifteen, Pamela was such a mincing little priss with her dainty 32B titties. She make a wonderful upstairs maid with her sense of place. Pam was naturally tight-- a tightness that would fetch about $100,000.
He loved the long legs of Donna, once Don. She had such expressive blue eyes too, blue that matched her gauzy nightie negligee. It was lovely lingerie for such a "mature" girl of eighteen. Don had been hitchhiking when Sampson had picked him up, but now he was a she and was sure to make a wonderful dancer for a strip club owner with those bursting 34C breasts of hers, swaying underneath that nightie! She was older, but big tits went a long way-- maybe $75,000. Poor Mandy, who had been Andy, seemed very afraid. She was so skittish now-- and to think Andy had been a Boy Scout! Now Mandy was a timid chestnut haired sweetie in pink Hanes For Her bikini panties and bra. A proper little pansy in a penis in her panties and 32C breasts stuffed in her bra cups. What would she be best suited for-- a personal secretary in the office of some strict Fortune 500 boss? Easily $90,000. And Mary who had been Marty-- a pale long redhaired Irish rose. She dangled there limply in her snow white cotton panties and plain white Olga bra. Mary had been an altar boy who he had stolen from a Boston church at twelve. Now at sixteen, he would make a wonderful bed companion for a powerful Catholic Bishop, one who longed to touch the taboo flesh of a 35C chest. From Marty to Sister Mary? Sampson chuckled. Sure--for $125,000! And there was Natasha, once Sasha, his Russian import. The break-up of the Soviet Empire had brought wonderful dividends such as Natasha, his pale, raven haired honey. He had bought Sasha wholesale for a pittance from some traders in the Black Sea and now she hung there like a true Russian minx in her red cotton teddy. Sampson knew one of his auction guests ran a very unusual cruise service in which such talent as Natasha kept leashed at the foot of each cabin bed for the use of the paying passenger. A cool $115,000 for the 34C busted babe. Look at Danny, now Annie! Long soft brown hair, nice wide brown eyes, and big pouty mouth--wasn't she a dish? She looked so forlorn hanging there in the beige strapless, front closing demibra that gave her ripe seventeen year old 32B breasts such tempting definition, not to mention those tummy-control top beige panties. What buyer wouldn't be interested, especially one with oral needs? He could think of a madam who ran a call girl service for politicians who was sure to bid a minimum of $85,000. Erin would fetch more though. Had she been Eric in her former male life? The wench with the long bleached blonde hair who now was dressed in the dark navy blue string bikini had been a cabin boy on a private yacht till the Guardian's pirate attack had "liberated" the boy. Now Erin was one of those "beach girl" boy toys with 34B breasts and especially widened hips that were some accentuated by panty and bikini bottoms. Sampson had a wealthy widowed yachtsman who would love to have a "first mate" with these measurements for a clean $100,000. Linda was a little prize. Taking Lenny, a fourteen year old delinquent at a heavy metal concert and turning him into Linda, a sassy little punk bitch with short spiky auburn hair and an ass that wouldn't quit-- now there was a successful transformation! The sixteen year old looked like the world's hottest teen groupie-- her 36C boobs wanted to pop out of her "This Slut Property of Megahead Rock Group" cropped t-shirt top and her ass wriggled in those neon purple thong panties in the most inviting way. How ironic that the band was a customer-- Linda was likely to indeed become the property of Megahead for a mere $80,000! And now Hercules was adding Kimmie to the menagerie. Kimmie, his little blonde bimbo. What a find she had been! She had been Tim, he thought so anyway, a runaway-- his biggest source of cuties. And now she was Kimmie, sixteen year old debutante. How darling she looked in her snug, stylish Calvin Klein undies! Of all his girlies, Kimmie was the biggest clothes pony. She loved making herself up and being a girl. They all were girls now, but Kimmie liked being a girl the most. Of course she had been here the longest. Sampson had kept her for an extra year, hoping against hope that the injections would boost her pathetically flat breast size. But to no avail-- the breasts were firm little 32AAs and that was that. Training bra for life. It was too bad. Despite her high school teen queen prettiness, it would keep her price down. Kimmie would sell for no more than $50,000. And then if at all, for why buy her when there were such other buxom young beauties for the having? Perhaps one of the pimps would buy her for "retail" street use. How sad. The thought of Kimmie working a corner for a demanding pimp excited Sampson. He thought of one the new boys who had just been brought in sometime ago. He and his teammates had been on their way to a Little League game when the "accident" had occurred, all staged by the Guardians easily enough. The bus driver and coach had been dispatched with ease and the boys were trooped off the bus into the Guardian's semitrailer quicktime. The bus had been tipped off the bridge into the ravine and exploded on impact-- there would be no investigations and the tragedy would be lamented and forgotten. These big hauls were dangerous but profitable. The entire raid had netted fifteen teenage and preteen boys, most of whom would make desirable and thoroughly feminized lovers for their future owners. As they were being processed into their new home the Complex, Jack had caught his eye. Sampson generally preferred natural females and resisting the charms of using his own chattel. Like the drug dealer who refuses to be tempted by the addiction of using his own products, Sampson had controlled his lust for the teen flesh for the most part. And certainly the Guardians were kept from likewise being tempted by the huge salaries they received. No Guardian had disobeyed this injunction to date-- the money was too good and all knew Sampson wouldn't hesitate to exact a supreme revenge on the one who did use the merchandise. But this Jack had such spunk. He watched as the unconscious boy had been stripped, shaved and chastity-belted. And as the weeks had passed, he kept track of the drugged boy's transformation into girlhood-- the hormonal injections, the growing breast buds on the thirteen year old, the lengthening black hair, the softening milk white skin. And as the boy slowly regained composure, the dawning horror as he realized what was being done to him. The day he was told his new name, he had wept so piteously that Sampson was even touched. "I'm NOT Jill-- I'm Jack!" he had screamed over and over, till at last he had been sedated. The following days the feminized boy had been sullen and angry. The Treatments' effect on his behavior were taking hold and were channeling his boyish anger into a more appropriate feminine sulkiness. Whines were understandable even in the best behaved girlies-- outright rage were not. "What is your name, girl?" Sampson had asked at last. Sampson had forbidden any Guardian to speak to the boy-- most unusual. But he had already decided that he would train this one personally. In anguish, the naked teen raised his head. His pursed lips were fuller, seductively poutier now with the collagen injections. His blue eyes were big with frustration, powerlessness and fear as they looked up at him. "Jill-- I guess." "You guess?" Sampson questioned sternly. The feminized boy bowed his head. "I mean, I know. I know my name is Jill from now on." His voice was melodic, sing-song now. Sampson nodded with approval. "Good. Now let us try it again. What is your name, GIRL?" The teen didn't lose a second. He could interpret the annoyance growing in Sampson's throat. "Jill. My name is Jill." Sampson had smiled. "Better. Would Jill like something to wear?" The boy had nodded. He had been kept naked for weeks now. He would very much like something to wear. Sampson unzipped the small garment bag he had brought with him. "What would Jill like to wear?" he asked, feigning interest. At once Jill was jack again. "Some jockey shorts, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, please. And a pair of tube socks and sneakers." Sampson shook his head. "First of all, do girls wear jockey shorts, Jill?" The boy looked down, shell-shocked. "No." "What do they wear instead?" "Panties," he whispered softly. Sampson nodded and pulled from the bag a pair of pink cotton panties, handing them to Jill. "Put on your pretty new panties Jill." The boy took them, eyes downcast. Obediently he slipped them on. The close-fitting bikini panties covered his midsection. "And what else do girls wear underneath their clothes Jill?" he pressed. But Jill didn't answer now. Instead he sat across from him in his pink panties, looking away, realizing at last that he would be wearing panties from now on. "Here's a clue, Jill." Sampson leaned forward and flicked the nipple on Jill's small left breast. Jill closed his arms over his chest at once. Good-- natural modesty. "Now, what else do GIRLS wear underneath their clothes, Jill?" he mumbled something and I told him to speak up. "Bras," he answered. "That's right, Jill-- bras. And with your little breasts growing you need a bra too. A special kind of bra. Can you guess what kind of bra you need?" His pale face was so downcast, so doleful. I could tell he knew. He was thirteen and what thirteen year old Little Leaguer hadn't snapped one that a young girl might wear? "A training bra," he answered softly. I nodded and handed him one. "Put it on Jill. Put on your training bra, girl." He fumbled with the strange new article of clothing. "Not to worry, Jill. I've taught lots of girls your age how to put on their first training brassiere. Put your arms through the shoulder straps first. Good. Now hook the bra snap in the back. That's o.k.-- you'll get better at it-- you'll be wearing a bra every day from now on. Now, slip your pretty breasts into the soft cups. Now since your breasts are so small now, you can adjust the shoulder straps higher so that your training bra will lift them up. Good girl, Jill! You've got it! Now stand up and model your new underwear for me!" Jill stood up uncertainly. He obviously didn't know what to do with his hands and they danced nervously from his bra strap to pulling out his panty to cover up his backside. "Let's keep those hands still, Jill. Put them on your hips. No-- not like that-- with palms up and thumbs pointing out at me. Good girl." He looked so sweet-- a young teen in his first panties and training bra. I twirled my fingers, insisting he spin for me in his new undies. He did, keeping his hands on his hips, looking just like a little ballerina. "Now sit down, pretty girl. And tell me, Jill-- what do girls wear over their training bras?" "A shirt," he answered firmly. I shook my head. He most certainly wouldn't be wearing a shirt! "Boys were shirts. What do girls LIKE YOU wear Jill?" He seemed confused, so I answered for him. "They wear blouses. Here is one for you. You will put it on now." Jill took the white cotton blouse and looked at it. It was a darling short sleeved blouse with a lacy pink ribboned collar and lacy trim on the sleeves. It buttoned in the back. As Jill slipped it on and awkwardly tried to button it behind his back, I consoled him. "Most girl's clothing buttons in the back, just like your training bra. You'll get used to it." This seemed to draw a spark of resentment in his big blue eyes, but he was careful to keep his pretty mouth shut tight. "Very cute. Now, let us continue. What do girls wear over their frilly underwear?" His face was flushed and his long black hair all tousled from his pirouettes. I could tell he was mortified by his panty and bra modeling, and now the fit of his snug white blouse. The tension of the material was giving him a precious little bust! "Uh, a dress?" I smiled. "Sometimes. And sometimes they wear a kind of dress that shows off their nice smooth legs. What kind of dress would do that for you Jill?" "A s-sk-skirt?" Tough to get the words out now, but you'll learn Sampson had thought. "Yes! That's right, Jill! And here's one for you-- you're first skirt! Put it on!" Jill took the pink denim garment doubtfully. It wasn't the jeans he had asked for, that was written all over his face. He stepped into the skirt zipper side on the front and pulled it up. "What did I just say about girl's clothing, Jill? The zipper goes in the back!" Hurriedly, he turning the waist around and pulled it up. It got tight around his hips. "I--uh--can't get it on. It's too small!" he whined. "No, it isn't. It is the perfect dress size for you-- a Junior Miss size five. You're just not familiar with how much tighter girls' clothing is. Just keep huffing and puffing-- you'll get it on!" Jill gritted his teeth and managed at last to wriggle himself into the pink denim miniskirt. Sampson had been impressed-- Jill had properly tucked the blouse into the skirt, sucked in his breath and zipped it up gallantly. The denim compressed the pantied teen buns delightfully, giving the thirteen year old a shapely little figure! "And finally, what do girls wear on their pretty feet, Jill?" "Shoes." He knew what was coming. Sampson could tell. He had asked him what kind of shoes girls wore, like his own mother wore to be pretty for his father. "High heels," the thirteen year old had responded limply. He took the pair of three inch pink pumps and slipped into them with quiet submission. Sampson then told him to stand up. The feminized boy did so with surprising grace. If you got them early enough, it was a grace they kept, Sampson knew. Instead of using that grace to catch flyballs, Jill's grace would be harnessed for such activities as curtseying. He imagined his Jillie in all her future prancing, and capering in silly female play-- the things SHE would be trained to like and find expression in. Jill would soon forget he had ever partaken in anything as messy and unfeminine as baseball. No, HIS Jillie wouldn't be running in sneakers, SHE would be skipping in her dainty high heels. He wouldn't be rounding bases, SHE would be gliding around a dancefloor in the arms of her "boyfriend." He wouldn't be reading comic books, SHE would be invited into the naughty mysteries of teen romance novels. He wouldn't be playing with balls, bats and mits, SHE would be imagining the life of a young woman with HER Barbie doll collection. He wouldn't be collecting baseball cards, SHE would be collecting lipsticks and nail polishes. He wouldn't be reading Sports Illustrated, SHE would be devouring Sassy and Teen Beat. He wouldn't be watching baseball games, SHE would be watching nice "girl" shows like "Saved by The Bell" and "Blossom." And when it was time, he wouldn't be scoring with some babe, SHE would be surrendering all her girlish charms to the hunky boyfriend of HER dreams, the one SHE worshipped and adored. Sampson looked at his creation and was contented. This one, he had decided, he would keep for himself. And Kimmie reminded him of his Jillie, now waiting for his summons somewhere in the Complex. Ah well, back to work. He clapped his hands. "Ladies, your attention please!" Instantly ten femininzed faces listened hard to his words, eyes wide in fear and pouty lips trembling. "As you know, while you've been at the Complex, you've been changed--transformed. Once, if you can remember that far back, you were all boys." Sampson noted the wistful look on some of his girlies' faces and grinned. "But now you're all girls, pretty teenage girls. I'm extremely proud of you all. In your own ways, you have become so very well-behaved, deferential and obedient young ladies. Even you know your place, don't you Linda, you little punker! All of you are now so interested in being such exquisite, charming young missies. You've become so aware of how important it is to make yourselves up, to look your best in your frilly new feminine clothes. You have learned how to make the Guardians smile at your girlish flirting and you know how to tease and please with the sweetest of glances and slightest purse of your lips! Just like real teenage girls, you have discovered the power of your shapely, firm bodies and your sweet smiles. Look at you all! You look so lovely and bewitching in your alluring under things. So sweet, so innocent--- and so sexy." The feminized boys grew restless at this comment, but Sampson continued. "As you know, the beauty and sensuality of the teenage girl is a most sought-after and wonderful thing. Men and women the world over and throughout history have sought out pretty girls. And the same is true now. Who won't want a pretty girl to have for your very own? Now you know none of the Guardians have ever touched you. That is because you were brought here to become girls. And even though you have tempted them and put them to the test with your ever-increasing femininity, none have touched you in an intimate way. But now comes the time in every girl's life when she discovers why she has been blessed with her girlish beauty. And so now you shall be told the reason why you have been transformed into such desirable teen babes." The girlies looked at him as filled with curiosity as their chemically altered minds and emotions could comprehend. He continued. "Outside there are a group of men who find girls like you-- girls with little twigs between their legs in nice tight chastity belts-- very sexy. You should be flattered that they came so far to see you! They came because they want to look at and perhaps buy some of you and take you home with them, if you are very lucky. Sort of like picking out kittens in a pet store! And when they get you home, they will do to you what people like to do to pretty teenage girls. They will touch you and teach you how to make them happy." Sampson could tell that all the girlies were terrified. They had been shielded from the idea of sex for so long they had forgotten that along with the beauty of their new softened bodies came the obligation their alluring bodies promised to men. He went on. "I can tell you are all afraid. It is right to be afraid, little ladies. Be afraid--be afraid that if you do not please your masters, that you will be hurt. Believe me, you will be. Depending on your luck, the man who buys you may be kind or cruel. Whichever they are, you must try as hard as you can to bring a smile to their lips with your sexy little girl ways. Do you understand?" The girlies remained deathly still and silent. They had not expected this. Perhaps they thought they would always remain in their pretty pink teen girl world of the Complex. But soon it would be time for these girlies to know what it was to be used as a sexy young slut. Sampson turned and called his guests into the Amphitheater. Hercules led the group of men into the room to him. "Gentlemen, I think you'll enjoy the latest bevy of beauties we've prepared for you. They're all between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, all perfectly ripe specimens of teenage femininity. They come in all hair colors, all breast sizes, and all kinds of temperaments-- from prudish young ladies to playful little kittens for you to break to your will. They're all virgins-- naturally-- and," he leered, "they all have the naughty little thing that make them so restless and special in your beds-- that little twig that we've put under lock and key for you. Please, take your drinks and inspect them all you like! Just remember, the bidding will begin in one hour." Bidding? Kim and some of the others began to struggle as the strange men converged on them. They seemed to be of all races, all cultures. Almost immediately, an older Arab dressed in the traditional garb of a sheik approached Kim. He had a natural scowl on his hard leathery face till his stony eyes rested on Kim. Then the hard mouth opened to reveal a grinning set of white crooked feral teeth. The sheik's hand cupped Kim's breasts tightly through the thin cotton bra. "Small fruit, but is it sweet my dove or not yet ripe?" the sheik asked softly. Kim twisted impotently on the hook. "Don't!" he pleaded softly. He still hadn't recovered from the shock of learning that he would soon be sold off to one of these hard looking men. Why? Hadn't he behaved? Hadn't he become the girl Sampson said he wanted? Why couldn't he stay here? he screamed inside his head. he would try harder to be prettier! He would try harder to be more girlish! Then Sampson would let him stay, wouldn't he? The sheik smiled wisely. "My little dove, should I purchase you, you would coo your love for me in my ear should I caress you so. You would dream of taking my lance between these small treasures and in your soft mouth. Would you not dream of pleasing your lord and master so, pretty maid?" Kim twisted again. "Please leave me alone!" he tried again. But the words seemed catty and weak. They were meant to offend the sheik. But the sheik just shook his head. "You are a willful infidel bitch. After I purchase you, I shall attend to your training personally. After these," he squeezed Kim's nipples viselike between his finger and thumb," are pierced for Obedience Rings, perhaps my dove will learn humility! You should be honored to be one of the Sheik of Abadan's Passion Slaves-- not beg to escape him!" The Arab narrowed his eyes in greed. "Oh yes, I shall purchase you, little one. You will be a pretty pet to train. Will you dance in your chains to tempt your new master?" His crooked white teeth were bared in anticipated pleasure. Kim began to cry. He would not dance for this ugly old man! "No! Please, I'm not a girl! I'm a boy! An American boy!" The Arab dropped his hand to Kim's black thong panty, cupping the backside it tightly sheathed. "As if American boys cannot be turned into American girls and these girls sold as playthings to wealthy masters! I have bought five such as you from Israel, Lebanon, China, Ethiopia and Greece, little dove, all to serve in the Royal Stable! You shall learn to frolic with them as well! Your master enjoys watching his pets play with one another! Soon you shall join them, your new sisters. They will help me train you. You will learn the taste of each of your slave sisters in the Stable." He patted Kim's rump. "And like each of them, you will be branded with the mark of the Wench Boy That Delights." Kim shrieked, but the response from Sampson and his other guests was merely laughter. "A spirited filly for you to break, My Lord?" Sampson asked cheerily. The Sheik nodded grimly. "You choose your words well. The little Golden haired one is in need of a strong man's hand to teach her respect and training her in the ways of mounting! But," his flinty eyes glinted, "she has much to commend her." The sheik stroked Kim's backside longingly, slipping his horny hand underneath the tight black panty and tugging on the chastity pouch. "She would bring much joy after being tamed. I think I shall buy her. I should enjoy training a Western wench like this," he promised. With that, the sheik departed. Kim was white with terror. The other men had seen the exchange and had assumed the sheik would indeed purchase Kim. Not one of them approached to inspect Kim. The teen sobbed. The sheik would buy him and do those things to him. All he could do was cry. Sampson looked over once and smiled. The time for the auction was approaching. The men chatted with one another quietly, pointing at the teens they would bid on. Kim hung limply, waiting for the inevitable. The auction was to begin even as a man hurriedly joined the other guests. He approached Sampson. "I'm sorry I'm late. I just got back from a business trip," he explained. Kim thought the voice sounded familiar. As the man turned toward him, he could see the clear and unmistakable face of Kurt-- his stepfather. Kurt looked at him without surprise as he continued to speak to Samson. "May I speak to her?" Sampson nodded. Of course, he should have the opportunity to inspect the merchandise before the bidding. Joe Bob walked toward Kim, smirking. "Never thought you'd see me again, did you? I saw the catalog with your face in it and had to be here to put a bid in. Damn nice changes on you, I'll say that. Heard you got you're name changed to Kimmie, that true you little faggot?" he sneered. "Course you're no faggot, you're a hot lil girlie now aren't you, baby? A hot lil piece of ass like yo' momma!" Joe Bob's face bore a furious scowl which slowly was transformed into a wolfish leer. " Damn I like these pint-sized titties," he said as he clutched Kim's breasts. "Stick 'em out for me, girlie. Show me your hooters!" And with that, the Texan oilman ripped up the soft black cotton bra, pulling it up over the tops of the small succulent teen mounds. Reluctantly Kim closed his eyes and thrust his chest out. In the dark, he could hear the rough breathing of his stepfather as his callused hands pulled on his sensitive breast buds, fingered the nipples and turning them into red hard tips. "Gettin hot for yo' Daddy, ain't you bitch? Open your eyes and answer me Kimberlee!" The use of his full name shocked him into an answer that would please the older man. He obeyed, looking Joe Bob full in the eyes. "Yes, Sir!" Joe Bob smiled. "Course you are. Bet you want to come home and take your momma's place in my bed, doncha you lil whore? Like me to take your titties in my hands and wrap 'em round my big Texas dick!" Kim watched him in utter silence considering. Joe Bob had been cruel to him but he would probably be better that the Arab. Kim made a decision and smiled. It was time to start acting like what he was-- a teenage sex kitten. it was what all his training and the Treatments had been about. Kim could make it easier or he could make it harder on himself, but the result wasn't going to change. In a way, he was so lucky Joe Bob was interested in buying Kim. maybe it was time for him to show Joe Bob just what a good little girl Kimmie could be for HER stepdaddy. "I'm glad you like them," Kim purred, continuing to stick HER chest out. "I can't wait for you to hold them and to be in your bed." Joe Bob ran his hands down to Kim's ass. "I never did fuck you, did I?" "Not that!," Kim purred as SHE licked HER lips. "Oh, no, but I fantasized about it!" Kim cooed. SHE wriggled HER hips as Joe Bob felt them. "I'm still a virgin. They keep us that way till we get bought. Then Sampson says we have to do whatever our owners say. What would you make me do?" Joe Bob snickered. "All the things your whore of a momma did and more. Too bad she didn't understand you were going to be my slut just like she was. I tole her I wanted her to train you to be a girlie for me. But the stupid cunt was stubborn and I had to snuff her out." Joe Bob's face blazed in furious remembrance of that rebellion. A cold core of chill bored through Kim. But it didn't change anything did it? And maybe if HER mother had obeyed, Kim would have been taught to please Joe Bob and... Ooooh! HER stepfather was playing with HER nipples again! It felt so good! Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being Joe Bob's girl. At least SHE would be taken care of. At least SHE would be the only one. "Gentlemen! The auction will now begin!" Sampson's powerful voice promised. "Take your seats!" Joe Bob let HER nipple go with a snap and took his seat. Kim caught the eye of the Arab and winced. The ugly brown man nodded as if assuring HER that he would soon indeed be HER master. Sampson was caught the exchange between Kimmie and the Texan, as well as taken note of the Arab's angry stare. He hadn't planned on putting up the blonde with the tiny tits, but if there was so much interest, the bidding was bound to be high. That would put the auction off to a very prosperous commencement! He walked over to Kimmie. "Gentlemen, shall we begin with Kimberlee? She is a gorgeous sixteen year old, all-American girl who just loves to play dress-up. Imagine this girl-next-door waiting for your return in nothing but her sexy black Calvin Kleins. Oh nothing will come between Kimmie and her Calvin Kleins-- until you snap your fingers!" Sampson slapped Kimmie's ass hard and SHE jiggled in HER bounds. Keep your eyes on the floor, SHE told HERSELF. Be a good girl! "Then," Sampson went on, "she'll strip out of them faster that you can say 'blow me'-- which you'll say quite often with Miss Hoover around the house!" Kimmie blushed and the men chuckled at this. Samson swung Kimmie around, so HER back was to the audience. Sampson yanked HER panty waist up effortlessly. "See this ass? Nice tight American teenybopper ass, gentlemen! You'll get plenty of use out of this piece!" Sampson slapped HER butt again unnecessarily. "Let's go! Shall we start the bidding at say, thirty thousand?" The Arab raised his hand. "Ah-- thank you Sheik! And thirty-five, have we thirty-five for this virgin blonde? Ah-- the gentleman from Texas! Thank you!" Kim listened to the bidding on HER with a nauseous feeling of unreality. Boys changed into girls and bought for money! It was too strange to think HER fate was to be a girl, to serve on e of these two cruel men! Desperately SHE hoped the Arab would stop bidding. Maybe HER breasts would be too small to interest him. "Sixty thousand! Thank you very much Sheik!" Sampson was saying. Kimmie flushed. Joe Bob was quiet and he should be bidding! please Joe Bob, SHE begged. SHE would be a good girl, a very good girl! Just please bid! But Joe Bob wasn't looking at Kimberlee any more. His eyes were on the shy brown haired bitch, Mandy. Now those were a ripe pair of titties! Sampson had said she'd make a great secretary too. Joe Bob smiled. Mandy, the Boy Scout, in a tight mini bent over his desk taking it up the ass doggy style from Boss Joe Bob! Shy Mandy taking "dick-tation"! She looked so arousing up there in her pink panties! Why did he need Kimberlee when the Mandy cutie had such nice titties and a good attitude? Tim had run away- fine, let him learn what it was like to suck Arab dick for the rest of his life as a harem girl. He'd regret he had ever given up the chance to be Joe Bob's private whore. That would teach him! Screw it-- let the towel-head have her! Joe Bob would buy the brown haired missy instead. "Sold to the Sheik for sixty thousand!" proclaimed Sampson triumphantly. Ten thousand more than he had figured for the flat-chested blonde! And things were off to a bang! An hour later when the owners came to collect their new possessions, Sampson toted the final bids and was pleasantly surprised. He had exceeded his expectations by well over 30%. Pam had brought $125,000 from a conservative member of the House of Lords who found her "English" looks and "respectful" attitude quite appropriate for a pleasure maid in his summer house on the Dover coast. Joanie's cheerleader looks had attracted the interest of a professional football coach, who had paid $140,000-- quite a coup, but the coach was a new client and had nervously overbid. Donna would be going to her new home, the Exxxcstasy Club, to begin her new career as a lap dancer. The club owner thought she had potential. "She might make stage dancer if she works very hard," he had said after closing the bidding at $95,000. Natasha, his exotic Russian beauty, had caused quite a sensation. Her winsome presentation and seductive accent had brought on a bidding frenzy till a prominent Southern U.S. senator had bought her for $200,000! Sampson made a note to touch base with his Russian contacts-- he would need more of these Russian boys to transform! The Catholic bishop would had bought Mary for $150,000 seemed unable to keep his hands off her already. Look how he was caressing her breasts even as the boy-girl cried in shame. Sampson was pleased-- he sensed unique opportunities from other Catholic prelates and anticipated the word would spread should the bishop be pleased with his purchase. Make a note-- procure more altar and choir boys! Annie had been a disappointment, fetching only $60,000. The madam he thought might buy her hadn't shown up and instead she had gone in a solitary low bid to a Mexican whoremaster even Sampson didn't like taking money from. The Mexican wanted Annie because real "gringo" girls were just too expensive. "My customers, they no care if she real girl or not. After all, she still have two holes to fill, no Senor Sampson?" the seedy whoremaster had commented. Too bad her breasts hadn't been a bit larger-- she might have merited a bid from one of the other clients and led a more pleasant life. Erin had made up for it though. The perky blonde beach bunny had brought $210,000 from the leader of a mid-sized African nation. The dictator seemed enchanted by the pale blonde Erin, who seemed equally terrified of her new large coal-black master. Linda, the punker groupie, had been a bargain for Megahead at $80,000. The lead singer had come to bid on and pick up the teen. Her eyes bulged at the singer, so well had she been indoctrinated to adore and worship the rock group. The singer had confided to Sampson that they would no doubt be back-- with four band members using her constantly, Linda wouldn't last long. Did he take trade-ins, the singer had asked. The band was also interested in buying a girl for their roadies. Sure, he could take a trade-in-- the girlies had excellent re-sale to pimps and whorehouses. Sampson liked volume business. And shy, scared Mandy-- to the Texan for a sizable amount of money. There had been some interest in this one-- cute, decent boobs and an innocent face-- so the bidding had shot up right away. Then the Texan had closed it off with finality at $150,000! Sampson had thought he was interested in the blonde, some family connection. The white slaver wasn't surprised, though. When his clients came to shop for one thing, many times they left with something altogether different. And even the boobless blonde Kimmie-boy had brought in $10,000 more than he expected from the Sheik. It all came to a total of $1,270,000 US dollars. Minus expenses for the Guardians, facilities and overhead, the transformation treatments, the girlies' pretty clothing, make-up and other female accouterments, he had $790,000 left in profit-- a 63% margin. And with quarterly "crops" of new girl-boys, the Complex under his guidance netted over $3,000,000 in profit per annum. And with the dismantling of trade barriers and access to virtually every market in the world, the business of turning teenage boys into sultry little slave girl sirens had blossomed into a very hot business. Not to mention the side benefits, he thought with pleasure. After escorting his clients out he would have Jill brought to his private suite for "evening instruction." The aforementioned Kimmie hung limply. She watched in sadness as Joe Bob walked out with the boy-girl Mandy, who followed him in confusion. It didn't matter. It wouldn't be so bad, belonging to the sheik. SHE was till shivering but SHE was composed. The Sheik was HER master and owner now. SHE had to be a good girl for him, had to be pretty, had to make Master forget SHE had been such a little bitch, had to please him, had to-- The Sheik roughly collared Kimmie and leashed his new slave girl. "Heel Golden one!" he commanded and Kimmie lowered herself to her knees by his side, like a trained animal. As he stroked her long blonde hair, he spoke to Sampson. "I am pleased. Such a bargain for this one! But she has small breasts, true." Sampson nodded. "She'll make up for it in other ways, I should think. You should find her ready to please you and follow your every command." The sheik smiled and laughed. "But she is not for me, Sampson! I would never waste the Royal seed on one such as this! Such a small-titted wench for the Sheik of Abadan? I should be insulted except I know you so well. Allah, no! I have my own harem of pretty girls-- real girls, with big breasts and soft, wet coves for the Royal member. I have not bought her as a serving wench for MY pleasure!" Sampson shook his head in confusion. "My mistake my Lord! I was to understand you had five others such as Kimberlee in your private stable?" The sheik nodded. "And I do! Kimberlee will have five other pretty slave sisters she shall become quite intimate with. As I said, I do enjoy watching them play. No, they DO serve in the stable. And I shall train Kimberlee. She shall serve in a harem for one I love dearly. Kimberlee shall toil in the harem of my Royal Mount, the stallion Cinnabar!" Kimberlee looked up at her new master, her mouth forming an "O" of unadulterated horror. The Sheik pushed her golden face down to the ground again. "She will bring Cinnabar much pleasure after she learns to accommodate the size of his equine member! He stands seven hands tall and has ferocious needs that will be serviced. He has grown so bored with his other wenches and I thought to surprise him with a blonde like Kimberlee. He will be so surprised and pleased, I think. She shall make a delightful mare for him to rut with her firm behind, will she not Sampson?" But Sampson had turned green. He nodded politely, looked with a trace of guilt at Kimmie and moved to speak to the other departing customers. After they had all left, he drew Hercules aside. "Take over the Com, my friend. I'm retiring for the afternoon." |