After School Special free porn video

After School Special by Marlissa There she was. "Come in Brenda!" Glen Simmons absently shouted. Brenda Porter, the freshman girl who had freaked out at at her bus stop shyly entered the room. Glen wondered why he didn't remember her from the junior high school, then remembered this was the transfer student who had just started at Bentson High. He pointed to the seat which she took, careful to keep the hem of her red spandex miniskirt under her thighs. She was a pretty ponytailed brunette, about 5' 4", with coltish slim hips and a small bust, which she accentuated with a midriff-baring sleeveless navy knit top. She wore saucy little three inch red heels and precious white socks with elaborate lace trimmings, and her legs were smooth and shiny. Brenda was just starting to blossom into full-fledged femininity, with a bright pouty red lipsticked mouth, mascara'ed hazel eyes with thin plucked brows and lightly highlighted cheeks. Cute face too-- delicate bone structure with a longish look and a short pointy chin and a pair of dimples to die for. A typical fourteen year old girl even down to the braces which she revealed as she gave him a respectful smile. Well, maybe not so typical. She reminded him of someone but he couldn't think who at the moment. And she did dress a little provocatively for fourteen-- a veritable Lolita in that form-fiiting top and tight spandex mini. But Glen had to be honest-- he hadn't the slightest idea of what teen fashion held sway at present. Maybe this was considered "in." "Mr. Skinner mentioned that something happened this morning. Something that upset you. Want to talk about it?" The smile ran away from her face in an instant. "Uh, I don't know what you mean, sir." She twirled a long lock of her ponytail nervously, eyelashes batting rapidly. "Well, I understand Tommy Jacobs was teasing you. Why don't you tell me the rest." He nodded, inviting her to do so at once. The teen kept her big hazel eyes locked on her shoes. "Uh, we were in the bus line and Tommy was behind me and he snapped my bra strap." Glen nodded, noting this with gravity on his legal pad. Inside he wanted to laugh. The kid had gone hysterical because a boy had snapped her bra! "And that was it?" She shuffled her pumps. "No. He said I had nice little boobies and he wanted to touch them." She was angry and her lips were pursed tight over her braces. When her lips parted again, Glen could see the pink lipstick traces on the steel fittings. Glen considered quickly. He had to be gentle but he also knew Old Man Skinner would go ballistic if Brenda kept having screaming fits whenever some boy snapped her bra. He couldn't help but notice she did have a nice, if petite figure for a fourteen year old. If he were fourteen, he might have snapped her bra-- if he hadn't noticed something OFF about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was soemthing strange about the girl. "You know Brenda, boys at this age often do these kinds of things to show a girl he likes her." Glen noticed the girl blush. As if this comment reminded her of something she ought to do, Brenda daintily crossed her smooth legs, her small hands with their red polished nails smoothing down the miniskirt hem as she did. He continued quickly. "Tommy was just flirting with you. He probably likes you. Pretty girls get teased that way alot and unfortunately they just have to get used to all kinds of attention from boys." The little brunette looked dully out the window. "That's what Daddy says. Just what Daddy says." Glen thought he detected a hint of bitterness in the soft voice. "Well, he's right. I'm sure your mother tells you the same thing too--doesn't she?" The student nodded reluctantly. "Do you think I'm a pretty girl, Mr. Simmons?" she asked plaintively. "Yes I do, Brenda." Has she got a crush on me?... but no-- the compliment caused her to frown worriedly. Glen pressed on. "And isn't it nice to think a boy your own age thinks so too and that he likes you? Maybe you and Tommy could be boyfriend and girlfriend before too long. You're at the age when I bet you think about those things." Brenda's jaw dropped, eyes wide. Good, I must be right since she looks surprised, he thought. He plowed on in a similar vein, eager to finish this little interview up. He had paperwork to get to. "Sure, I bet you think about boys alot-- maybe even daydream about the cute ones. It's natural for you to be a little boy-crazy, Brenda. You shouldn't be ashamed of your new feelings. Hey, I know who you look like now. I've been trying to think of it an dit just came to me-- you look like that girl on Beverly Hills 90210, uh, Brenda. Anyone ever tell you that?" And then Glen knew he wouldn't be getting to his paperwork, because Brenda Porter broke in a deep sobbing fit. Instantly he was on his feet handing her some kleenex. Trying ot comfort her he put his hands on her thin shoulders. "It's o.k.-- " "Don't touch me, please!" she shrieked. His hands flew off her shoulders in a second. "Brenda, relax! I'm just trying to help! Obviously I'll have to call your parents at once. You're in no state to return to class." She looked up terrified. "No Mr. Simmons! Please don't call my parents! I'm o.k.! See? I'm all set!" The theatrical grin on her tear stained face was offerred as proof. He picked up the phone as she rattled off assurances she was indeed o.k. "I just got silly because of what Tommy did, Mr. Simmons. Really! I'm o.k. I guess you're right about those things you said about girls at my age going boy-crazy. I, uh, do like Tommy and I got all weird inside. But please don't call my parents! I'm enough trouble for them already! I'll be punished if you call them!" Her eyes pleaded with him not to make the call. He put the phone down and Brenda relaxed. "O.k. Brenda-- you can go back to class. If you have anything else you want to talk about, come see me anytime-- I'll arrange a hall pass for you, o.k." She smiled sweetly, brushing the last of the tears way. "Thank you Mr. Simmons. I won't be bothering you any more." She picked up her books and minced shyly from the office. Glen immediately reached for Brenda's file. Something was wrong-- he could sense it. At twenty he wasn't so far away in age from these kids so as not to be able to understand them. Old Man Skinner, the principal, had hired him out of community college only after he had received a copy of his degree in education-- he hadn't belived Glen was old enough to have been to college. And his looks didn't help either-- his bright blonde hair, too-pale beardless complexion, his short height. Maybe that's why he had always wanted to work as a guidance counselor-- at heart he felt more comfortable with the kids than the adult world. Only with kids did he feel like he commanded respect. And he knew teens well enough to know Brenda's behavior was just wrong. He flipped through the courses chosen. Home Economics (an A), Gym Class (an A-), then all Cs and Ds in her required academic courses, all of which were general. That indicated Brenda wasn't taking college prep course. Not a future Rocket Scientist of America, he chuckled. Then he glanced in surprise at the IQ score-- 135! Not a genius but she ought to be taking college prep for now. He took another look at the coursework. It was annotated "General classes at request of parents." He found the parents' names. Maybe if he could talk to them, convince them Brenda needed to take harder courses and really apply herself. They're probably not too bright themselves. Wrong again. "Mr. Rick Mason, attorney at law and Dr. Lesley Mason, plastic surgeon." These were Brenda the Ditz'es parents? They had requested non-college courses for their daughter? It didn't make sense. He needed more information. He dialed up the number listed as the last school attended and was connected to a Deanna Hill, his counterpart at the Jasper Ohio Junior High School guidance office. "Yes I remember Brenda. Cute girl, real quiet. Is there a problem?" the older lady inquired helpfully. Glen didn't know what to say. Even inferring there might be would be against the rules. And if it got back to the parents, he might be held liable for slander. "Not really. I just want to help her adjust to our school and I thought you might have some insights," he explained. "Well, she was only here for a year. A good kid basically. She never was very social-- no friends I can recall. She wasn't an academic star-- never did her homework and never studied for tests. She seemed embarrassed about it but never did anything to improve. Just had a 'I'm just an airhead and I ca't help it' attitude-- not that she ever brought a book home. Not that her parents cared. They attended one teacher-parent conference and said if Brenda could learn to cook, clean and sew plus keep herself in shape, then they were happy. God damn," the woman exclaimed, "it was as if all they wanted for Brenda was to be some bimbo housewife! And her mother is a doctor for God's sakes!" Glen hesitated then plunged in. "How did Brenda get along with boys?" A pause. "You know, it was funny. She seemed completely preoccupied with her appearence, like being pretty was everything. I thought she dressed, well-- a bit old for her age. You know-- one of those girls who really gets into makeup and clothing. And yet she hated it when boys touched her even innocently. Never had a boyfriend either. At one point, I suspected sexual abuse-- you know that's not natural for a girl to be so skittish." "What happened?" Glen pressed. A disgusted laugh. "They moved before I had a chance to do anything. That's why I'm glad you called. Tell me what high school you're at so we can pursue legal--" Glen hung the phone up. Skinner was such a conservative that he'd flip if Glen brought in some out-of-town know-it-all. Bentson was a small town with a small town mentality. If Glen thought Brenda was being sexually abused, he'd have to dig up more than he had. He searched through the files but the only other information was the listing for the school Brenda attended preceding Jasper Junior High. He dialed the number for the Central Massachussetts State School and got the records office. "I need the records for a student, please." "Social security number?" a gruff male voice demanded rudely. "034-99-6669." "That D. Porter?" The voice didn't sound like a guidance counselor in a school system to Glen. "Yes. Can you tell me something about--" "Look Mac, hundreds come in and go out as fast as I can book 'em here in Records. I don't no no particulars, o.k.?" "Fine, just fax it over o.k.?" He gave him the number, got a brusque 'yeah' and the promise it would be there by end of day. That has to be it for my Sam Spade routine for a while, Glen thought. He put the file in his brief case, soon forgetting about Brenda Porter. For the rest of the morning he buried himself in evaluation forms and talking to college admissions offices as he requested information for next year's seniors. At noon, he heard the cries from the kid's recess. With an effort he freed himself from his paperwork and looked out the window. The day's weather had turned out well and a beaming May sun was streaming in. He looked across the school grounds at the various kids-- the girls gossiping in groups, the boys tossing a baseball, and then... Brenda. She was leaning against the main building wall, reading the latest issue of Seventeen. She seemed so intent on her magazine she couldn't see Tommy Jacobs sneaking up behind her. Glen could see on Tommy's face there was going to be trouble and with what he guessed about the girl, he knew that one of Tommy's pranks was the last thing needed. He sprang to his feet. He had just swung open the door when he and the entire freshman class of Benston High saw Tommy pluck up the hem of Brenda's red hip hugging spandex miniskirt to reveal what was underneath-- a pair of red cotton French-cut bikini panties that clung high on her slim hips. The kids filled the schoolyard with laughter as Tommy triumphantly cried "I knew it, I knew it! Brenda wears slut red panties! Hahahahahahah!" He ran to Tommy, pushing him away and trying to obscure the view of the kids. The eighty or so kids in the yard roared with the laughter, boys looking over and around Glen to get a peek at Brenda's underclothes. I turned back to her and she was hysterical, struggling to yank her skirt down, but Tommy was holding it up, not allowing her to. Brenda flayed at him weakly, her arms flying to cover her pantied crotch. "Tommy Jacobs, leave Brenda alone--now, mister! Or it's Detention Hall!" The boy gave me a lame look and let go of the skirt. As he did, his eyes caught a flash of Brenda's now-infamous panties. Tommy, unwilling to risk further trouble had walked off and the kids had turned away as well, not interested in being implicated. So Glen was the only one who saw the bright reflection of sun on what looked like metal. The glint had come from where Brenda's panties disappeared between her legs, as if from some metallic surface underneath the skimpy undergarment. He looked quickly away. As he did, he thought he caught Brenda slipping a finger under the panty crotch and pull it over the metal. "Brenda, go inside and pull yourself together. I'll speak to Tommy." Brenda looked at me, face beet red and thoroughly humiliated. "I didn't do anything, Mr. Simmons! He kept bothering me, asking me what color panties I was wearing! When I told him to leave me alone, he called me a tease and he did this!" She was shaking. "Go on in, Brenda. And I think I better give you a ride home tonight after school, alright? Riding the bus with Tommy is asking for trouble." She nodded and trotted off to the Girl's Room to compose herself. As she did, Glen watched what had probaly started the trouble. Brenda's spandex skirt was so tight, that her panty line underneath was as clear as day. As she swiveled her slim hips, it must have seemed to Tommy that yes, she was being a tease. "Good" girls just didn't sashayed around that way. Glen sighed and took Tommy to Skinner's office for a "discussion." An hour later, Glen returned to his office. On a hunch he called the Nurse's office. "Has Brenda Porter had any surgery that you know of?" No, not that she knew of, the nurse answered as she consulted her records. Any corrective surgery she'd need a metal brace for? Was there any mention of hip problems? No, none of that. Last time she'd been seen by the nurse? "Haven't seen her actually. The day we did Physicals, she was out. Then she came in with a note from her mother giving her a clean bill of health. I wouldn't worry about Brenda's health at all, Mr. Simmons. You see her mother is a doctor." He hung the phone up. Glen knew it was wrong to be so beguiled bythe mystery of what was under Brenda's panties. It was pretty indecent actually. But even though the girl was undeniably sexy in a fresh way, he told himself he was only interested in the answer as it fit with the rest of the pieces. And yet even as he tried to distract himself with his mounds of paperwork, his mind kept returning to the sight of that pantied midsection, so taut and and trim under that panty. the panties were cut so sheerly they practically disappeared up the girl's privates giving him the impression that the girl either hadn't grown much pubic hair or that she kept it closely shaved. Or entirely shaved. But that was crazy! A fourteen year old girl shaving her sex? He wondered how wild Miss Brenda Porter was and what exactly she did after school. He stopped. There had been a small bulge under there. Yes, now that he thought about it, there had definately been a mound. All this daydreaming had brought it back. He had only begun to ponder what the metal item was that perhaps caused the mound when he remembered to check the fax machine. There it was, waiting for him at three-thirty on the dot. He took the fax to his desk and began to read. It seemed the Central Massachusetts State School wasn't your run-of-the-mill junior high. It was a reformatory. And a mistake had obviously been made in the records. The "D. Porter" listed was a twelve year old boy! He had the phone in hand to call the Records Department to ask make another request for the proper file when he saw the grainy head shot. He looked at the fax closely. The photo was that of a twelve year old boy, Danny Belmont. The familar hazel eyes, the black hair, the pointy chin-- it was as if Brenda had a brother! No dimples or Adam's Apple, and Danny's lips were thinner than Brenda's, but other than that they might have been siblings. Weird. He looked at the notes in the file. "Danny's birth parents unknown. Brought up in a number of foster homes. Caught shoplifting at eleven and remanded to the Central State School for correction. Placed for adoption by state to Mr. and Dr. Mason at age eleven and a half." So Brenda had a brother? But the other information was identical. Danny Belmont's Social Security number was 034-99- 6669. And so was Brenda Belmont. Glen heard the knock on the door. It was Brenda, here for her ride home. Glen gathered up Brenda's file and the fax and threw it in his briefcase. "Ready?" Brenda nodded, her ponytail bouncing. "Yes, thank you Mr. Simmons." "Say Brenda, can I reach your parents at this hour? I'd like to see them after I drop you off-- about, uh, what a good job you're doing in Home Ec and Gym class." Her hazel eyes widened in fear then glee as he added the reason. "Oh would you, Mr. Simmons? It means so much to them that I do well in those classes. They would be so pleased with me!" "Well, fine. I'll be happy to do that. Just tell me where I might find them. At their offices?" Brenda thought a minute then shook her head doubtfully. "Oh no sir. They're always home when I get off the bus. They're always there after school." And so they were. Glen could see the matching black and silver BMW convertibles there at the head of the long drive, even as as he pulled in with his old Pontiac Firebird. The house was practically an estate, easily two hundred yards off the road, hidden behind huge, immacualte hedges and a mason wall. It stared down at him imposingly, three stories of white Victorian excess of cupolas, verandahs, and French windows. A gorgeous house, certainly in the million dolar range. He looked at Brenda again, silently contemplating some inner concern in her trampy little minishirt. "General classes at request of parents." Even if Brenda was adopted like her brother, why would the new parents who lived in such affluence restrict her to go-nowhere courses? Why would they place such a premium on Home Ec and Gym class? Why would they allow her to leave the house dressed this way every day? A tall, youngish man of thirty-eight or so opened the front door, eyeing him suspiciously. Brenda looked up, biting her lower lip. "Daddy," she explained as they got out of the car. "You'll tell him I'm doing well in Home Ec and Gym?" Glen nodded and extended his hand. "Mr. Mason, I'm Glen Simmons, the Guidance Counselor at Bentson High School." The man's mien softened. He reminded Glen of a tv lawyer-- slightly graying hair, strong, conservative presence and a self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Nice to meet you. To be honest, I thought my Brenda was getting a ride home from a high school boy. No offense intended," he added humourously. Glen blushed. "None taken. I offerred to give your daughter a ride home because of something that happened at school today--" "Has she gotten herself into some mischief, Glen?" He looked critically at Brenda, who looked at Glen with hurt betrayl. "No-- she hasn't done anything Mr. Mason. It was just a schoolyard prank really. Actually if your wife is home, I'd like to ask you some questions." The attorney masterfully waved off the request. "Come in the house first and let's get this cleared up. Brenda, come here girl." Brenda, standing frightened between the two, obeyed and with eyes downcast and by the older man's side, walked withthem into the house. Inside a tall striking redhead of thirty-five was pulling off a lab coat. Glen thought she looked like a younger Sigourney Weaver, with a hard edged, no-nonsense way about her. She was introduced as Mrs. Mason. It nettled Glen who liked first names not to be granted the courtesy of calling these people by their first names even as they called him Glen. They had a way, Glen could tell right off of making one seem inferior. Probably got that from giving orders to everyone all day long. The four were in the living room, the Masons and Glen sitting and Brenda standing. Mr. Mason demanded to know what had happened in the schoolyard and as Glen explained what had happened, Brenda cringed. After hearing the whole story, Mason turned his cold blue eyes on the teen. "So, you're teasing boys again, that it?" Brenda shook her head, the ponytail dancing in the air. "No, Daddy! I swear!" The parents exchanged smug looks. "Obviously Brenda needs to be taught another in a long unbroken string of lessons, Rick. Will you do the honors or shall I?" The husband pointed to his chest. "You handled her last time. I better take care of it this time. We swicth off so she doesn't think she can get away with anything," he explained to Glen. He stood up and took off his expensive suit jacket. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. Glen watched in growing unease til he understood that Brenda was about to be strapped with a belt for doing no more than being a pretty girl! "Please, it wasn't her fault! She doesn't deserve to be punished!" he pleaded. The man smiled cruelly. "But you said it wasn't really the boy's fault either. Well, you don't know Brenda. She needs this," he slapped the belt hard against his open palm," to remind her to behave herself liek a proper young lady. And no more interruptions Glen. When I've finished with this, we can discuss why you're here, but not before." Glen stood up. "Perhaps I should leave." "Whatever for?" Mrs. Mason asked fliply. "Brenda is punished all the time. Just wait five minutes. Taht's all it takes." Glen sat down, mesmerized as the girl, in resignation, draped herself over the man's knees. As if part of a regular ritual, she herself yanked up the miniskirt, revealing the incriminating panties that had caused all the trouble. Mason's fingers were on the elastic band of the panties and was ready to pull them down, then looked at Glen and left them up. Glen looked for a tell-tale glint of metal, but Brenda had either covered it up or it had never been there. Of the slight bulge, Glen could see nothing from where he was sitting. He watched with macabrefascination as the belt leather belt was raised high over the small, shapely pantied rear and fell with a harsh crack. Brenda's eyes were closed, but she obediently counted out each and every stroke. On the second stroke, she broke into tears, but even then, she had unconciously let her hand drift down to the lap of her pants. Then, aware of it, pulled it back stealthily. At last, Brenda was allowed to rise. She was told to go to her room as the adults had a talk. All three adults watched the fourteen year old prance painfully out of the room, the slim hips forced to swivel in an exagerrated way so as to avoid feeling more pain. "Little slut," Mason whispered as his eyes followed the spandexed teen ass wriggle out of the room. "Yes, little whore," agreed the doctor wife in a cold, reptillian way. Glen shivered. Mason looked up at Glen, completely professional. "Now, what do you have to tell us about Brenda?" "Well, did you adopt Brenda?" he asked. The two nodded. "Yes, when she was eleven or so. I took care of the legalities," answered the lawyer affably. "And did she have a brother named Danny?" Glen pushed. The redhead rose. "Drink for you Glen?" she asked suddenly. He looked uncertainly at the two of them. Mason answered for him. "Yes, Lesley, great idea. Get us all some lemonade-- alright for you Glen?" He nodded. As the tall redhead left the room, there was a moment when he thought their eyes met again in some secret amusement. "You're about what, 5' 4" Glen?" He nodded, embarrassed about wher this was going. "Young too, huh? What are you, eighteen?" "Twenty, Mr. Mason." He gave him a comical look, as if to ask who could believe that. "I thought you were sixteen when I first saw you. I'd say definately sixteen. What do you say, Lesley? Doesn't Glen look as if he's about sixteen?" She smiled with icy concurrence. "Oh yes, he's got the small framed body of a sixteen year old at most. My apologies, Glen-- my clinical opinion, that's all." She handed him a glass of lemonade. "Here you go." He took it and put it down. "Thank you. Now about this Danny Belmont." Mason looked at him offened. "Please, your drink first. Then we'll tell you all you want to know about Danny and Brenda and the way things are in our household. But please, don't be rude-- it's hot out today. Enjoy your lemonade!" Glen surrendered, picking up the full glass. The two Masons watched as he drained it, leaving their own drinks alone. He smiled. "Very good! What do you make it with?" Dr. Mason's mouth opened wide in laughter. "Thioridizine hydrochloride. Also known as mellaril." Glen felt woozy. "W-what does that do?" he asked as he slumped forward. The husband and wife laughed. "Oh, you'll find out darling-- you'll find out very soon," the woman doctor promised. The next day Glen woke to the color white. All around him, just clean, antiseptic white. Hospital white. He tried to move but he was in a body cast. IVs dripped liquid nourishment into his system and he felt totally numb. He couldn't feel a thing. "Good morning. You look pretty good for a corpse!" Mr. Mason held his strong chin in his hand, measuring Glen's reaction. "W-w-ot ooo meeen?" Talking was painful and he stopped as tears formed in his eyes. Mason held up a copy of the local newspaper. A subhead read in bold type HIGH SCHOOL MOURNS AS LOCAL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT. Glen started to cry as he blurrily made out the text: Glen Simmons, 20 years old of Bentson, Florida was killed Wednesday morning at 11 pm PM when his Pontiac Firebird slammed into a restraining wall on Coast Highway 14 and plunged into the ocean two hundred feet below. No body has been recovered, but two witnesses, Mr. and Dr. Mason of Solitude Lane reported that there was no question Simmons was killed in the accident. Richard Mason, a prominent local attorney, testified to police seeing the car swerve erratically, then driving off the road. His wife, Dr. Lesley Mason with the Private West Palm Beach Clinic was reported as telling police there was no way the driver could have survived the fall and subsequent explosion. The police have ruled out any foul play and closed the file. No immediate relations were known at press time." He sobbed, which was agony. "Why dooo tis?" he tried to scream. Why was he in such agony? The redhaired woman was by his side with a syringe. "Sleep little one," she whispered and the world was black again. ************ Days later. The woman and man were standing over him, arguing. "It's my turn!" the woman was angrily disputing. "You made your picks the last time! Besides," she cooed evilly, "I think you'll like my choice." Was that Brenda standing behind them, wearing the candy striper uniform? Where was he anyway? A hospital of some kind? What were they doing to him? What had they already done to him? The cast was still on his body leaving only his arms bare. He felt weak and sensed that he had lost a great deal of weight. Strange things were being done to him, things that scared him. "Well, if you have something interesting in mind, Lesley. What do look do you want for our new pet?" "The Kelly look of course-- to go with our little Brenda! Wouldn't it be wonderful to have them both? I want to take advantage of that fine blonde hair of his. A wonderful natural feature." She pulled out a scapel and was using it as a pointer, swinging it through the air as she described how she wished to alter the subject in question. "Small breasts but bigger than Brenda's." She put her arm around little Brenda and clutched a small breast through the striped blouse. She found the nipple through the bra underneath and twisted. Brenda cringed and kept her lips clamped, but the pain in her eyes called out to Glen. "Yes, maybe a bit bigger. Maybe a pair of nice ripe 32Bs-- cute, feminine, but not centerfold. Big sensitive nipples to play with. A smaller upturned nose. The chin has to go-- even if it gets a little weak, it'll still work. I want to really thin out the eyebrows, but I want to lengthen and thicken the lashes." Mr. Mason was nodding, in increasing agreement with his wife. "And the lips-- you'll do the lips, correct?" She nodded. "Yes, but not as much as Brenda. Some moderate collagen should plump up the lips, but let's no go Julia Roberts, alright? There's a pretty bow- shape there that might get ruined. Now, the waist needs to go down of course, and the hips go up-- how about tagging it at a 32-24-29? A nice, huggable petite figure that's almost doll-like. You like?" Mr. Mason smiled. "I like. Sounds like you're going to give this bitch a nice, tight butt. think she'll be grateful? Glen froze as he heard the woman's icy, shrill cackle. "After what we do with it, I doubt it honey!" "And you'll let the hair and nails grow out naturally or will you use an accelerater?" The doctor looked down at Glen. "An accelerator. Don't you want everything done as quickly as possible?" The man nodded. "Absolutely." Pain. The syringe was sinking into his arm again. ************** Glen winced as Dr. Mason slipped the chastity belt over his male member. The metal was cold and he shivered. The doctor squeezed the microscopic snap with a pair of tweezers and it clicked with finality. Dr. Mason stroked his cheek, running her hand through his long, lustrous blonde mane of hair. "Cold, pretty baby? Don't worry-- it'll get so hot down there you'll never believe it was so cold! The two openings in the belt between your legs will allow you to relieve yourself-- sitting down of course! Now, stand up." He obeyed promptly, popping off the hospital bed in the Examination Room. Glen had learned it was actually underneath the Mason's mansion-- a private medical wing devoted entirely to the private experiments and whimsies of Dr. Mason. It was where she had turned him into a girl. There was another room too, but one he had never been in. From the windowless, white hospital-style bedroom where he was locked every night, he could hear things though. Brenda's cries, whippings, Mr. Mason's yells, Dr. Mason's screeching laugh. They called it the "Play Room." As Glen stood in front of the mirror, he looked at the image that stared back. Was that really him? It was still difficult to believe the changes were permanent even after a whole month's time. The most obvious change was the pair of moderate sized perky high-nippled breasts that hung from his chest. He could feel the jiggle of the orange-sized spheres as he moved quickly, the way the cold air massaged his long nipples into small, hard rubies. They weren't huge, but he could surely feel their weight as he walked. And he walked differently now too. His legs were longer, his calves shapelier. His instep had been raised, giving him a highstepping toe-first way of walking. His hips were wider as well, his butt fuller. The whole affect was to give him the light airy prance of a ballerina-- or a showgirl. His hands were soft and callus free as if the heaviest object he had ever lifted was a hairbrush. Even the scar he had gotten from fishing when he was twelve was gone. All that was there now was milky skin as soft as velvet. And having nails now was strange. He had to be careful how he used his hands, how he picked things up, how he held things, otherwise he might break the nails. And that was unthinkable. His arms seemed more relaxed as he walked if he held them up in the air, elbows bent, with hand bent, palms down. It also seemed natural for him to rest his hands high on his hips, practically on his wispy waist. With thumb and index finger resting palm down on them, he felt more relaxed than if he just kept them by his side. Glen couldn't tell, but he guessed some muscles in his body had been lengthened and shorted to produced these deisred affectations. Seeing his face for the first time was a frightening sensation. He could barely believe that the blue eyes were his. Permanent cosmetic contacts, the Doctor had explained. His eyebrows, once as thick as caterpillars were now razor-thin plucked blonde arcs. In contrast, his eyelashes were long and lusciously full-bodied, and he now no longer closed his eyes and opened them-- he batted his lashes. His mouth was even smaller, his thin lips now poutier. When he smiled, his expression was like the one they made Barbie dolls with-- sexy, surprised and happy all at once. His nose was half it's previous size. He had had a deviated septum, the result of a long ago high school tussle, which had given his nose a slight bend to the left. But now it was small, upturned and delicate and perfect as porcelain. And framing his whole face was his light blonde hair, now straight and long enough to reach to the tops of his breasts. As he silently inspected himself, Mr. Mason walked into the white hospital room. "Well, there's the pretty lady! How are you Kelly?" The older man was leering at his new breasts and he held up his hands to shield them. "Uh, fine, Daddy," he answered in that new, subdued voice of his. Mr. Mason was Daddy and Dr. Mason was Mother, he had been told. Brenda was his little sister. He was Kelly, a sixteen year old girl. A pretty girl who must behave. Or Daddy and Mother would punish Kelly. Glen had already learned what a hard spanking Daddy could give when his Kelly had sassed back. Damn! That had hurt! "We're about to go over the new rules, Father. Please sit down-- no, not you Kelly. You just stand there in front of the examination mirror and listen carefully." Glen saw Daddy's eyes on his bare butt reflected in the mirror. It made him so uncomfortable. He had been kept naked since the operations had ended a week ago and it was driving Kelly to the point of nervous exhaustion. He hated being kept nude. It made him so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was snatch up a sheet and cover himself. But he kept quiet and listened to his new parents instead. "Your chastity belt is designed to keep that silly little thing of yours under complete control. You can function naturally in every way, though it will prevent you from playing with yourself. It's o.k. to blush Kelly-- that's the sign of healthy shame we want to instill in our girls." She smiled. "You SHOULD be ashamed of that little thing-- which is why the chastity belt will control it and keep it nice and flat. We won't have it ruining your panty lines with big bulges! Got it?" Glen nodded demurely. Fo rnow, he had decided it was easier to accept and obey. Minute to minute, hour to hour, he told himself. Just survive long enough to get out of this nightmare alive. "As you know, you're a lucky little girl. We've adopted you, just like Brenda. Rick has taken care of all the legal details. As your parents, we have complete responsibility for your upbringing and discipline. As you've already discovered, we're very old fashioned when it comes to correcting improper behavior. Our opinion is that pretty girls should be seen and not heard." Glen swallowed hard. It was still strange to be think Dr. Mason was talking about him, uh, her. Mr. Mason-- Daddy-- continued where his wife had left off. "It really is too bad for you that you had to meddle in our business-- and that you happened to be such wonderful material to work with! Small, child-like in appearence, no facial hair-- hardly a male at all! Much better suited to be a teenage girl-- like Brenda. You were right about Brenda. We took her when she was about twelve. You see we've always wanted kids. Though not for the usuals reasons, right Dear?" His wife, her hands resting in her white lab coat, nodded in agreement. She was pleased with her handiwork and like a true craftsman kept inspecting the finished product, looking for a single flaw. But there were none, she knew. Kelly was perfect-- a sexy, sixteen year old girl. "We are extremely successful and up to three years ago, thoroughly bored. Money after a certain point means nothing," Mr. Mason discoursed. "You grow soft, begin to watch too much television. That was how we got hooked on Beverly Hills 90210. Have you seen it? As we watched it, we grew infatuated with the idea of having those beautiful girls to do with as we wished. There's nothing as appealing as a teenage girl coming to terms with her sexuality. The experiments with ever-so- subtly seductive, pretty clothing, the thrill of the stolen first kiss, the innocence of the embrace, the sweet surrender to the first lover. It has a taste fuller than the finer glass of wine. Lesley agreed. She had steadily more aroused by the sight of the pretty, pampered girls on the show. I think she even brought up the idea. Why not capture a runway who looked like one of them for a pet? I could handle the legal aspects of the capture and Lesley could do the necessary cosmetic surgery to turn our new possession into the toy of our dreams? You have to understand Kelly that Lesley and I are very sophisticated when it comes to sex. We have certain tastes that aren't exactly mainstream. Because we are both very successful, we have come to look at the world in a different way. There are those who take and those who give. Well, instead of waiting for something to be offerred, we take it. This goes for our tastes in lovemaking." Glen noticed a burning glow in the man's eyes that scared him, scared him more than anything else had so far. "You wouldn't understand this, but people who have power like to use it. The exercise of power over those who don't have it is an intoxicating experience never lose a taste for. Power to correct, power to traine and tame, power to bend another to your will--" "Yessss!" Dr. Mason's hands were plunged deep in her pockets as her husband continued his dark discourse. He smiled at his wife. "Well, it is a drug. You get hooked. Unfortunately, my wife is just as strong willed as I am. Stalemate. So we used whores-- a poor substitute at best. You never get the sense of true submission. Thus, Lesley's idea. I loved it. Between the two of us, we had the capability to pull it off. But the more Lesley thought baout it, the less enthusiastic she was about her own idea. I asked her why but she refused to say. Then it hit me. She was worried. You see, Lesley is as jealous as any spouse. As am I. She was concerned about the inevitable course of such a plan. What if I became too involved with the runaway? If I came to actually grow affectionate? So I suggested the perfect compromise-- a boy turned into a girl. We would leave the male genitals, but the rest would be completely transformed into a pretty girl. That way we could have our cake and eat it too, so to speak. We would have our teenage temptress to train and play with, and temptation would be avoided because I'd never, ever leave my Lesley to run off with a boy. Not that I would ever leave my darling wife, but this solution made her feel better and satisfied both our appetites." He stroked his long, strong chin in smugness for the brilliant solution they had concocted. He looked at Glen with wide, questioning eyes, but Glen remained silent. " Since you had to be a nosy little fool, you have no one to blame except yourself." She smiled disdainfully, her white teeth bared. "You were kind enough to bring your file regarding Brenda, which I've destroyed." Mr. Mason pulled a cigarette from a small silver case and lit it with an obsidian lighter. He took a long, slow drag on the black Dunhill and continued. "And you're well aware of your tragic demise. So all the loose ends are tied up, are they not?" Glen continued to clutch his breasts. "You'll punish me if I tell you what I really think of all this," he answered, his soprano voice wavering with fear. Mason flicked an ash in an ashtry and shook his head. His deepset eyes were amused. "Go ahead, Kelly. tell us what you REALLY think." His wife's hard. cold eyes were on him too, interested in what he had to say. "My name isn't Kelly. It's Glen Simmons." The wife looked at her husband. The two laughed. "Your name is Kelly Mason," Mr. Mason advised patiently. "Here is your birth certificate." He handed a square piece of paper to Kelly, who took it quickly so as to keep his breasts covered. He scanned it. It said that he was indeed Kelly Mason, that his parents were listed as unknown, that he had been born sixteen years ago. It was notarized with the appropriate date, the signatures legitimate, the document completely legal. "And this." Mason passed another piece of paper to him. It was notification that Kelly had been adopted by the Masons two months ago-- about the time of his "accident." "And this." Another piece of paper. This one a death certificate for Glen Simmons, dated and stamped by the proper authorities. It was signed by Dr. Lesley Mason, the reporting physician. Glen looked up, tears forming. It couldn't be! It was impossible to make someone go away and to create someone else in their place! It couldn't be done-- could it? "I can find witnesses..." But Mason cut him off. "You can? We did someone investigating and WE couldn't find family, friends, girlfriend, anyone who might miss you. Are you telling me there's somone we missed? Save your breath-- we didn't miss anything." "No one will suspect anything out of the ordinary, Blue Eyes." Dr. Mason shook her head emphatically. "No one." "But I'm a man! I have a cock!" Glen shrieked in frustration. The soprano betrayed him and the couple chuckled lightly at the incongruity of the statement and the dulcet tone in which it was expressed. "Not really. You'll find your chastity belt quite snug, missy. It isn't coming off any time soon. As for being a man, well--- I JUST DON'T THINK SO!" Mr. Mason boomed in scorn. Glen looked around craftily and smiled. "Fine. You can't watch me all the time. I'll get out of here and then--" Dr. Mason nodded in agreement. "Naturally you'll be out of here. I've kept you here for observation, for your own good. But it is time you were allowed to live in the house with the rest of us. You have a wonderful bedroom all set up for you. Any high school girl would love it." "And I'll get out of the house then--" Mr. Mason looked at him dumbfounded. "Of course you will, young lady! If you think you're going to laze around the house all day, you're plain wrong! You will be getting out of the house-- and going to high school." Glen was confused. "Fine, then when I get to the high school, I'll...I'll..." His lips opened and slowly closed. His blue eyes widened. "You'll what, Kelly? What will you do?" Mason puffed on his cigarette. "You'll do nothing, because if you do, you'll be sent home, diagnosed with mental problems. And if you run away, you'll be brought back here by the police. And even if you do get far enough away, what then? How far do you think a pretty blonde, blue eyed sixteen year old runaway girl would get on the highway or city streets? Hummm?" Glen clutched his breasts closer. " So you can put those thoughts out of your pretty empty little head. Thinking too much is bad-- very bad. It's a habit you'll lose soon enough. Your mother knows how to help you forget those pesky thoughts with some special medicine you'll be on for a while. Pretty soon you'll be the pretty vapid teen you know you are-- and you can concentrate on what's really important-- like boys and clothes and boys and makeup and boys--" "And lingerie and boys and jewelery and boys and so on," Dr. Mason rattled off. Then she leered. "Not that boys are EVERYTHING mind you. There are women too." Glen's hands had bunched into small, angry fists against his heaving bosom. "How can you make me do that? You can't--- you can't make me into a girl if I was born a male! There's no way! You just want an act and I'm not going to pretend to like any of this so so you two can get off!" He was furious and confused, but he knew this was right-- he wasn't gay and he couldn't pretend to get into this kinky stuff no matter how much they hurt him. He went on with more confidence. "Oh, yeah, you can MAKE me do things, you can FORCE me to do things, but you'll know it isn't REAL!!!!" He had hoped the outburst would shatter the perfect surface of their arrogance, their utter calmness and the everyday-way they were talking about remaking Glen Simmons, High School Guidance Counselor into Kelly Mason, sixteen year old girl. He would have to make them see it just wouldn't work-- but now they were laughing at him, laughing deeply and richly, as if he couldn't be more wrong about anything. The redheaded bitch caressed his arm. "Poor Kelly! Never heard of mellaril? Why would you?," she reminded herself. It's what's responsible for those plump boobs of yours. But your're right-- that's just a physical change, gives you feminine characteristics externally. The real magic is going on inside your metabolism right now. Another benefit of having you as part of our little family is that I get to make up for an error in judgement." Her husband tried ot dispell criticism, but Lesley overruled him with a wagging finger. "Please Rick, don't. I made a mistake with Brenda. I'll admit that. But with Kelly, I can make up for it." She turned back to Glen. "For the last two months, every since your untimely "accident," your system has been saturated with estradiol. It's a high performance female sex hormone. Brenda was induced with the same treatment. She was given the exact amount of sex hormones a normal girl her age would have. Because of the wonder of biochemistry, I've implanted you, like I did with Brenda, with a device that will convert your testosterone into estradiol. However, instead of giving you the natural level of hormones as we did with Brenda, you'll produce sex hormones at a rate fifty percent higher than the level found in natural-born teenage females." Rick Mason hooked his finger in his belt, grinning wolfishly. "You see, even though Brenda's system carries the hormones, since they are only average level, she hasn't been as, shall we say, stimulated as we'd like her to be. When we decided we wanted her to have the characteristics of a young teenage girl, we forgot that along with curiousity about sex, there would also be fear and confusion. Brenda's too prim and proper for our tastes." "Yes, and once the metabolism has been set, you can't screw around with the biochemical mix," Lesley the doctor elaborated. "Brenda behaves just like a normal fourteen year old girl would-- curious but scared, coy and immature. Not what we want when it comes time for frolics in the Play Room. But with the amount os Estradiol you've been given, we're sure you'll be able to help us train Brenda the way we want her to behave for us." He didn't like the sound of this. "Estradiol? What will it do to me?" he asked feebly. Hedreaded that he might guess the answer if not the specifics. Mr. Mason put out his cigarette, letting his wife answer. He was so deliberate in all his actions, thought Glen. As if he knew every objection I could raise before I said a thing. The doctor's tongue slipped in and out of her mouth as she explained, as if savoring word after delicious word. "It will make you terribly insecure, very vain, extremely flighty. Your attention span will be very short and you'll become bored with anything that requires too much thinking. You'll be overly preoccupied with your appearence at all times. You'll be led by your emotions, a spoiled brat one minute, a darling angel the next. You'll find yourself unable to make decisions for yourself and you'll be draw to strength, since you'll be so naturally dependent and submissive. In other words, you'll exhibit every stereotypical female trait exagerrated by fifty percent. And the estradiol will have one more dramatic affect." "What? Please tell me!" begged Glen. She licked her lips before answering. "You'll be a very, very horny young lady. Come on, Rick, let's take Kelly to her new room." Glen was shown to the bedroom by his new 'parents.' He gloomily looked around. It was decorated entirely in pink-- pink plush carpetting; a big pink double bed, with two fluffy pillows and a smiling oversized teddy bear; a pink vanity replete with lipsticks, mascaras, perfumes, foundations, brushes, styling pins and rollers; a pink painted bookshelf filled with brand new paperbacks, all of them romance novels; a pink skirted nightstand with a stack of magazines like Cosmopolitan, Teen Beat, Soap Opera Digest, and a number of catalogs from Talbot's, Laura Ashely, Victoria's Secret and more; a pink Princess phone; a pink plastic boom box with a preselected music library of Madonna, Janet Jackson, Whitney Houston, and Wilson Philips CDs; a pink lamp in the shape of a ballerina; and a single windowadorned with pink curtains. On the wall were two posters. One was full of flowers and flowing feminine script. It repeated a trite poem about setting love free and it would come back to you. Another was a full length poster of Fabio, the romance novel cover model and teen heartthrob. The requisite Barbie doll rested on a bookcase shelf watching over all with her empty and pleasing smile. A Minnie Mouse clock clicked away the minutes and hours on the wall. "You'll be very happy here, Kelly." Mr. Mason's -- Daddy's-- hand was on his bare ass and he hated it. "And you'll finally be allowed to wear clothes. Isn't that exciting? Why don't you play dress up by yourself and get used to your new home, Kelly. Your father and I will be down in the Play Room with Brenda." She rubbed her palm against her thigh. "She's been a very naughty girl and needs to be punished." The door was shut, leaving him alone. He was relieved. Privacy. It was the first time he had enjoyed privacy in two months. And clothes! He never realized how much you could miss clothes! He opened the dresser. Naturally-- girls' underwear. Bras, panties, thigh high stockings and nighties. He opened the next drawer. Tops-- but all in bright or pastel colors. He opened the bottom drawer-- shorts, exercise outfits and bathing suits. None of it in the least boylike. He turnd and opened the closet. Inside hung a number of shortskirted dresses, frocks and miniskirts. There was even a little black cocktail dress. "Is that when I get invited to school dances?" he thought disgustedly. On the floor were a number of shoes-- many being three inch heels of varying fashion colors. In addition, there were a pair of open-toed sandals and a pair of pink Reebok running shoes. He looked out the window, down at the wide luxuriant green lawn and the hedges that bounded the huge estate. They couldn't make him put these clothes on. And yet he wanted to cover his body. Reluctantly he returned to the dresser. He pulled out a light blue cotton bra and slipped it on. It gently lifted and separated his 32B breasts, offering some girlish cleavage above the flowery trimming that decorated the demi-cup. He hated the pleasant way it made him feel. He had to resist. But as he stepped into the matching Calvin Klein blue thong panties, he couldn't help the wave of delight he felt as the snug garment crept between and up his legs. He had to remember he was a male, a twenty year old male, not some dopey sixteen year old kid. But his resistance crumbled as he slipped on the white cotton half-blouse that bared his trim, flat tummy, feeling the tightness over his breasts as he buttoned up. He picked out the only pair of jeans in the closet, determined not to wear a skirt, no matter what. But as he held up the pair of No Excuses jeans, he realized why the calves had zippers. The designer jeans were so tight, he had to unzip the calves, then get on his back and try to jam himself into the legs. He managed to get them half in and stood up carefully. He bounced up and down as he forced his already small butt into the even tighter jeans. At last he was able to get them in and triumphantly zipped the zipper. With the air of a natural gesture, his hands found their familiar perch on his hips. The mirror showed a sassy, hot to trot sixteen year old with pouty lips and smoldering blue eyes. But that wasn't the reality, Glen reminded himself frantically. Fishing though the shoes, he slipped on the pink running shoes. "Very pretty, Blue Eyes." It was the Masons. They were back. But they weren't alone. Mr. Mason yanked a leash and Brenda came tumbling to the floor behind him. "See your new big sister, missy?" Brenda looked up, eyes swollen with tears. The leash was attached to a pair of handcuffs and allowed Mr. Mason to drag the boy-girl behind him. The fourteen year old wore only a pair of white bikini panties and a training bra. The back of his thighs were red as if from being hit with a flat object repeatedly. "Brenda has been a naughty little girl, Kelly. It seems your sister isn't as interested as she should be in her housekeeping duties. Naughty girl!" Mason screamed at the girl. Brenda groveled on the floor before the two adults. "Please! No more! Please! I won't do it again!" She pressed her cheek against Lesley Mason's high heeled shoe pathetically. Mrs. Mason rubbed her shoe across the boy-girls cheek and Brenda obediently began to lick it. "This is what happens with only children," she spoke to her husband. "They get spoiled like Brenda. You know, I think having a big sister like Kelly around will do wonders for teaching Brenda how to act like a proper young lady." Mr. Mason concurred. "Kelly, you may do whatever girls do when they are alone. Your mother and I need to continue with Brenda's discipline-- in our bedroom." Brenda looked up. Kelly noticed the boy-girl shaking as he struggled to his feet. The door was shut and Glen was left only to wonder about the many shocking shouts and cries he heard from the bedroom in the following hours. ***************************** Rick Mason heard the door shut first. "The girls are home, Darling. It's Homework Time" Lesley Mason looked up. She had been reading a medical journal article, which she carefully bookmarked and closed. Languidly she rose to follow her husband, who was already downstairs ordering the girls to come to the Play Room. She walked in to find them standing, heads down, for their next instruction. The Play Room was her idea. As a creator and shaper by training, she had put much of her imagination in it's design. The immediate impression was dungeon-like. She preferred the dark, Gothic stony look, with the fireplace for her and her husband's love games. It put everyone involved in the proper frame of mind. Two sets of manacles hung from the ceiling, which were easily controlled by a simple winch. A stockade and sawhorse sat ready for use on the side of the dark, barely-lit room. Whips, crops, and canes of all sizes and thickness waited on wall brackets for hard hands to wield them. A cage waited for an insolent prisoner in the other corner. Lesley's favorite prop was a device they had bought commercially-- a kind of saddle-seat mount from which protruded a detachable dildo. Oh she loved that toy! Rick lit the fireplace and brought it to a roar with the bellows. "Strip down, sluts. You first Brenda." The little brunette looked down and though shivering with fright, kicked off her heels. Unsteadily, he pulled off his ribbed pink tank top, exposing his cotton bra. At fourteen and a half, Brenda had just been allowed to graduate from a training bra to the real thing, even though his breasts hadn't grown, nor would they ever grow any bigger. Gingerly he unzipped his denim miniskirt. Wriggling out of it, he waited in only his pink cotton softcup bra with it's thin straps and the matching pink cotton bikini panties. "Now Kelly." With a saucy smile, the sixteen and a half year old kicked off his red high heels and pulled off his midriff t-shirt. It was tight and read "Boy Toy" on the front and back. Underneath, his healthy pert bust was supported by a red lace half-bra, which he thrust out proudly. Kelly loved his breasts, the way the boys and male teachers at school looked at them, the way he could make them jiggle to get attention. Sinuously, he pulled down her neon green spandex bike shorts to reveal the red lace thong panty. It had been a gift from Daddy for being such a good girl in helping to slut-train his little sister Brenda. He loved them-- they made him feel like such a pampered princess! Months ago, Kelly had hated to wear the revealing, provocative clothing he wore now. He had made up his mind to resist the temptations of the feminine trap he was in. He was a male, a twenty year old man. Panties and bras couldn't change that and he wouldn't accept them as natural. But slowly his feelings changed. Not that he liked what had happened to him-- he missed the freedom being a man had given him. Everything feminine was such a prison-- tight clothes, high heels, mandatory make-up, everything. And the dull hot throb that emmanated from the chastity belt reminded him constantly that he had born born a male. It was so frustrating never to be able to scratch the itch below, the itch that was a curse because the things that his adoptive parents did to him always kept it burning. But his attitude had changed. It wasn't the result of the punishments he earned from time to time. It wasn't the training either. It was from inside. It was the creep in his spine that rose when he realized he was becoming very good at dressing up, the silent scream from knowing he blushed when Daddy complimented him, the anguish that raged impotently when he began to pick and choose from his growing lingerie collection and get turned on, even against his will. And then his escape plans began to dissolve in gauzy daydreams. His instincts told him if he could talk to the right people, have them check his fingerprints or dental records, then... But a day would pass and these thoughts would be lost. And in trying to rediscover them, he found that thinking was just too hard, too exhausting, too frustrating. Instead of taking firm shapes, his thoughts grew fuzzy and vague, like strands of cotton candy that dissolved at the merest touch. He gave up thoughts of escape in favor of less complicated, simpler things like his romance novels and soap operas, what to wear and what color to paint his nails. Then school had started. It was strange being a student in the same school he had once been a faculty member of. Not that he any longer remembered the skills or education he had once had. Today Kelly was no more able to be a guidance counselor than he was a rocket scientist! Luckily, he wasn't encumbered with college prep courses. Like Brenda, his parents had enrolled him in general overview courses that wouldn't tax his mental abilities. The only courses he had to worry about grades in were Home Economics and Gym class. Home Ec was important because he was responsible for household cooking and cleaing, with Brenda as his helper. Gym was important because it kept him in shape, though aerobics at home were also expected. School itself was a nervous blur for Brenda. The young boy-girl was jumpy and still unable to handle the attention his ripening feminine body and teasing clothes attracted from boys. But for Kelly, being a pretty high school sophomore was wonderful. In the clothes he wore now and the nubile body he sported, he did indeed resemble the Kelly Taylor character from the Beverly Hills 90210 series. Sweet, tarty thoughts crossed his mind as he swung his hips in the tiny red miniskirt for the boys behind him. He began to find power over boys in the smallest ways-- by bending over to reveal some pink cleavage, to toy with a stray bra strap, to giggle cutely at their silly jokes, to intently listen, eyeing them dreamily as they spoke to him. He wasn't permitted a boyfriend by his parents. Kelly was reserved for their use alone. Whenever he was asked out on a date, Kelly had learned to answer that there was a boyfriend who was in the Marines, so, gosh no it wouldn't be possible for zkelly to cheat on him, would it? But if Kelly wasn't already involved, and if the mysterious Marine ever dumped Kelly, could she take a raincheck and call the boy up? This strategy of assuaging each boy's ego kept them from thinking the pretty blonde was "stuck up." He was allowed to flirt, though, and flirt he did, with the boys he was beginning to think of more and more as cute and handsome. Instead of paying attention to the teacher, Kelly would silently choose a boy in a classroom and begin to tease him, allowing the lucky boy quick peeks of the bright polyester or lace panties he wore as he slowly crossed his legs under the desk. Such behavior earned him the reputation of a slut, which he both resented and accepted. Kelly was Kelly-- he couldn't help what he had been turned into. Daddy sat in the big arm chair as Mother took over the Home Work lesson. She had stripped down to her lingerie-- a black lace bra, black panties and high heels. Her pale skin and her red hair made her a most striking woman. "Well, my pretties, let's begin your lesson today wher we left off last night. Brenda, down on your knees. Now Kelly, you too-- but face your little sister." The two boy-girls waited, eyes still downcast. Kelly generally didn't mind these sessions, except the painful parts of course, but Brenda did not. He was still too much of a prudish little girl for. It was one of the reasons he had to help slut-train Brenda for their parents. Kelly was the perfect slut, Daddy said. "Now, Kelly, lean forward and kiss Brenda. Show her how to French kiss. Go on-- get to it!" Mother had chosen a riding crop from the arsenal of disciplinary implements and waved it threateningly. Everyday after school there was a predetermined Homework Lesson. Instruction was always held in the Play Room by Daddy and Mother. Sometimes others came to watch too, men and women who drank wine and watched. Monday's Homework Lessons always started with French kissing and foreplay. Tuesday was for breast and nipple play, Wednesday was dedicated to striptease pratice, Thursday oral and body worship, and Friday w