From user23@primenet.com Thu Feb 06 16:40:04 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: Lisa's TG Library: "A Boy's Bra Training and Discipline"
From: user23@primenet.com (Lisa Blades)
Date: 6 Feb 1997 14:40:04 -0700

BBT.TXT

A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline

by Marlissa



How did it happen?  Gosh, it was four years ago.  Well I could start by 
saying that I knew it would be him.  As soon as he walked into my summer 
school class, I just knew he would be the one.  Dino Fazio thought he 
was God's gift to women, including me, his remedial English teacher.  
Not that he was offering himself over.  He made it clear that Meg Hardy 
didn't pass muster.

"What was that Mr. Fazio?" I was beet red at the comment he'd just 
expressed loudly in the back of the room.

He sat there in his leather jacket and sneered.  That he was so good-
looking made it worse.  He wasn't tall being only 5' 6", but his dark 
good looks, big brown eyes, high cheekbones, long straight black hair 
and soft, flawless olive skin more than made up for differences in 
height.

"I just said I don't like fried eggs."  He stared back fiercely, daring 
me to contradict him.  

But that hadn't been what he had said.  What he had said loudly enough 
to be heard by the twenty other fifteen year olds was "Check out Miss 
Fried Egg Tits up there."  The other kids had laughed loudly at my 
humiliation, double so because my blush admitted that I had heard it 
too.  Our eyes meet and I relented.

"Please keep your comments to yourself," I replied.

He didn't answer.  Instead he looked around at his fellow teenagers, 
nodding as if to say that he had met the enemy and she was his.  Jed 
Taylor and Frankie Farino, two fellow thugs-in-training, smirked back, 
as did Samantha King and Beth Simpson, both bustier at fifteen that I 
would ever be.  Young Master Fazio was obviously trying to score points 
with the other kids and it was working.  They giggled and whispered back 
and forth the whole class and I was too mortified to say anything about 
it.

I busily filled the board with sentence parsing for the remainder of the 
class, until mercifully the bell rang.  He waited till the other kids 
had filed out.  Then as Dino passed by my desk, he leaned over and 
whispered in my ear.

"Try a push-up tomorrow.  Maybe I'll be able to figure out if you're 
really a boy or a girl."

He uttered this trash with such steeliness that for a minute I was 
scared, really scared.  He left without another word and I stayed in the 
empty classroom shaking like a leaf.  

When I got home I poured myself a glass of wine and thought about the 
problem.  Here I was, my first day on my first teaching job and a boy 
ten years younger than me had taken control of my classroom.  And I 
wasn't even into the regular school season yet.  I had hoped the three 
month summer remedial classes would acclimate me to a full teaching 
schedule.  What had I done to Dino Fazio? I wondered bitterly.  Nothing.  
I had done nothing to this kid.  He was so resentful of having to take 
this remedial class that he was making my life miserable-- by referring 
to the one area of my anatomy that I was still self-conscious of.

Look, I don't have any illusions about myself.  I'm not a super model.  
But I am good-looking.  Friends tell me that if Sigourney Weaver had 
short bright red hair, she'd look like me and that sounds right.  I have 
pale skin and freckles-- curse my Irish forefathers!-- and bright green 
eyes.  I'm in good shape and stay that way by running three miles every 
day.  And as Dino shared with the class, I'm not exactly 'built,' though 
he had exaggerated and turned a 34B into a 32AAA.  Anyway, I know I have 
a lean and mean figure that, in a pair of Guess jeans has turned more 
than its share of male heads.

Which was another depressing topic.  I drank more of the wine as I 
contemplated my new job situation.  I had tried not to think about it, 
but now as I wallowed in self-made misery, I rolled it over again.  What 
would I do with my love life?  This wasn't the usual self-pity single 
gals resort to.  I knew I could go out a find a guy.  The word was that 
there were several eligible bachelor teachers on staff at Bentson High 
that would be returning to the school in September.  But what good did 
that do me?  You see, I'm a lesbian.  And actively lesbian teachers at 
suburban Florida high schools aren't very popular with school boards-- 
not in the land of Anita Bryant anyway.

So there I was, in a strange town, already tormented by a little creep 
on the first day and desperately lonely for some feminine companionship.  
I remembered that night was the longest of my life since the death of my 
parents when I was a sophomore in college.  I couldn't imagine how 
anything would get any better, ever.  But it did, and not long after.

The next day I arose with the determination to do something about the 
Fazio kid.  Luckily he wasn't in class.  Normally skipping the second 
day would have annoyed the hell out of me, but I was just grateful not 
to have to face him.  His cohorts, Jed, Frankie, Samantha and Beth, kept 
their chatter down to a rude if manageable rumble.  Without their 
ringleader, they didn't have the nerve to cross me openly.

After class, I checked in with Mr. Temple, the principal.  He had hired 
me and we got along well.  I had the sense that he sort of thought of me 
in a daughterly way, as he had gone out of his way to help me settle in 
Bentson.  My request for information about Dino Fazio elicited only the 
mildest interest.

"Problem with the boy Meg?" he asked sympathetically.  He pulled out the 
file and nodded.  "Looks like he recently moved here, right after the 
school year was over.  Was in," his eyes widened, "the state juvenile 
facility for carjacking!"  He pulled his glasses down and looked up 
intently at me through his pince nezs.  "Be careful with this one Meg.  
He's trouble."  Then continuing to scan the file, he concluded "If he 
wants to go on as a sophomore in September, he's got to get at least a C 
in your remedial English class.  Looks like he's stuck with you and 
probably resents it.  Meg, he's a new kid in a new town out to score 
some points against a new teacher.  It's going to happen from time to 
time.  I'm sorry it has to hit you so soon.  Even in Bentson, there are 
these bad kids."

I thanked him and assured him I could handle it.  I left the empty high 
school jumped in my car and headed toward the address in Dino's file.  I 
didn't have a plan really, but I was curious about how this kid lived.  
Maybe I could talk to his parents, try to get their help in curbing him 
a little.

As soon as I arrived at the trailer park on the edge of town, I knew my 
chances of getting help were far less than even.  The trailer listed as 
Dino's address wasn't just run-down, it was filthy in a way that gives 
benign neglect a good name.  the place was a sty. There were the hulks 
of at least four cars up on blocks in the front yard, piles of 
uncollected stuffed garbage bags, dozens of Old Milwaukee cans rolling 
round on what passed for a front lawn, and a huge tv antenna that 
sprouted from the top of the dirty white trailer.

I knocked on the door.  An older man in a gray-once white tee shirt and 
oil splotched work pants shook himself out of a one man snoring contest.  
He looked at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes.  He weighed about three 
hundred pounds and reeked of beer.

"Wuz you want?" he demanded.

I told him and asked if I could come in to talk about Dino.  He didn't 
invited me in, but didn't tell me to leave when I opened the fly-
speckled screen door.

The inside of the trailer made me long for the fresh exuberance of the 
front yard.  The place was a dump, pure and simple.  I found a perch on 
an ancient legless sofa.

"Dino, he my neff-yew, y'all unnnerstan?  His ma and pa done run off-- 
bills yew know.  And the boy come to stay heah after he got out of the 
Reformatory.  He come and go-- I don't care.  Some day I'll get up and 
he'll be gone-- wouldn't surprise me.  Ain't my problem.  I got other 
problems-- I'm on the Disability."  He took a draw on a can of Old 
Milwaukee and looked at me, clearly uninterested in his nephew's goings 
on.

His disability looked self-induced to me, but I nodded.  "Look, Dino 
needs to buckle down.  His reading skills are below par."

With that, the uncle laughed.  "Dino reads alright, Missy, see hare?  
All them magazines he likes is all over."  He pointed to a stack of 
glossy girlie magazines with such gorgeous names as "Bra Busters," 
"40dds" and "Hot Tips."

I shook my head in disgust and left without another word.  Behind me the 
fat old drunk man continued to drink and laugh.  So much for help there, 
I thought despondently.  Now what?

That evening I did the only thing I could think of.  I called up Diana 
Weston, my best friend from college.  I hadn't talked to her since her 
wedding three months ago.

"Weston residence," the high pitched voice answered, "May I help you?"

Polite, respectful and demure, just the way Diana liked it, I thought.  
"Ginger, this is Ms. Hardy.  Put your mistress on the phone."

"Yes, Ma'am, at once Ma'am!"

Diana picked up a minute later.  Before she could speak, I complimented 
her on Ginger's phone comportment.  "He's very sweet, Diana.  You've 
trained him so well!"

She responded with her wry low laugh.  "Yes, well once George Fielding 
came back from the Honeymoon, he had to be taught that those dress-up 
games on our wedding night weren't just games-- they were the way things 
were going to be.  Little Georgie girl here whined a bit when I made him 
change his last name to Weston.  And he put up a fight when he was told 
he was going to stay home and keep house for me, just like a good lil 
househubby.  And he needed some good old fashioned discipline when he 
was rechristened 'Ginger.'  But he seems to be accepting his new role 
quite nicely now.  Anyway, honey, how are you?  How's the new job 
going?"

"That's why I called.  I need your help with a problem.  I thought since 
you're in the Society--"

Diana cut me off.  "Please, Hon, you know all references to the Society 
need to be made in person.  And if you're talking about what I think 
you're talking about, you should come over at once."

An hour later I was there.  Ginger Weston, nee George Fielding, opened 
the door.  I couldn't believe the transformation.  He had been the class 
president and head of the biggest frat at our college.  At the wedding 
he looked every inch the man-in-control as he swept Diana away in the 
limo.  Little did anyone know except for Meg, that Diana had very 
definite ideas about how male spouses were supposed to act.  

Poor George.  Now he stood wearing a silk champagne negligee and high 
heeled mules, his long dyed platinum blonde hair cascading seductively 
over the spaghetti straps of the lingerie and his bare shoulders.  His 
skin was smooth and made-up, as were his eyes.  His long nails were 
painted a garish red.  If I didn't know better and except for the flat 
chest, I might have thought that the person greeting me was George's 
younger sister.  But of course it wasn't.  It was George now transformed 
into Ginger. 

"Hello, Ginger."

He looked sheepishly up.  Like Diana's other close friends, we had known 
George before she had trained him.  The knowledge embarrassed him 
acutely.

"Hello, Ms. Hardy.  Uh, please follow me."  

Ginger led me to the living room, where Diana was listening to music.  
She rose and greeted me with a big hug.  Marriage agreed with her-- 
especially the kind she had planned on.  She was comfortably at ease in 
a flannel gown, so unlike the sexy frilly thing her husband wore. Diana 
had a warm confident glow, the kind that no doubt attracted George to 
her to begin with.  She had an angular sharp featured face that made her 
hard  to forget, a look that was emphasized by the modish short pixie 
cut of her dark brown hair.  Diana was thoroughly heterosexual, though 
of the female-controlled variety, and her looks were too hard for me, 
though she was an attractive woman.  Since my tastes run more to the 
feminine, so-called lipstick lesbian range, there had never been the 
slightest sexual undertow in our relationship, which made it all the 
more comfortable.  We both accepted each other's choices.  
 
"Ginger, be a doll and fetch Meg a drink."

As the feminized househubby minced off to obey his mistress'es command, 
we exchanged glances and began to laughed simultaneously.  Three months 
disappeared in thirty seconds.
  
"God, it's good to see you!"

I took the drink Ginger returned with and Diana gave him a pat on his 
butt.

"Isn't he a sexy thing?  Ginger, you'd be bored by all this confusing 
women's talk.  Why don't you be a pet and go warm up our bed?"  Diana 
winked at me.  "Just think about all the things I'm going to do to you, 
doll face.  That ought to get you hot and bothered."  She dismissed him 
with a slap on his butt and he scampered up the stairs obediently.

"Now, what's this about the Society?  Tell me why you're interested in 
the Black Rose Society all of a sudden."

I proceeded to tell her all about Dino Fazio, then as the wine took 
hold, I began to admit just how unhappy I was.  The trickle which had 
begun with Dino Fazio now turned into an emotional torrent.  She 
listened carefully and patiently.  She had known about my sexual 
proclivities since college and if she didn't share them, she at least 
sympathetically.  Finally she asked why I had brought up the Society 
after such a long time.  

I wondered myself.  Diana had told me of her membership in this ultra-
secret organization while we were in college.  At first I thought it was 
some kind of sorority, but there was never any mention of it.  Later she 
shared the Society's mission with me.  

"The idea is that women should run things, not males."

"So it's political?" I asked naively.

But she shook her head.  "Not quite."  She wouldn't tell me anymore 
about it but she had floated the idea once of me joining.

"The sisters like you from what they can see.  You know," she added 
pointedly, "there are many lesbians in the Black Rose Society.  It's one 
place that prejudice doesn't exist toward your choice.  Tell me you're 
interested and I can tell you all the specifics. The Society can be a 
real help when you graduate."

Diana had certainly done well for herself, landing a top job at Artemis 
Investments right out of college.  It was why she lived so regally now 
and could afford to keep her man at home in his feminized state.  I 
adored Diana, but I begged off.  It was all too mysterious and 
melodramatic.  I got the impression that George's transformation was 
just the tip of the iceberg.  And I wasn't at all sure that I approved 
of dominating males either. Until now.

"I don't know Diana.  You know my folks are gone and I don't have 
anyone.  I guess I'm just vulnerable that's all.  That punk just made it 
all go to my head."  I put the wineglass down.  "I should go."

"You know, I'm sure we can find a solution to your problems.  Males all 
provide it themselves, you know.  If you're aware of the signs, you can 
take advantage of their own instincts to make them behave.  Why, Georgie 
Girl was just crazy about Marilyn Monroe.  Thought she was the ultimate 
sex symbol.  All he wanted from a women was for her to be a centerfold.  
Fine-- I turned him into one.  Find out that boy's weakness and you can 
do the same to him!"  

Centerfold!  The word made me think of all those disgusting magazines in 
that trailer!  A plan took shape.  Diana could see me getting excited, 
then the bubble burst.  

"What's the matter?" she asked concerned.

I looked up forlornly.  "Diana, with all due respect, I think your life 
is wonderful.  You've put George, I mean Ginger, in a unique role in 
your life.  But you're suggesting I turn that Fazio boy into a Ginger.  
And I'm not a heterosexual.  I'm into girls, not cross-dressed 
husbands!"

Diana smiled.  "Fine.  You like feminine girls.  You don't have a lover 
right now and you can't have one openly because you'd get fired.  But 
what about a teenage girl, one that you would train as a lesbian love 
slave?  You could keep her as a little pet to help pass those lonely 
hours at home."

I was growing wet between the legs at the thought.  "I love the idea, 
but...how?  I mean how could I do it without getting into trouble?  And 
what does having a teenage sex toy have to do with that little jerk Dino 
Fazio?"

Diana spent the next hour telling me exactly what the two things had to 
do with one another.

************************

All I told Mr. Temple the following day was that I couldn't continue 
teaching the summer session.  He was disappointed until I explained I 
had some lengthy legal obligations to unearth regarding my parents' 
estate.  

"I inherited a house on the shore where I'll be staying for the next 
three months.  I'll be back though to teach in the Fall."  With that 
promise made, he allowed me to leave my remedial English course and 
assigned another teacher to the class.

"I hope that Fazio boy hasn't done this!  If he's causing you to give up 
this course, I'll--"

I assured him there was no connection and with a thankful handshake took 
my leave for the summer.  I packed up a few things and drove the two 
hours out to my parent's old summer home on the eastern coast of 
Florida.  Diana met me there, smiling in a very satisfied way.  She 
handed me a keychain on which hung a small key and a black button the 
size of a dime.

"He's in the house.  He's heavily sedated and probably won't be up for a 
while.  He's been fitted with the chastity belt I told you about.  Use 
this," she pointed to the black button, "if he gets out of hand.  It's 
called the Tutor.  It will activate an electrical shock that affects the 
nerve-endings in a nasty way.  I've used it once already today.  Don't 
hesitate to use it.  Remember, you need to show him who's boss.  The 
sooner he understands who makes up the rules, the better a lover he'll 
eventually make for you."

The whole scheme suddenly seemed unreal and scary to me.  "Diana, are 
you sure about this?  I mean, will he really turn into a teenage girl?  
How can we get away with this?"

Diana nodded strongly in the affirmative.  "Look Meg, I took care of all 
that.  Society sisters nabbed the little brat and left a forged note for 
that fat uncle that said he was taking off with a gang.  The uncle could 
care less.  As far as the changes, just put him on the diet we talked 
about.  You'll see changes at once.  Within three months, your Dino 
Fazio will be ready to take his place as the hottest little cutie in the 
sophomore class of Bentson High School.  Just make sure he drinks the 
bottled water every day.  It doesn't affect females, just males-- makes 
them very feminine in both appearance and manner."

I shook my head.  "But what will keep him from telling anyone about all 
this?  I can't be with him all the time at the school."

Diana patted me on the back.  "Honey, don't worry.  The Society CAN 
watch him all the time. You'd be amazed at our presence. And what can he 
say anyway?  That he's really a boy?  He'd be mortified to let anyone 
know women did this to him.  And even if he gets desperate enough, he 
won't dare say a thing."

"Why?"

Diana's hard eyes fixed on mine.  "Because I told him that if he so much 
as acted like a tomboy, let alone say anything, that he'd be castrated."

I gasped.  "Are you serious?"

Diana nodded grimly.  "Absolutely.  I already told him that you want him 
as a young lesbian lover, therefore you could care less if he has a 
cocklet.  At least this way, he'll keep his little thing, even if it is 
under lock and key in his chastity belt for good.  What is it?  You're 
still doubting this can happen?  God, anyone else would be thanking me.  
It's a fantasy come true.  In three months you'll have a hot little teen 
queen who will worship the ground you walk on-- or else.  Talk about the 
ultimate teacher's pet!  What's the problem?"

I sighed.  She was right.  But I still didn't believe it was possible to 
convert a tough talking fifteen year old bully into the soft sexy pretty 
young thing of my fantasies.

"Well, I can see how he could be physically transformed into a girl, I 
guess, but can he really emotionally be turned into a girl?"

Again, that Diana smile-- like a brilliant Cheshire cat.  "I already 
have a plan for you, one that should be quite amusing.  But I'll hold it 
for the end of August.  Now go in and start training the girl of your 
dreams!  Good luck!"  Off she went, leaving me to my new charge and 
challenge of turning Dino Fazio, high school tough guy into my new 
sweetheart.

Well, if you're reading this, I doubt you need to hear the details of 
how Dino Fazio was transformed into Stacie Fox.  Needless to say the 
first two weeks were rough.  Dino refused to accept my authority and the 
Tutor was employed on a couple of occasions.  On the second day after 
all his sparse chest hair fell out, he stopped eating and drinking, but 
that only lasted a day.  His diet of protein drinks and bottled water-- 
both containing a secret chemical element prepared by the Society-- 
brought on amazing feminine characteristics.  His nascent boy beard 
disappeared, never to return, leaving his olive skin smooth and glowing.  
His body hair all fell out as well.  His cheeks became more pronounced, 
though more delicate.  Even his hands and feet grew smaller by two 
sizes.  His nails and black hair grew at an accelerated speed too.  Dino 
really became alarmed when his waist narrowed even as his hips expanded!  
He still had a boyish figure, but it was certainly looked more like that 
of a developing teenage girl than a boy.  His new coltish prettiness 
really perplexed him and he couldn't avoid it, because I kept him nude 
now, except for the chastity belt.  He finally gave up his stubborn 
resistance to answering to his new name after another shock from the 
Tutor. 

The beginning of the third week we had our first conversation.  He 
hadn't accepted his new feminine fate, but the chemicals rebalancing his 
metabolism were causing him to lose hope.  He listened as I explained to 
him the new challenges facing him.

"Stacie, you're turning into a girl now and there's nothing you can do 
about it, is there?"

He reluctantly nodded, though petulantly.  He drew his long straight 
black hair back from his eyes and his full kissable lips trembled.

"Well you know you have to start acting like a girl because you're going 
back to school in a couple of months."

He looked up.  "Like this?" he pleaded.  His voice was a nice high 
soprano now, able to hit all the sweet high notes. 

I grinned.  "Oh yes, indeed.  Just like that."

His blue eyes were terror-filled.  "But what if someone finds out I'm a 
boy?  Will that lady still do THAT to me?"

I nodded again.  "Oh yes!  If anyone even thinks you might be a girl, 
you'll be castrated-- understand?  So what will you have to do all the 
time?"

He squeezed his thin shoulders worriedly.  I have to start acting like a 
girl, Ms. Hardy.  Like Stacie Fox."

Good.  We were getting someplace.  I patted him on his lovely head.  
"That's right, Stacie.  We'll begin at once."  And with that, Stacie was 
introduced to his new wardrobe-- a bright collection of Junior Miss 
fashions.  It only took one shock of the Tutor to convince him that he 
really DID want to put on those yellow cotton French cut panties.

Within a week, Stacie was wearing all the kinds of pretty clothes high 
school girls his age wore.  Jean mini-skirts, tight No Excuses jeans, 
hip-hugging short-shorts, cute lace-trimmed blouses, smart black heels 
and girlishly pink running shoes, darling lacy socklettes, revealing 
stirrup pants, and more.  The following week I taught him the joys of 
make-up and jewelry.  He was shaping up so well I was caught by surprise 
when he tried to escape one night.

Poor thing never had a chance.  Stacie thought that if he could get out 
of my presence, he had a shot at getting some help in reversing the 
process I had begun with him.  Though I was almost always training him 
on these long Florida summer days, one day I decided to take a nap and 
sent him to his room.  The doorlock didn't catch though and Dino's 
bedroom was open.  Clever little thing waited for me to fall asleep, 
then actually made a dash out through the front door.  Of course he 
didn't know that I put the Tutor on automatic whenever I was away from 
him, thus ensuring that he could never get farther away than I allowed 
him too.  The shock hit him when he reached for the door handle.  When I 
awoke, I found him crouched in a corner doubled over in pain.

I could have let him be at that point, but a lesson needed to be taught.  
Suddenly I liked the idea of using physical force to teach the supple 
girlish boy the price of disobedience.  In other words, I felt like 
being a bitch!  I shook my head angrily and told him I was so very 
disappointed.

"Over my knee Missy.  Come on-- come get your medicine." 

You'd have thought all I had done to the boy would have been humiliating 
enough so that a mere spanking would be nothing.  But male pride is a 
curious thing.  He refused.

I hit the button for the Tutor to deliver a lesson in impertinence.  He 
threw his head up in agony.  I patted my knee again, without saying a 
word.  He dropped his head and sullenly draped himself over my knee.  It 
was the last time I used the Tutor.  From that moment on, all Stacie's 
'lapses' in judgment were corrected with corporal punishment and have 
been to this day four years later.  I still had the Tutor, but Stacie 
found my method somewhat more bearable.  Which was fine-- I began to 
cast an eagle-eye for any small indiscretions that would give me the 
opportunity to punish my pretty pet. 

There were plenty, though nothing major.  It was August and Stacie had 
come to accept at least for the moment, his new gender.  He was 
dressing, making himself up as, speaking like, even walking like a 
fifteen year old girl.  He didn't smile much, but I couldn't expect 
miracles.  When Diana came up at the end of the summer to inspect my 
"summer project" she was pleased with my progress.

"You've really taken him in hand, Meg.  What a cutie you have here," she 
said as she watched Stacie mincing about the house.  he was cleaning, a 
task he performed daily now.  "I'm sure by now you're handling 
discipline without the need to resort to the Tutor."

I nodded confidently.  "Yes, Stacie's been behaving very adequately 
lately.  He still gets into trouble, but nothing I can't handle," I 
said, tapping my palm with a hairbrush.

"Good.  Now that he's almost ready, we can talk about something you 
brought up at the beginning of the summer."

I had forgotten what she was talking about.  "I thought he was ready, 
Diana.  What's missing?"

She wagged a finger in disagreement.  "No, no, no!  Not by a long shot!  
Look, you have him prancing around in panties, skirt and make-up, true.  
He acts and looks like a girl.  But he doesn't FEEL like a girl yet.  
Remember how I said that my Georgie-girl really wasn't tamed into being 
a proper lil househubby till I turned him into the woman of HIS dreams?"

I snapped my fingers, realizing what she was saying.  "Marilyn Monroe!  
Of course!"

Diana handed me a small bottle of water.  "Remember what he said to 
bother you earlier?"

I took the bottle.  Yes, I had.  I said I don't like fried eggs, the 
punk had said.

"And you said he had all those girlie magazines?" she reminded me.

I nodded and smiled.  "I understand.   I know what to do."

We dropped the subject, though I would ask her for advice in the matter 
as school progressed.  Diana stayed for dinner, all the while drinking 
in the sight of my pretty teen queen pet.  Dino shivered whenever her 
eyes fell on him too long. Only once did she ask me loudly and in his 
presence if she would need to "spay" him.  He turned ashen white, 
waiting for me to reply.

I paused for a dramatic moment or two, then shook my head.  "No, not now 
anyway.  He's really trying hard.  Ask me again when he starts school 
though.  If he doesn't pass, I'll need to reconsider it."

Diana left that evening with specific instructions on how to use the 
bottled liquid.  "Just like before, except one dose should do.  Give it 
to the dear tonight and watch him drink every drop.  In the morning he 
should be ready to take back to Bentson with you."

I followed her instructions, and watched the skirted boy sip every drop 
without so much as a peep.  He was of course quite used to obeying my 
every order at this stage and did so now.  After drinking it, he fell 
into a deep slumber.  He had grown so light-- he weighed all of one 
hundred-seven pounds now-- that I easily picked him up him and placed 
him in his bed for a what would be a very strange night of beauty rest.  

I knew the next day the bottled formula had worked because I could hear 
Stacie whining to himself behind his locked bedroom suite.

"I have tits!  I have tits!"  He didn't sound happy about it.

I opened the door.  He sat on his big pink girl's bed wearing a nightie.  
He was holding the pink lace nightie up, inspecting what was underneath 
resting high on his chest.  They were a smallish pair of perky breasts, 
about the size of cut lemons!  He dropped his nightie and looked up in 
alarm.  Tears were streaming down his dark, wan cheeks.  His full lips 
were opened up in a silent scream.

"Aren't we growing up!" I cruelly chided him.  He didn't say a word, but 
big tears continued to fall down those soft cheeks and I left him alone 
to collect his thoughts.

Later I realized that poor Dino's worst nightmare had occurred.  It was 
one thing to change the shape of his body, to make it sift and 
acceptable to my tastes for a young, taut teen body.  The long hair, the 
soft skin, the make-up and dressing-- that was one thing.  He had never 
expected this though.  Now he had what he had so often lusted after-- a 
pair of teenage girl's breasts-- except these breast were smaller, much 
smaller than anything that might have attracted him. I think even a 
whorish pair of pumped up melon-tits would have been easier to take than 
the tiny nipple-teats he had sprouted.  For the diminutive little things 
my girl-boy had now were more nipple than breast.  As I searched for and 
found the raised dime-sized nipples underneath the sheer nightie, I 
guessed that at most, that my teeny-bopper would wear a 32AA brassiere 
at most.  But that was the point Diana had made.  It was precisely how I 
would turn the half-boy into the totally girlish lipstick lesbian teen 
lover of my hottest, wettest fantasies.

The night before school was to begin, I took Stacie home from the beach 
house, along with all his pretty new clothes.  As I drove, I told him 
the story that Diana and I had worked out.  Stacie Fox was my niece.  
HER parents were traveling extensively and I had agreed to let her stay 
with me for the coming school year.  I would be responsible for her.  
SHE would also be in my homeroom class, and HER courses had been chosen 
by me.  Mr. Temple had been informed already. 

Stacie listened, increasingly more depressed and withdrawn.  He looked 
up in fear when I told him there would be some new rules to follow when 
we got home, rules that would be followed or else Diana would be paying 
him a call with a scalpel.  I didn't say anything more but gave him as 
hard a look as I could.  He squirmed and kept his full lips pursed, 
afraid to utter a word.

The next morning I watched as Stacie Fox, my new niece, dressed.  I 
picked out the outfit-- a pink velveteen miniskirt, a sheer white 
buttoned blouse, white knee socks, Maryjanes and a floppy pink ribbon to 
wear in his hair.  Simple pink heart-shaped ear studs, pink lipgloss and 
pale pink nail polish completed the young lady image I wanted for him.  
Underneath his little flared a-line miniskirt, Stacie wore a pair of 
pink French-cut Hanes For Her panties.     

He was tucking in his blouse when he realized his breasts were clearly 
visible through the material!  He looked up, confounded.  
"May I put on another blouse?"

I shook my head firmly.  "No.  You look very pretty in that blouse and 
you're going to keep it on."

He bowed his head, then gathered all his courage up.  The moment he 
ashamedly made his shy request, his bra training had begun.

"Then may I have a bra to wear, please?"

"Why do you need a bra, Stacie?"

He blushed.  "Because you can see my breasts through my blouse, Ms. 
Hardy. Maybe I could borrow one of yours?" he pleaded softly.

I laughed.  "There's no way.  You couldn't fill it out by a long shot.  
Besides you need a special kind of bra.  The kind girls wear when they 
start to get their little breasts.  What kind is that, Stacie?  What 
kind of bra do you need?"

He looked at his Maryjanes humbly for a moment, then forced the answer 
out.  "A training bra, Ms. Hardy.  I need a training bra."

I nodded approvingly.  "That's right, Stacie.  And I bought one for you-
- just for your little breasts."  I pulled it out of my briefcase and 
handed it to him.  "Go put on your very first training bra Stacie.  
We're going to be late for our first day at school."

Stacie took the packaged training bra, the tag still hanging off it.  
The disconcerted expression on his prettified and softened face told me 
that it would take my Stacie a while before he would comfortably accept 
the unfamiliar feminine garment's new role in his teenage world.  I 
could only look forward to his journey toward girlhood with pleasurable 
anticipation!

He returned, ready for the drive to school.  I noted with approval that 
Stacie had donned his training bra quickly and without questions.  Good-
- he could dress himself without questions.  I could clearly make out 
the training bra underneath the sheer white material of the blouse.  It 
was a darling contraption made of soft snow white cotton, with wide 
straps and full chest covering cups.  It was almost a half-chemise, with 
pretty white lace trimming that gave only the barest hint of budding 
breasts under the too-generous cups.  In fact, the training bra didn't 
even hook in the back, but was worn by pulling it over the head.  The 
whole effect was to announce that the wearer was ready to begin her real 
girlhood, but still underequipped for the new stage.  Stacie scrunched 
his shoulders, his fingers constantly straying to position an errant 
strap or scratching his back where the big backstrap offered unneeded 
support.  It was so cute!

As we drove, I informed Stacie that he would be expected to obey certain 
private rules I had already formulated.  The reason for this was that I 
needed to be convinced that Stacie was being a very good girl and 
therefore didn't require my brand of discipline.  As I told him the 
first rule, he turned pale.

He looked up at me, a nervous wreck.  "Oh, must I, Ms. Hardy?  Shan't I 
be drawing attention to myself?"  I had taught him to speak as a 
properly brought up young lady over the course of the past summer and to 
always use a frivolous charming turn of phrase.

"That's the point, Stacie.  You'll do as I've instructed because it is 
important that everyone be aware of your concern for your appearance."  
I added, unnecessarily, that he knew what would happen if he didn't obey 
this rule.  He gave me a short nod, though his full lips were tightly 
shut.

Stacie was surprised as I assigned him a seat that was surrounded by his 
former summer school chums-- Jed Taylor, Frankie Farino, Samantha King 
and Beth Simpson.  He must have hoped against hope that the four would 
recognize him, but I watched that hope die as the kids looked him over 
as dully as they did their required reading.  It was as if they had 
never known him at all.  I knew that Stacie was reeling at the shock and 
was pleased. I wanted my darling girlie Stacie Fox to understand that 
Dino Fazio may as well have never existed.

I introduced Stacie to the class, though made no mention of our 
relationship.  I had suggested to Mr. Temple that if the other kids knew 
Stacie was my niece they might suspect me of favoritism. Stacie was so 
informed as well and told to keep the relationship secret.  Samantha and 
Beth couldn't have taken cared less about the new "girl" but I saw a 
brief predatory leer from the Stacie's two male neighbors, Jed and 
Frankie.

All was preceding normally when I decided to cue Stacie.  I had told him 
the signal would be my taking off my glasses and putting them in the 
breast pocket of my jacket.  To the rest of the class, this would be a 
meaningless gesture, but to Stacie it would begin the most memorable era 
of his bra training.

At first his frightened expression concerned me.  My back-up plan would 
be to activate the Tutor and he knew this, which was probably why he 
grudgingly raised his hand.  I stopped my lesson, a discussion of 
grammar rules, and recognized him.

"Yes, Stacie?" I asked archly, acting annoyed at being interrupted in 
the middle of my discourse.

His pretty made-up face blushed a crimson red.  He opened his wide 
lipglossed mouth and spoke demurely.  "May I be excused to go to the 
Girl's Room, Ms. Hardy?"

I hid my smile.  "And why, Stacie?"

His face darkened in shame, but he knew he had to continue.  He had no 
choice.  "I must adjust my training brassiere, Ma'am."

As the class erupted into laughter, I couldn't help but join in.  "Yes, 
Miss Fox, you may go adjust your training bra-- by all means, young 
lady!"  Beth and Samantha were doubled over in chuckles and Jed and 
Frankie gave Stacie cartoonish "hubba hubba" looks.  All the girls in 
the class were healthy sixteen year olds with nicely shaped chests and 
the request only emphasized how flat Stacie was compared to them.  That 
a sixteen year old girl still wore a training bra absolutely shook them 
into gales of derisive laughter-- a laughter I freely shared.  

Stacie scampered out of the class, completely humiliated and returned a 
few minutes later. As he resented himself, careful to keep his skirt 
close to his legs, Jed stage whispered "All set, Dolly Parton?" and the 
class broke into chuckles all over again.  Stacie sat and kept his head 
bowed down.

That was the beginning of the bra training I subjected Stacie to.  He 
was required per my rule to utter the phrase "my training brassiere" at 
least once a school day for two weeks.  He had to say it in my presence 
at my cue loud enough to be heard by the entire class.  After the first 
time, it was up to him to come up with ways to use the phrase that made 
sense.  To be honest, his ingenuity impressed me.  The next day, at my 
cue, he raised his hand.  We had been discussing adjectives.  How would 
be make a connection between his training bra and adjectives?  I 
recognized him.

"In a way, adjectives are things that make others things pretty, is that 
right, Ms. Hardy?"

"How do you mean Miss Fox?"

He blushed again.  "Like my training brassiere makes my figure prettier?  
Like that?"

Again, the class broke down.  And it was like that for the next two 
weeks.  Every time Stacie raised his hand, the class began to get the 
giggles, though by this time the girls were getting disgusted.  Stacie 
had no self-pride to keep bringing up her small bust, they said.  She 
was clearly doing it to get the attention of boys in some weird way.  
But the boys thought the whole thing was hilarious.  

Another affect of what was seen as her odd behavior was that Stacie was 
unable to make any friends.  The girls thought she was too strange and 
the boys couldn't care less about a girl who thought so little of 
herself, though Jed and Frankie seemed to have a private joke about 
their feminine classmate that made them eye her with special interest.  
In any case, Stacie was isolated which was precisely what I wanted.  I 
hardly needed him getting chummy with some boy or girl and sharing the 
story of his ongoing training, let alone his biological sex.

Two weeks had passed and Stacie had obeyed my rules thoroughly.  I 
complimented him at home, though he responded only with a wan sad smile.  
I knew he dreaded getting up in the morning, hated being put in such 
humiliating situations constantly and that school for him was more 
literally a prison for him than any of his classmates could imagine.  
But regardless of how I knew he must feel inside, I could find no fault 
whatsoever with his behavior.  He dressed in his schoolgirl wardrobe 
without so much as a cross look.  His walk was graceful in his Maryjanes 
and saddle shoes and his makeup applied ever more expertly as days 
progressed.  No-- Stacie was acting like the perfect little lady at 
Benson High.

And that was why I decided to reward my little Stacie.  Sunday evening I 
told him I wished to speak to him.  He put down his Glamour magazine (he 
was responsible for  reading at least one fashion magazine a week now) 
and looked up demurely.  By now he had learned the tricks of the teenage 
girl of how to look pretty without too much work, which his casually 
ponytailed black hair demonstrated.  He looked up, not directly at me, 
but down at my shoes-- an acceptably respectful demeanor.

"You've been a good girl, Stacie."

He continued to look down, but I saw the wince.  He still didn't like 
being referred to as a girl, even though he made such a convincing one 
by now.

"Good girls get rewards."

He looked up hopefully now, batting his lashes excitedly.  Then he saw 
what I had in my hand and all his anticipation collapsed.  He took the 
gift pettishly, his brown eyes clouding in pouty anger.

"What do you say, young lady?"

"T-thank you, Ms. Hardy."  There was a trace of hurt in it but I let it 
pass.  He held the garment doubtfully.  

I instructed him to put it on.  Sluggishly, he pulled off his pink 
blouse.  Without effort he slipped the training bra off over his head.  
But now his hostility was softened by curiosity.  He shyly toyed with 
the soft wireless cups of his peach colored cotton bra.  

"It's a Missy Petite, an Olga For Girls, size 32 AAA-- the smallest they 
make.  But it is a real bra.  What do you think Stacie?"

His curiosity was winning the better of him.  "It has a hook in the 
back, Ms. Hardy-- not like my training brassiere."  He was fingering the 
soft cotton, playing with the hook.

I nodded.   "That's right, Stacie.  You'll have to hook it in the back.  
Put it on."  I watched as his trembling fingers drew his small bare 
breasts into the snug comfort of the new bra.  Unlike the training bra, 
this one gave his small bust small but visible shaping.  He now looked 
like a girl- a flat chested girl, but definitely a girl with a pair of 
petite breasts!  Almost instinctively, he slipped the bra on, hooking 
the bra skillfully in the back and pulling the thin shoulder straps up 
to give his boobs a tiny shelf-like look.  Against his will, I could 
tell he enjoyed admiring the new figure my gift gave him.  

"Better than your training bra, hah?" I teased.

He gave me a sphinxlike smile and a pretty little nod.

"Good.  You'll wear your new bra from now on.  You may retire your 
training bra to your undies drawer.  We'll keep it-- and if you ever 
start to act like a little girl, it will go right back on."  He blushed 
and I continued.  "But for now, your behavior has earned you the right 
to wear a real bra.  In fact, you should be so happy about your new bra, 
that you shouldn't hesitate to tell everyone about it."

Stacie's face fell.  As he must have suspected, his gift would have 
strings attached.  
 
"So tomorrow in class, I'll expect you to follow a new rule."  As I 
explained the rule, he grew more despondent.  I left the room, leaving 
him to think about how he would follow the new rule in school tomorrow.

As we drove in, Stacie remained silent, though he offered a smile now 
and again.  He had clearly reached some decision as to how he would 
fulfill the new rule I had laid down the previous night.  As he took his 
seat, I saw the boys that sat next to Stacie were looking over with new 
interest.  I had dressed Stacie to draw this kind of attention by 
putting him in a cute red form-fitting bolero top over a ribbed white 
shirt and a matching red skirt.  For the first time Stacie had a bust 
and the boys noticed right away.

I was dying to see how my teen pet would obey his mistress' new rule.  
But throughout the class, he remained demure and quiet as always. 
Finally I knew he needed a push.  And I gave it to him.

"all right class.  Let's use some of the vocabulary words in real 
sentences, shall we?  Use the work 'exquisite' in a sentence.  No who 
haven't I heard from today?' I paused and searched around the room, my 
eyes landing on Stacie.  "Stacie.  Stand up and use the word 'exquisite' 
in a sentence."

He looked up, his courage screwed to the highest pitch.  Without missing 
a beat, he skipped up on his heels.  "Yes, Ma'am."  He paused for a 
moment, closed his eyes, then said "I look exquisite in my first real 
bra."

The class again broke out into uproarious laughter.  As the students 
bellowed, I could see it was taking Stacie all he had to hold onto his 
composure.  Beads of perspiration were forming on his smooth forehead 
and he patted his black bangs down nervously, until I told him to sit 
down.  "Fine, Stacie.  And thank you for informing us of your new bra."

And so it was that Stacie was required to use the phrase "my first real 
bra" every day in front to f the class just as he had been required to 
say "my training brassiere" the previous two weeks.  By now he had 
figured out a way to do it, slipping the humbling phrase in whenever he 
could get away with it.  He obeyed the new rule with complete 
resignation now, enduring the laughs and jibes of the other kids without 
a word.  But Frankie and Jed were eyeing him now in a way that made him 
uncomfortable.  He brought this up as we drove home one night.

"They both look at me, at my breasts!  I hate it, Ms. Hardy!  Please 
move me to another seat!"

I shrugged.  "Please, Stacie!  As a pretty young thing, you'd better get 
used to the stares of boys.  With such a small chest, you think you'd be 
happy to attract them.  Why Beth and Samantha are even getting a little 
jealous!"

He looked at me with frightened eyes.  "But I'm not a girl!  I'm not!  I 
don't want them to like me that way!  I'm not gay!"

I looked him over.  "Really?  Well, what are you then?"

"I'm a boy!" he claimed in his squeaky-high soprano voice.  But the 
absurdity of that concept was obvious even to Stacie and he looked down 
at his shiny Maryjanes in deep depression.

I let it pass for a moment.  "You're a boy?" I pressed.  "Really?  You 
know how I feel about lying.  Thank about that before you answer me 
Stacie!"

He pursed his lips.  "Well, I may not be a boy anymore but I'm not gay.  
That's for sure!"  he seemed so proud of this complex thinking.

I smiled.  "Fine.  You don't like boys.  Do you like girls?"

He shook his head, his long black tresses shaking wildly.  "Oh, yes, Ms. 
Hardy!"

"Tell me why."

He fell into a rhapsodic explanation of why he found girls attractive.  
"Girls are soft and sexy, so smooth and pretty.  They have such nice 
curves and they're so much nicer that boys.  So much more attractive.  
They wear the prettiest clothes, the most precious make-up, the sexist 
perfume.  They're just so dreamy!"

I let it go at that. I was pleased that Stacie was so in love with his 
budding femininity.  That he had no interest in males was perfectly 
fine-- I wanted Stacie as my lesbian lover, not as a plaything for the 
teenage boys in my class.  And he was developing so nicely, which made 
the next new rule even more fun.  As we drove home, I explained to 
Stacie what was expected of him next.  I handed him the tiny ruler he 
would need.

"But why?" he demanded shrilly, though taking the ruler obediently.  "Do 
I have to?"

"As if you have a choice, young lady!  As for why, it is important that 
we track your development.  Perhaps you're just in a holding pattern and 
your growth may kick back in.  You never know at this age.  And stop 
acting as if your small breast size doesn't bother you--  I know the boy 
and girls make fun of you, don't they?"

He nodded, a teardrop descending down his soft made-up cheek.  Just that 
day, Stacie had returned to his locker to find written on it in 
indelible ink, "Stacie Fox is a carpenter's dream-- flat as a board."  
Before this his breasts had been so new to him that he couldn't have 
cared less about size.  He had resisted accepting that he even had 
breasts at first.  Then he had grown used to them, his attitude swinging 
between indifference and curiosity. But now the constant comments had 
driven him to a self-consciousness that was almost painful to watch.  He 
had begun to examine himself so critically as he dressed in his girl's 
clothing with such eagle eyed attention to his appearance that at first 
I thought he was beginning to enjoy his new clothes.  It was only when I 
noticed how much time he spent on his tops and arranging his bra that I 
knew he was finally growing embarrassed about the small size of his 
bust.  The kids' comments and my rules had at last caused him to crack.  

The next day Stacie put up the chart I had made him draw up.  It was a 
big piece of paper which he taped to the inside door of his locker, with 
a big calendar on it.  It was labeled "Stacie's Bust Size" with two 
columns: "Measurement" and "Cup."  He put it up furtively between 
classes but the subterfuge couldn't last for long.  That was because he 
was expected to measure his chest in the girl's lavatory after lunch 
with the micro ruler I had given to him in full view of the other girls.  
I gave myself an excuse for going into the girl's room to make sure he 
was doing as he was told.  Sure enough, there he was with top and bra 
off, placing the micro ruler against the small puce boob as he looked 
redfaced into the mirror.  The girls had been laughing when I entered 
the room but quieted down as I walked in.  I looked oddly at Stacie, 
shrugged my shoulders and walked out.  As I did, the laughing began 
again.  Three minutes later, Stacie, fully clothed again though still 
redfaced, gave me a pouty look and walked to his locker.  Opening it 
quickly, he took out a big pink marker and jotted in the first chart 
entry:  "32    AAA."

Poor Stacie hated this part of the day.  I think he would have preferred 
to have returned to the verbal humiliation than undergo this new daily 
ritual.  But even as he followed the new procedure, I noticed him 
growing more anxious about the possibility that in deed his breasts 
would grow.  He often asked if I thought his breasts might grow and I 
assured him that anything was possible.  I was very pleased that he now 
wanted his breasts to grow-- even though there was no way I would allow 
that.  I liked his tiny breasts, the girlish buds.  I had long ago 
decided that I would have the womanly breasts and my teen pet would have 
to do with his pretty juvenile bumps.  I thought it only emphasized his 
girlishness rather than subtract from it.

I don't want to make it seem that Stacie's life was all about his 
breasts or lack thereof.  Actually, he was becoming quite a proper young 
schoolgirl.  His oddness to the other kids prevented him from forming 
any friendships so he spent most of his out-of-school time devouring the 
romance novels and teeny bopper magazines I limited him to:  Teen Beat, 
Cosmo, Glamour, Seventeen, Redbook and the like.  As I corrected papers, 
he was allowed to watch soap opera after soap opera, drinking in the 
daytime dramas that glamorized the ultra-femininity I wished Stacie to 
strive for.  

And he was, with every day that passed.  Gradually he had stopped 
fighting his training, and as days passed, was grudgingly coming to 
accept it.  His make-up skills were improving dramatically and he now 
needed virtually no coaching to put on his face in the morning.  Ditto 
for his long straight black hair.  At first I put him through a series 
of daily style changes, styles which were featured in his fashion 
magazines-- one day a pretty French bob, the next day a throwback Farrah 
look, the following a "big hair" mall walker look.  Finally we 
discovered his prettiest look-- a simple ponytail, his long black hair 
tied up high in the back and swishing gently over and down his 
shoulders.   An unexpected spanking one morning convinced my little male 
missy to keep his legs and underarms smoothly shaved and he remembered 
the lesson because I never had to remind him after that. No pantyhose 
was allowed-- his legs were too sexy.  I gave him another dose of the 
same medicine when I saw that he had been biting his nails.  That 
spanking was a great deal more severe but when it was over my sissified 
boy swore in tears that he'd never ruin his nails that way again.  To 
make sure this was the case he presented them every morning for me to 
examine.  His raw fingers were then quickly transformed by the long red 
polished nails he soon grew.  

His clothing never became an issue because he had no choices as to what 
he might wear, at least for the first couple of weeks.  Living in 
Florida was a luxury for any smooth, long legged beauty like my Stacie 
so I constantly kept him in outfits that would show them off.  "Small 
breasted girls need to depend on other assets to catch an appreciative 
eye," I explained to him as I'd pick out a flirty little miniskirt or a 
pair of short-shorts.  From time to time, I'd put him in a tight pair of 
Chic jeans which really showed off his shrinking waist and curvy 
backside, but generally I liked him to feel the air between his legs-- I 
liked this reminder of his essential feminine vulnerability.  Plus it 
forced him to walk with the grace of a cat lest he reveal a flash of the 
panties underneath.  Tops were bright colored, often midriff, t-shirts 
or tank tops.  I liked him in his Maryjanes with a pair of lacy socks, 
but I permitted him to wear a more mature pair of pink flats.  
Increasing I had him to slip on his pair of red three inch heels which 
he disliked.  Underneath Stacie of course wore his original soft cup 
Junior Missy Olga bra, though he now had a choice of a peach, pink and 
yellow colored bra in addition to his original white bra.  His panties 
were all cotton in the French-cut bikini style of the Hanes For Her 
brand.  They seemed made for him the way they clung to the sinuous curve 
of his hips, disappeared  snugly down and between his legs, only to 
emerge in a jealous vee of bright cotton to hug his tight, cupcake buns.  
Readying for bedtime meant slipping on a lavender cami top and a clean 
pair of panties.  The stainless steel chastity cup flattened out his 
midsection so securely and thoroughly that the merest bulge remained as 
a clue as to his original gender.  I had to remind myself that the 
teenage beauty, whose sexuality was only emphasized by her self-
consciousness, who dressed so shyly in front of me every morning as she 
jumped up and down in front of the mirror to shoehorn herself into her 
too-tight designer jeans-- that this girl was REALLY a boy.

I talked to Diana about how easily he was softening into a little teen 
queen.

"It seems so much easier than I would have thought."

"Not me, my dear," she replied archly.

"But Dino Fazio was the toughest, wisecracking bully I've ever bumped 
into, Diana!  And he's been turned into a fluffy headed, house-broken 
kitten!"

"Yes, but," she reminded me, " take the bully out of Dino and see what 
was left?  Just a disobedient child longing for discipline-- which you 
are providing.  Stacie now knows that someone cares enough about him to 
punish him if he's misbehaved.  As much as your 'niece' acts as if he 
doesn't like to be told what to do, he's growing so used to obeying 
orders that he'll be petrified to think or act on his own.  A perfectly 
appropriate state for your young missy to be in." 

When I told my Stacie that I wished him to try out for the Bentson 
Bunnies Cheerleading Squad just to see how feminine he was really trying 
to be, I was pleasantly surprised by his reaction.  He didn't throw out 
some lame protest.  He wasn't happy about it but he didn't have a choice 
and he knew it.

"O.k. Ms. Hardy, I'll try-- if you think I have a chance."  I think he 
was excited that I thought he DID have a chance.

The next day he took an extra ten minutes just making himself up and 
brushing his hair.  This morning I didn't pick out his wardrobe but had 
him choose his own outfit.  His pouty red lips parted as if surprised at 
this, then closed.  Without further instruction, he picked out of his 
dresser his clothes and slipped them on, hesitating as if I might tell 
him to substitute one garment for another.  But there was no need. His 
outfit was darling, especially for a cheerleader try-out.  He slipped on 
a pair of bright yellow panties and matching bra, a yellow cotton mini-
skirt, a black midriff tank top, a yellow bow around his ponytail and 
his pair of black and white saddle shoes.  The colors of Bentson High 
were yellow and black.  

Later that day, as we were driving home, I asked him how his try out had 
gone.  He stared out the window, sulking.

"I didn't make it.  I didn't get picked."  He was trying to sound 
natural but I detected some bitterness.  As if he was upset that he 
hadn't been chosen.

"And why was that?"

He bit his lower lip, then answered.  "The coach said she wanted her 
girls to have lots to cheer up the boys with and that I should try again 
next year."

"Why next year?"  He was trying to sound so nonchalant about this.

He looked into his lap, inspecting his nails.  "She thought I might grow 
out more by then."  The he looked out the window so quickly I almost 
didn't see the tear that was forming in the corner of his eye.  Suddenly 
he blurted out, "If I have to be a girl, why can't I at least be a 
pretty girl?  It's unfair!"

I suppressed a smile.  "Oh, you are pretty, Stacie!  Don't say that!"

He looked at moppily.  "But I'm so flat!  I just hate being so flat!"  
He made two small fists and hit his bare knees in frustration.  "Just 
like my locker says-- Stacie Fox the carpenter's dream!"  He brooded, 
his brown eyes flashing in anger.  "I hate being a girl!"

I didn't say a word.  I pulled the car into the driveway.

"Follow me upstairs, young lady!" I commanded Stacie.  Immediately he 
realized he had crossed a line and he was going to pay for it.  He 
minced behind me in trepidation as I headed for his bedroom.  Picking up 
a copy of Seventeen from his night table, I rolled it up tightly and 
swatted it on hard against my palm.  I seated myself on his bed.

"Off with your shoes and skirt, young lady.  DO IT NOW!"

He shivered and knelt to quickly untie his saddle shoes.  Then he stood, 
avoiding my fierce gaze and his dainty hands disappeared behind his back 
to unzip the skirt.  It fell around his bare ankles and he stood in 
front of me in his clingy black tank top and yellow panties, head bowed.

I cracked the rolled up teen fashion magazine against my palm again.  
"So you hate being a girl, Miss Stacie?"

His full lips pursed stubbornly.  He was afraid but he wasn't going to 
deny the truth.  "I'm supposed to be a boy Ms. Hardy!"  The usually 
demure docile teen was in full rebellion now, the soprano voice full of 
sassiness.  "You made me into a stupid girl with little boobs to get 
back at me!  But I'm really a boy!  And I hate having to dress up and 
put on makeup and act like such an airhead bimbo!  I want to be a boy 
again!"  The failure to be chosen for the cheerleading squad had 
evidently made my Stacie think about his life.   He had become so het up 
that he had forgotten I could use the Tutor on him anytime I needed to.  
But I didn't.  Instead I answered my Stacie with firmness.

"No, Stacie.  You're not going to be a boy again.  Ever again."  I let 
that sink in and continued.  "You're a girl for now on-- a very pretty 
young lady.  And yes-- you do have to wear cute clothes and make 
yourself up.  Otherwise how will you keep yourself pretty?  Being pretty 
is very important for a high school girl, isn't it?"

His lips were pursed again but he nodded reluctantly.

"That's right.  And you'll continue to keep yourself as attractive as 
you can be.  Or you'll be punished.  And as far as acting like an 
airhead, let's face it Stacie-- teenage girls like you aren't exactly 
know for their IQs.  No one expects you to know too many three syllable 
words as long as you keep yourself looking so adorable.  And about 
acting like a bimbo, you should understand that showing the world that 
you like being pretty and showing yourself off is completely natural for 
a girl like you.  No one would expect you to act any differently-- 
you're a healthy red blooded American high school girl with a pretty 
face, long legs, a nice butt and you know it.  People expect you to put 
yourself on display for them."

The feminized boy listened to all this, delivered by me in a concise no-
nonsense tone that brooked no objections.  As I went on, he began to 
realize this would all end in a spanking.  

"Now, is that all clear missy?"

He nodded submissively now.  "Yes, Ms. Hardy."

"Good.  Over my knee girlie."

He dropped himself delicately over my knee.  I slipped my fingers under 
the elastic of his panties and drew the soft cotton down.  "Bad girls 
get bare bottom spankings," I explained grimly.  He swallowed hard as I 
smacked the rolled up Seventeen on his squirming buttcheeks.  He yelped 
and began to whine as I landed smack after hard smack on his rear.  
After ten swats, I told him to go stand in the corner.

"I want you to think awhile about how a good girl acts.  And if I ever 
hear about you wanting to be a boy again, you'll get double-- 
understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Hardy-- I do now," he practically whispered.

"Good, now pull up your panties.  After you've thought about things for 
awhile, we'll talk again."

I left him in the corner for a solid four hours.  From time to time I 
would peek in to make sure he was standing only to find him looking at 
the wall, face as devoid of expression as he could make it.  Clearly he 
was afraid I might find an excuse to tan his hide again.  And to be 
honest, he was right!   At last I called for him.  He scampered over to 
me, eyes clear and skin goosebumped from standing in the cool still air 
for so long.

"Have you learned your lesson, missy?"

He nodded, his ponytail bobbing up and down fervently.  "Yes, Ms. 
Hardy!"

I sneered.  A good spanking was the a terribly effective attitude 
adjuster for little Miss Stacie Fox.  "And what do you have to say for 
yourself?"

He looked down sadly then made himself continued in that darling 
submissive soprano.  "That I'm a girl, Ms. Hardy."

I folded my arms, giving him a searing look.  "Oh?  I thought you were 
really a boy!"

He shook his head, terrified.  "Oh no, Ms. Hardy!  No-- I'm a girl!"

"And do you like being a girl?"

He shook his head.  "Oh yes, yes, yes!  I do like being a girl!"

I pretended to be unconvinced.  "Why do you like being a girl so much, 
Stacie?"

One of his manicured hands leapt to his hair and the other to his hip.  
"Oh I like to make myself up with makeup, to fix my hair so everyone 
thinks it looks sexy!  And I just love to dress up in all my gorgeous 
clothes!  And being a girl is fun because you get so much attention!  
All you have to worry about is how you look and having a good attitude!  
Not being uppity or anything!  Before I was being uppity and such a 
little bitch!  But I won't act that way anymore!  I'm just so grateful 
that I can be a girl from now on!"  His eyes were wide and begged for 
approval.  

I nodded, a small smile on my face.  "Fine.  That's an acceptable 
attitude, Miss Stacie.  You may get ready for bed now young lady and gnow on-- a girl."

And with that Dino Fazio truly became Miss Stacie Fox, legal ward of Ms. 
Meg Hardy.  True, SHE would give me trouble from time to time and 
spankings would be required to keep my Stacie properly disciplined.  But 
never again did Stacie attempt to convince me SHE was really a HE.  No, 
little Stacie resigned HERSELF to being the sexy airheaded bimbo teenage 
girl SHE knew SHE was.  And that was that.  There was just one more 
chapter to write in her story.  I had transformed tough Dino Fazio the 
bully into playful Stacie Fox the heartbreaker.  Now I just had  to make 
her over fully into the sexy, luscious lesbian lover I had always 
fantasized about.  It was to turn out I would have unanticipated help 
from some very unlikely accomplices.  

The next morning was Saturday.  I wanted to reward my Stacie for facing 
up to her new life so obediently the night before.  I surprised her by 
announcing we would take a trip to the mall.  "I know how teenage girls 
just love to shop at malls."

SHE gave me a fetching smile and nodded excitedly.  "Oh, we do, Ms. 
Hardy!  We teenage girls just loooove to hang at the mall!!!!  May I go 
put something cute on before we go?"

I waved her off.  Stacie returned in a pink poodle skirt, pink heels and 
a tight white and pink striped top.  She had remade her face with fresh 
pink lipstick and tied an oversized pink bow on her ponytail.  A 
perfectly primped and  pouty little teen mallwalker.  At that moment I 
wanted to push her to her knees, pull off my jeans, yank down my panties 
and start teaching young Miss Fox the finer points of orally pleasuring 
her older mistress.  But I refrained.  There would be time I told 
myself.   Lots of it.

When we arrived at the mall, I took Stacie to Victoria's Secret.  She 
looked at me curiously.  A sales lady in her forties approached.

"May I help you, Madame?"

"We're here to shop for my niece, Stacie.  As you can see, she's very, 
very small on top and she's very self-conscious about it.  I thought she 
might gain a half size or so with a Wonder Bra.  What do you think?"

The woman examined a blushing Stacie clinically and nodded.  "I think 
so.  Even Kate Moss gained something and your niece looks to be a 32 AA 
which is her size.  Is that so young lady?  Are you a 32 AA?"

Stacie was redder than a lobster.  "Actually I'm a 32 AAA, ma'am."

The sales clerk nodded.  "Any favorite color you'd like?  Wonder Bras 
come in a number of pretty colors."

Stacie shrugged.

The sales lady smiled.  "I'm sure your boyfriend has some ideas about 
that doesn't he?  Maybe a black perhaps?"

"Uh, may I have a pink, Ma'am?" Stacie requested sweetly.   I could have 
French kissed her right there and then.  She was so femmy, so girlish, a 
fresh piece of sex candy!

The clerk nodded.  "Of course-- pink, for a good girl!  Come with me and 
we'll get you fitted.  And you Ma'am, if you like."  The three of us 
walked into the back fitting rooms.  As I watched Stacie shyly undress 
and gently wriggle her tiny breasts into the Wonder Bra, I felt my 
panties wetten.  The excitement on her face was genuine as she watched 
the miracle occur in the mirror.  Her juvenile bumplets were plumped up 
and separated, shaped into two small, pointed cones of  pink lace.  I 
could see the proud thrill on Stacie's face as her hands deftly hooked 
the bra in the back.  My teeny bopper thrust her chest out like a table 
dancer showing her wares to a potential buyer.  Instead of looking like 
a blushing girl of twelve on the first step of womanhood, she suddenly 
looked like a promising minx of fourteen ready to tempt a boy with her 
ripening breasts!

The sales lady spoke to me.  "I think your niece is about a 32A in the 
Wonder Bra.  Will you be buying it?"

I handed her a credit card.  

"Please don't ring it up yet!" Stacie whined softly.

I arched my eyes coldly.  "Don't you like the bra, Stacie?"

She nodded, her boobs even jiggling slightly in the new bra.  "Oh, yes, 
I loooove it!  But may I have a white one too?"

I nodded.

She gave me a bratty smile.  "And some new panties?  Please?!"  

I nodded.  Stacie proceeded to wrack up two hundred dollars worth of 
lingerie as she eagerly picked out Wonder Bras in pink, white, blue and 
champagne.  To this she added three pairs of cotton Jockeys For Her in 
white "just for school and stuff," she explained.  "Aren't they so 
sophisticated?  I love their ads in Sassy!"  Stacie also "had to 
have...pretty please?" several pairs of Calvin Klein cotton thong 
panties in black, blue, gray, red and pink.  She "had to have" a little 
pink cotton teddy to "play around the house in."  A sleevelees white 
teddy decorated with cherries caught her eye and she threw that in the 
growing pile of dainties.   True to her age, she properly confined 
herself to girlish cottons, though her eyes danced over the more exotic 
g-strings, corsets and push-up bras of lace, silk, satin and even 
leather!  She'd never wear that stuff in my bed, I'd already decided.  I 
wanted my teen queen in her skimpy natural cottons.  That was what 
turned me on and that was what  my Stacie would wear for her mistress.

"Teenage girls go crazy when they get to this age, don't they?" the 
clerk offered sympathetically.  "She's a pretty girl and pretty girls 
just love their lingerie!"  

I smiled.  I loved them to see pretty girls in it!  As we drove home, I 
could tell Stacie was either honestly excited about her new undies or 
was trying her best to convince me she was trying very hard to be the 
girl I expected her to be.  Either way I didn't care.  She'd put on a 
fashion show and I 'd sit back and enjoy.  And as she proceeded to try 
on her darling new underwear, I watched with a growing appetite for that 
lithe, trained new girlish body.  All that weekend I debated how to 
begin Stacie's lesbian training, but ironically she was behaving so 
well, so flirtishly femmy that I couldn't bring myself to force my 
desires on her.

I called Diana and she dismissed my pity out of hand.  "She belongs to 
you.  Use her-- that's why we did all this for God's sake!"  

I hung the phone up, half-heartedly agreeing with her.  But looking at 
my sweet Stacie as she pranced around in her new "cherries" teddy and 
the tiny bulge of her chastity belt underneath, all I could feel was 
sorry for the beautiful enticing teen.  Did she know why this had 
happened to her?  How would she react when I told her she would be my 
sex slave from now on?  But then macho bully was now a defenseless 
innocent piece of feminine fluff-- what could she do?  Still I didn't 
have the strength to do what I knew I wanted to do--rape the sexy young 
slut.

On Monday she proudly donned her Wonder Bra and wore it for me.  She had 
picked out a tight fluffy angora sweater that showed clearly displayed 
her enhanced chest.  She strutted like some show-girl in training with 
her petite breasts thrust out comically.  As we parted company on the 
school grounds I watched the renewed interest the male students now paid 
her.  It wasn't till later in the day that I saw her again.  Mr. Temple 
had called me into his office.

"I'm very sorry this has happened, Meg, really I am," he insisted as we 
satin his office behind closed doors.

"What are you talking about?  What's the matter?" I demanded, suddenly 
very cold.

"Your niece Stacie has been raped."  He shook his head sadly as he 
imparted this bombshell.

"What?"

"It wasn't penetration so there's at least no danger of pregnancy," he 
assured me.  "How do I explain this?"  His wise, kind eyes furrowed 
gently and he went on.  "It seems that the two boys in your class, 
Frankie and Jed, took special interest in Stacie today and followed her 
around all day telling her how pretty she was.  Well, this evidently 
upset the boys' girlfriends, Samantha and Beth.  So the girls followed 
Stacie into an empty class room and held her down.  They, uh, pulled 
Stacie's sweater off and again, evidently she was wearing one of those 
Wonder Bras that, uh, add to the figure.  Well, while Beth held Stacie 
down, Samantha went to get the boys.  When they got there, the 
girlfriends showed the boys that Stacie was 'fooling' them with this new 
bra.  Then to punish Stacie for trying to steal their boyfriends, 
Samantha and Beth invited the boys to, uh, well-- have poor Stacie 
perform oral sex on them."

I listened to the story, too stunned to speak.  He continued.

"The boys, uh, took turns with Stacie while the girls held her down till 
they were finished.  When they were through they tied Stacie's hands 
behind her back with the WonderBra and between classes tied her to her 
locker door out in the corridor bare chested.  Uh, the girls wrote 
something on her chest in lipstick--"  but he stopped.

"What?  What was it?" I demanded.

He paused then answered.  "'Free Blowjobs.'  When the class bell rang, 
the kids all went out and saw her tied up like that and-- oh, it's just 
awful.  Awful.  Look, I think you ought to take her home now.  We'll 
need her to talk to the police but that can wait till tomorrow."

I agreed and Temple led me to poor Stacie who sat in the nurse's office, 
sobbing hysterically.  Taking her in my arms I led her to the car and in 
silence drove her home.  At last I knew my timing was right.  I told 
Stacie to get herself together and wait for me to  call her.  With a 
thirst for her pert breasts, I quickly undressed and threw on a robe.  
Without explaining, I went to her room and opened her underwear drawer.  
I picked out two items and flung them purposely on the floor in front of 
her.

"Strip and put them on.  Then attend me in my bedroom."  I uttered the 
order flatly and harshly.  returning to my bedroom, I dispensed with the 
robe.  I fluffed my pillows and reclined back on the bed, completely 
nude.  I slipped under the cover sheet and waited with a special 
surprise for Stacie besides me.  

"One more second and you're going over my knee, Stacie!" I bellowed.

In an instant she scampered in, out of her school clothes now and 
wearing only what I wanted her in.  Frightened, my ponytailed pet wore 
only the pink Wonder Bra and Calvin Klein thong panties, also pink.  She 
had been forced to orally service two horny teenage boys, humiliated by 
two girls her own age and now she was being made to strip to these 
undies by me.  What was happening?

"Play with your breasts Stacie.  Show me how hot you are for someone to 
touch them."

"I'm a good girl, Ms. Hardy!" she pleaded in confusion but she changed 
her tune as I pulled out my surprise for her from under the covers-- a 
riding crop.  Her reticence was overcome by fear.  Her small hands 
slowly rose to the pink cotton bra'ed tits and slowly kneaded them.

I slapped the bed with the crop.  "Sexy little bitch!  Do it-- play with 
your tits, my little prom queen!"

Stacie cupped her breasts more urgently and I could see the nipples 
hardening.

"Take off your bra and show my those little hooters of yours, slut!"

She obeyed, her hands unhooking the bra and gingerly baring her modest 
chest.

"Fried egg tits."

Stacie's face fell and she began to cry.  I threw off the covers and 
spread my legs.  "Come service me.  Come service your Mistress Meg, 
pretty girl.  You are a pretty girl aren't you?"

Stacie crawled up onto the bed, her brown eyes wet with tears.  I cupped 
her chin as her head found it's station between my legs.  "I asked you a 
question."

"Y-yes, Ms. Hardy!  I am a pretty girl!"  She was choking on her tears.  
I could tell the way she was squirming that she probably had a hard-on 
in her chastity belt under those sweet pink panties of hers.

"And now you'll be a pretty LESBIAN girl for your mistress.  Won't you?  
Will you be my sexy teen slavegirl lover?"

She didn't answer.  Little bitch STILL was clinging to the idea that SHE 
was really a HE!  Imagine, even then-- when she was in her pretty pink 
panties with her titties hanging out, nipples hot and hard-- even then 
she still thought that deep inside she was Dino Fazio, high school tough 
guy!  It made me laugh.

"Tell you what, Stacie.  You're going to be my private plaything, my 
pretty lesbian slavegirl.  You're going to learn all the things that a 
woman wants from a pretty girl.  I'm going to teach you all these 
things.  Ans some may hurt.  But you're going to LIKE being a slavegirl, 
always smiling because you want to  please your mistress.  And you know 
why you're going to do these things?"

Stacie looked at up me from between my spread legs, lips quivering, in 
anger of fear I couldn't tell.

"You're going to do these things because if you don't, then I'll hire 
you out as a call girl.  Know what they do?  They go to horny men's 
apartments to get them off.  I bet you'd be popular-- so young, so 
innocent, so fresh.  What healthy man won't want to stick it to a high 
school teeny bopper.  They'll use you good and hard and you'll bring the 
money to me.  Either that or I'll put you on the street to suck cocks 
like you did today!  You want to do that?"

His face dropped.  And that was when HE knew that as bad as being my 
bimbo would be, it was better than the alternative.  "Please!  No, I'll 
be a good lesbian girl for my mistress!  Please don't make me do that!  
I don't want to do that for men!  Please!"

"Fine, slut."  I took hold of her ponytail and yanked it down.  "Begin 
your new duties missy.  NOW!"

And so my sixteen year old sex toy began to pleasure her mistress for 
the first time.  That night was long and memorable and Stacie learned 
the first of many love lessons I would teach her-- how I expected her to 
use that sweet tongue of hers on my nether regions, how I trained my new 
pet to worship my body, erotic massages, toe sucking and more.  After I 
tired of her late in the night, I showed Stacie her new place of rest-- 
the foot of my bed.  As I collared and leashed my sexkitten, I told her 
she would have so much more to learn.  As I drifted off to a blissful 
sleep, I could hear her pathetic sniffling as she contemplated her new 
life as a lesbian's sex slave.

The next morning, I laid down the new rules.  There would be no more 
school for Stacie and I would resign to see to her training full time, 
to better teach her how to serve her mistress.  In public I would be 
"Ms. Hardy."  At home-- Mistress Meg.  She would wear her girlish 
lingerie-- panties, bras, teddies, camisoles.  But nothing else.  Unless 
I said so.

I left her to consider all this as I rode into the high school to finish 
up the loose ends.  Temple was surprised but understood that I needed to 
spend more time with my niece-- especially after receiving Stacie's 
written apology to her attackers.  

Dear Mr. Temple,

Please don't punish Jed and Frankie for what happened.  I was being a 
slutty little cocktease and I loved sucking their cocks.  I made up the 
whole story about being raped so people wouldn't know what a whore I am 
and if Samantha and Beth hurt me, it was just because I was trying to 
steal their boyfriends.  I apologize to Frankie, Jed, Samantha and Beth 
and promise never to do this again. 

Love, 
Stacie Fox  

I explained that psychological attention was needed and Temple agreed. I 
definitely needed to spend more time with my nympho niece.

That was  three and a half years ago.  I'm sitting at the beach now 
outside my beach home watching Stacie as she frolics in the surf.  She's 
wearing the most eye-popping red string bikini.  See her?  She's 
bouncing up and down in the water waving sweetly to us.  I told her I 
love to watch her make those little knockers of hers bounce for me and 
she obeys me in this as she does all things.  She's swivelling those 
slim hips of hers painfully now.  Poor thing-- I've been introducing her 
to thicker and longer strap-on phalluses lately and she's so naturally 
tight anyway.  She doesn't cry as much as she did when I use her this 
way, but it still hurts her.  She's so obedient, just like a 
domesticated pet.   

Oh, sure Stacie is still blue about her new life.  She tries to remove 
her belt from time to time.  I caught her once in the bathroom.  I 
cracked the door and found her looking into the mirror.  There was a 
frustrated frown on her young face as she examined her lithe body.  She 
was nude, having just dried herself from a shower.  Her olive skin had 
tanned marvelously in the Florida sun as her bikini tan lines 
demonstrated.  In one hand she clutched her small breast and in the 
other she yanked impotently on the tiny, brightly polished stainless 
stell chastity belt.  She pulled at the thing till her face wrinkled in 
pain-- all to no avail.  She may as well have been trying to remove her 
own skin.

"Damn!" Stacie cursed to herself.  I could tell she was aroused.

Despondently she unhooked her fingers from the immovable chastity belt 
and clutch her other breast, now holding both as if to offer the pair of 
buds to some watcher in the mirror.   She closed her eyes and began to 
massage the nipples which sat high on the petite mounds.  As she began 
to moan, I knew she was pleasing herself the only way left to her now-- 
by playing with her small breasts.  Young lust--a truly touching sight.  

It's ironic.  Please don't repeat this to my more millitant lesbian 
friends, but I actually think that being born a male has helped make 
Stacie a more attentive lover.  Having been brought up to think HE would 
be the sexual agressor, it was a delight to teach Stacie the role of the 
feminine submissive, to learn the soft sighs of pain and frustration 
that are the slavegirl's burden.  I think HER submission is even more 
complete because of it.  As if in breaking Stacie of her maleness, I 
have created an even more feminine, even more obedient playmate.  Now 
Stacie wouldn't think to kiss-- SHE is kissed.  Stacie would ever take-- 
SHE is taken.  She couldn't conceive of penetrating-- SHE is penetrated.  
And she doesn't make passes-- SHE flirts.  Oh my teenage girl is such a 
sexy flirt these days.  She's learned that when I'm using her sexually, 
I'm kinder, more patient with her feminine ineptitude.  Even now.  See 
how she's bending over to show me her butt in that tiny thing?  Amazing 
that the chastity belt stays hidden.  Sooo cute and sexy.  Too bad 
she'll be leaving soon.

Diana called me last night and asked if she could have Stacie-- in 
exchange for helping to capture and train a new girlie for me.  Seems a 
there's a gay football player who the Society is blackmailing to lose 
games.  Seems that the Society finds betting on "sure things"  He's 
behaving but to make sure he keeps throwing games, they want to give him 
a toy-- to ensure his obedience to their wishes.  And he loves brunettes 
in red silk.  I wonder how Stacie will get used to pleasing a man?  I'm 
sure she'll be fine.  She made such a wonderful lesbian lover-- it's 
good for a girl like Stacie to learn to please men as well as women.  
And I'm sure she'll just love to dress up for her new lover in all the 
hot foxy g-strings and slutty push-up bras I hear he likes.  Diana says 
he'll train her to striptease dance for him in her new pretties.  He's a 
big guy-- 6' 5" and two fifty pounds.  Diana says he has a wicked 
temper.  Oh yes, Stacie will learn to please her new master-- or else!  

Stacie's Master.  How strange that seems to me!

Oh, well.   Got to go!  Diana will be here soon to pick Stacie up and I 
have to call her in.  I think I'll let it be a surprise.  She's getting 
used to them.  

But of course at nineteen and a half, Stacie is getting out of the 
innocent schoolgirl phase I find so sexy.  Unlike Stacie's new master, I 
like my pets in teeny bopper cotton thong panties and training bras.  
Recently I've started teaching summer school again.  And there just so 
happens to be the naughtiest fourteen year old boy in my class-- a Kenny 
May.  He's a blonde-- it's time for a blonde, don't you think?  What do 
you think of the name Kimberlee Maykiss, by the way?

THE END
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