Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an225040@anon.penet.fi (marlissa)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Date: Mon,  7 Aug 1995 10:43:35 UTC
Subject: NEW BOY'S BRA TRAINING 1/3(tg, f/m, bd, teen)

A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/comments

by Marlissa

The following three part story contains adult material.  If below
the age of 18, go outside, get some fresh air and do something
healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then  you should know the following story is
about a teenaged boy who is forcibly feminized and transformed
into a lesbian teenage slavegirl by a high school teacher and her
friend's secret society.  It contains non-consensual sex and b&d
themes.  Both the characters and occurrences in this series are
completely fictitious.


A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/Part One

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 and
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
boy, 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."

A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/Part Two

by Marlissa


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.  Now
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 of 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
***Document size exceeds 48k limit***
A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/Part Three

by Marlissa

"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 known 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 go to sleep with the knowledge that that's
all you're ever going to be from now 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 me 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.  And 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 or 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 sex kitten, 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 steel 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 militant 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 aggressor, 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

