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THE GIFT by Marlissa Smedley smiled as he heard the soprano voice float down the staircase of his West Palm Beach vacation home. "Ninety-one, Ninety--two, Ninety--three---" He quietly crept up the stairs, his footsteps muffled by the padding of the Persian rug. As unobtrusively as possible, he craned his neck around the corner. As always, Rebecca's door was open. He watched as the teenager sat in front of the vanity mirror, nude and glistened from the recent morning shower. Except for the fluffy pink towel drawn tightly from across the petite bosom to just below the waist, Rebecca was nude and glistening. "Ninety--four, Ninety-five, Ninety-six---" The comb swept methodically down the thick chestnut trail of the long straight hair, which now hung an acceptable four inches down in back. Smedley sipped his coffee. My how THAT had been an issue at one point! But Rebecca had seen the light and stopped begging for a shorter haircut. Longer hair was just so much more feminine and the resulting mane suited the teenager far better. "Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine---" The hands that drew the ivory comb were well suited to their task and Smedley couldn't help but admire them. Hands were ever so important and Rebecca's hands were perfect-- small piano playing hands with fingers that tapered into perfect pink enameled nails. The nails weren't too long-- there would be time for that later-- but they were properly painted and cared for and certainly long enough to pass Smedley's critical muster. Hands were hard to do, but they could be done, despite what was thought. "One hundred!" Now those delicate hands tucked the long light brown mane of freshly combed hair into a flower print cloth elastic popular with most teenage girls. Rebecca examined her self in the mirror, turning head right then left. No blemishes, Smedley noted without surprise. Rebecca was on the strictest diet, eating only the most healthy of foods and certainly nothing that would cause any breaking out. No the face was fine. More than fine. It was perfectly adorable. Wide blue eyes were accentuated with thinly plucked eyebrows (ouch! Now that had been a struggle!), a small slightly upturned nose (expensive but the result clearly worth it) that offered puckish charm, high colored cheeks (done with the nose), a small chin (also done with the nose, though not as much of a job as was normally necessary), and the small bow-shaped mouth with their pouty lips. You couldn't do mouths-- they had to be right to begin with. Oh, you could do the lips, and he had enhanced them a bit-- not much-- but the mouth just had to be right. Rebecca's had been. The teen rose and walked to the dresser. The legs too were perfect, but the real trick there was in training, not alteration. It showed in the flowing rhythm of the slight sway and swing of the hips under the pink towel. It was a true test, because it was easy to mock the proper walk. But as he watched, Rebecca glided with effortless ease, using the requisite toe-first step with the small bare feet. The tell-tale swivel, not too obvious but noticeable, resulted in a half- mince, half-prance that was ever so ladylike. Smedley sipped his coffee soundlessly. Rebecca was picking through the items in the top drawer, the undies drawer. Without too much thought, a small strappy item was pulled out, which was held loosely while there was meditation on the second item. Smedley nodded in self- congratulations. The long months of lessons and proper training paid off in these small introspective moments. The teen was at last well aware of the importance of decisions such as these-- like which panties to wear for the day. A decision was made at last, the hot pink cotton panties winning over another unknown rival, which would surely win on another morning like this. With undergarments in hand, Rebecca stood in front of a full-length mirror, ready to begin dressing. With a deft little yank, the pink towel fell to the bedroom floor in a small fluffy heap. Smedley took another long soundless sip of coffee, admiring the taut teen body from his observation post at the door. Not an ounce of fat on the five foot six inch body. The skin was fair complected but smooth and shiny in the way skin gets only with constant treatment or has naturally with the glow of youth. Though pale, there were tan lines. The weather had been cooperating lately, with sun forecast for the rest of the week. Rebecca took the soft, strappy item and gently drew the straps up over each shoulder. With unconscious grace, the small hands cupped the petite breasts into the soft cotton cups of the dainty white cotton training brassiere. As Rebecca's hands sought the clips in back, the small bra'ed pair of buds were thrust forward. Rebecca's bra size had reached it's maturity-- 32A. Many tears had been shed over the petite, perky pair over the last few months-- too many perhaps given the final product. They were more nipple than breast-- like a tangerine cut in two with the flat end facing down. Rebecca would never need anything more than a training bra really, Smedley thought, with that small a set. But of course, the feminine preoccupation with breasts would lead to more enticing garments than this simple thin-strapped training brassiere, of that he was sure. Push-ups, bustieres, the Wonder Bra at least-- so much energy would be expended trying to enlarge those two less-than-handfuls to a more alluring bustline. Now the panties. Rebecca looked down between those long legs and the sight caused a frown on the pouty lips. Smedley looked down at the object causing such distress. It was Rebecca's chastity belt, the thin metallic mesh cloth that captured and imprisoned the boy's (yes, Rebecca was still technically a boy Smedley reminded himself)hairless penis and testicles. The organ was never referred to by either of them now except as the "mischief-maker." When Rebecca hadn't yet learned to control his feelings and thoughts, he had begged for Smedley to release it. But that was unthinkable. Other than a medical emergency, there was no reason to! After all, Smedley had used the device for years and knew how effective it was. The design allowed Rebecca to relieve himself without difficulty and it gave the midsection a clean smooth line without the ugly lumpy look. Which was apparent even now as Rebecca swallowed hard and drew the hot pink cotton bikini panties over the device. With the panties hugging high and tightly on the girlish hips, you couldn't tell that Rebecca possessed a penis at all! Smedley heard the dull thud of the paper landing on the doorstep and went to retrieve it, turning quietly away to let Rebecca continuing dressing in true solitude. He opened the door, waving to Ted, the paperboy, who returned the wave from the other side of the high gate and cycled away. Wonderful how he managed to throw it on his doorstep from so far away, a feat which Smedley rewarded with a handsome tip every week. For ornamental reasons, the entire house was bounded by a short wrought iron fence-- not uncommon in a neighborhood like this. He was a good kid, the Peterson's boy, Smedley thought. He shut the door, the morning chill now entering the house. Though February, it was warm and the sky bright and blue. It would be a wonderful day. Why just the other night, he had run into the boy's parents at the country club. How admirable it was for people so well off (you never used the word "rich" in West Palm--- it just wasn't done) to teach their boy early the importance of hard work, he had said. Then they had been kind enough to buy him a drink. There were enjoying themselves when that writer and his wife had come over and Smedley had ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate the author's entrance onto the New York Times bestseller list. At one point Peterson had asked what Smedley did. "You know we've known you for years and I've never asked!" he said, surprising himself. "Oh, me? I'm in training and development. I do most of my work outside the area though," he added, quick to cut off the inevitable kindly invitation to do work for a friend's firm. Such generosity of spirit was exactly what endeared old New Canaan to him. It had been a perfectly enjoyable evening. With paper under his arm, Smedley sought the sun of his solarium. He loved the room, an addition he had put on after doing a particularly difficult job for an overseas client a year ago. He shuddered as he recalled it. Nasty piece of business that, but it had paid for his beloved solarium. It was a bright room facing the west overlooking his two acre estate, filled with flowers and appointed with comfortable old wicker furniture. It was ideally designed to grow flowers. He was an amateur horticulturist and enjoyed the many permutations and variations he could precipitate in his private garden. Beyond the garden was the walkway that led to the ocean, the surf booming an invitation to come swim. He was proud to own such a stately home in such an exclusive community. Not bad for someone who grew up in the worst part of Miami. Or someone who had a criminal record. Or used to have a criminal record, he thought as he smiled widely. Not all his clients paid by check. He opened the paper. GOVERNOR WESLEY CALLS FOR TAX CUT; OPPONENTS CALL CUT "BREAK FOR RICH" Smedley shook his head. You worked so hard and others wanted to take what you had rightfully earned and give it all away. he made a mental note to contribute to the Governor's Reelection Fund. SENATOR FROTHINGHAM DECRIES HIGH CRIME RATE, DEMANDS ACTION BE TAKEN! Smedley liked Frothingham too. A good anti-crime man. He would send him a thousand dollars as well. He flipped through the paper, checking the stock quotes and looking at the Society pages. As an afterthought, he turned to the Metro pages. STATE CUTS FUNDING FOR RUNAWAY OUTREACH PROGRAM, CITES BUDGET SQUEEZE Smedley scan the article with interest. "State authorities, faced with looming budget deficits, have trimmed back programs including the Runaway Outreach Program. State Social Services Director Maria Molina called the cuts understandable but shortsighted. "These kids need our help," she claimed. "The teenagers coming into the Miami Bus Depot alone number in the hundreds daily. They are alone, vulnerable and easy prey for the street hustlers. Many wind up as drug pushers, junkies, gang members, prostitutes or worse. There is a certain element found only in the city which takes advantage of these kids." When asked if she would resign over the action, the political appointee answered she would not. "The Governor appointed me and I will stand by his decision." The phone rang and Smedley went to the parlor to get the call. "Smedley residence. Justice MacDonald? Yes, sir, I have in deed heard of you- - you do yourself an injustice! And yes, Senator Frothingham did tell me you were calling. A domestic? Light cleaning and cooking? Yes, sir. And other duties-- of course, Judge MacDonald. Yes, Washington is a lonely place. No need to get into details over the phone, your Honor. May I suggest we meet? Oh you're a member of the Colonial Club-- I've never been there! Love to! I'll be flying up early tomorrow. I have an engagement in New York in the afternoon, so I'll just hop the Delta shuttle and meet you there tomorrow evening, if that's convenient. I'm just finishing up a project and I'm ready to take on another custom job, so you're timing couldn't be better. See you then-- yes, my pleasure. Have a nice day, Judge." Smedley put the receiver down and returned to his paper. Just as he was getting comfortable again, Rebecca made his way down the stairs, head shyly bowed whenever he entered a room now. He minced over to Smedley. "Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir?" he asked respectfully, spinning around as taught to give Smedley a full appreciation for his outfit. The feminized boy looked at the floor nervously chewing his full lower lip as Smedley carefully examined him from head to toe. Smedley did like what Rebecca had picked out. It was a thoroughly appropriate outfit for a properly brought up teenage girl. First he positively noted the use of make-up. Foundation; a bit of rouge for coloring to give the high cheeks a slight flush; mascara giving the batting lashes body; lips shiny with red lipstick and, was it strawberry or cherry that he smelled?, lip gloss; and finally a slight spritzer of Chanel Eau de Toilette. On the delicate pierced lobes were gold studs. All enough to be feminine, not enough to be garish or call attention. Very nice. Rebecca had learned so well. He liked the ribbed midriff tank tee-shirt Rebecca had picked out. The robin's egg blue tee showed off Rebecca's trim tummy and was emblazoned with white letters that read "Palm Beach High Cheerleader." Not with those little boobies, you're not, though Smedley. He noted that the tank tee shoulder straps properly hid the wispy band of Rebecca's training bra. That was good. The other day Rebecca had learned the price for letting a bra strap stray into public sight-- a well deserved paddling over Smedley's knee! Today the teen had made sure to tuck the strap away and out of sight. Rebecca's denim miniskirt was so tight he could make out the panty lines underneath. Smedley had purposely bought all the teenager's clothing a size too small, except her undies. Rebecca wore a simple pair of low heeled open-toed pale pink sandals. His toenails were painted, like his fingernails, pale pink. "You look very pretty today Rebecca." He noted the boy-girl's tense expression soften gratefully. There were days that Smedley hadn't declared the teen sufficiently pretty. Poor Rebecca had been reminded of his fashion duties on those mornings with sound bare bottom spankings. "Do be a good girl and cut some flowers for the table before we sit down for breakfast," Smedley directed. "Do a little arrangement for me like you learned from your tapes." He let his hand cup the small rounded rump of the miniskirted boy and patted him. Rebecca nodded and skipped off. Smedley watched the teen from the solarium, picking posies, pansies and roses and placing them in a small basket some fifty yards away. He loved watching the sun bounce off the long brownish gold ponytail as the teen thoughtfully chose flower after flower with which to make the table bouquet. No doubt trying to remember the taped lesson on flower arranging he had watched not long ago. Rebecca was nothing if not a quick learner though. He had picked up his lessons from the tapes well-- all kinds of proper feminine duties and whimsies like cleaning, sewing, cooking and the like. Smedley had used the tapes for years and found the auto-suggestion and subliminal messages worked wonders. No wonder advertisers weren't allowed to use the technique anymore! What was that? Rebecca was looking at back at him through the window, then away quickly. Strange. On a hunch, he put the paper down and pretended to sleep. Rebecca looked back, then around the garden. Smedley pretended to snore. Through hooded eyelids he watched Rebecca as the boy dropped the flower basket and scan the path leading to the front of the house. Smedley watched the softened face as it estimated the odds. With a determination stolen from desperation, the boy scampered rabbit-like toward the path. Smedley watched in amusement as the boy-girl made his dash for freedom. Hair flowing, Rebecca's face was filled with expectation. He was getting so close, Smedley knew he could taste the life beyond the small wrought iron fence. The shock hit the teen as soon as he tried to step over the fence. The pretty face grimaced in pain, the blue eyes bulging. Gasping for breath, the feminized teen rolled onto his back, denim skirt flipping up to reveal the hot pink panties underneath. Smedley shook his head wearily. They always made the attempt but somehow he thought this one might be unique. Rebecca had been so good, so well- behaved. He thought the little thing had even accepted his new fate. Oh well, it really didn't make much difference. The end was always the same. And besides now it was out of the way. After experiencing the pain of the invisible fence, they never considered escape again. The fence worked on the same principle as the ones used for dogs, the receiver built into the boy-girl's chastity belt. When attempting flight, the receiver sent a massive electrical shock throughout the subject's body. He put the paper down and went to retrieve the boy-girl, now shaking violently with the effect of the shock and nearly unconscious. He gently threw the sobbing teen over his shoulder and brought him in the house, gently tucking Rebecca into his bed. Two hours later, the terrified teen stood in front of him, swearing that SHE would never, ever pull a stunt like that again. SHE gave him such a scared kittenish look that Smedley believed the teen completely. "I--uh, like know what I am, Sir. I won't ever try to run away again. I was just being a silly airhead," the teen's soft voice broke and sniffled, then finished shamefully the sentence they both knew had to be uttered before forgiveness would be granted. "I was just being a silly airhead GIRL, Sir." Rebecca looked up, tried to hold tears back. "I promise, cross my heart," and the teen made the gesture, drawing his pretty pink painted nails over his petite bosom, "I won't ever run away again." "No, you won't Rebecca," Smedley agreed, tacitly accepting the apology. "Now that we've got that nonsense out of the way, why don't you be a good girl and change into your swimsuit? It's peak tanning time and you need some sun." Rebecca nodded and turned. SHE was back down stairs in ten minutes, modeling HER suit for him. "Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir?" SHE asked anxiously. SHE pirouetted in a lime maillot suit. Why had he even given the teen a one-piece? He sighed disgustedly. Rebecca would require much management in the future. "No, I don't, Rebecca. Now get up there and put on a bikini, like you knew I wanted. Don't," he added darkly, "make me correct you again." Five minutes later Rebecca presented self in the suit Smedley wanted the teenager in. "Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir?" the teen asked per the required formula. This time he nodded. The sissified boy looked scrumptious in the neon orange thong bikini. The top snuggled the little boobs tightly and the nipples poked against the fabric. The thong covered the chastity belt entirely and hugged the girlish hips like the proverbial second skin. It was a suit that would paint the most intimate tan lines in the most sensitive of places. "Very nice. Now be sure to use plenty of sun block-- I don't want you getting sunburned!" Rebecca nodded, threw the big beach towel over his shoulder and grabbed the lotion on the table. With a copy of SEVENTEEN in one hand and two cucumber slices in the other the shade the eyes, Rebecca pranced out into the heat of the late morning sun. Smedley watched the two orange buns as they jiggled tautly in the skimpy orange thong with a growing appetite, an appetite he suppressed. This was business after all. Smedley rounded out the morning by making some calls and writing some letters. The mail brought new inquiries and he responded to these in turn till he noticed the clock on his desk. It was almost 2:00! He rose and leaning out the window, called out. "Rebecca! Come inside now! It's almost time for your soap operas!" Rebecca scampered up from the private beach. Smedley noted the goldening tone of the teen's skin with satisfaction. SHE smiled prettily for him as she entered the house. "Thank you, Sir. Do I have enough time to change?" she asked plaintively. He shook his head, eye on the long hand of his wristwatch. "No. It's on in less than a minute." He aimed the remote at the television and the screen blinked on. Rebecca scrunched up on the couch, hugging his knees expectantly as the announcer's voice introduced the daily dose of female silliness. "And now, welcome to the steamy world of strong men and beautiful women, where all your dreams will come true-- the world of The Young Lovers!" Smedley couldn't stand this idiocy, but it was a staple for Rebecca. It was the one outlet the boy-girl was allowed, the one place he-she could escape to. Since being brought here some months ago, Rebecca had become hooked on the soap. "Oooh look, Sir! Derek Dirk is having an affair with Jaymi Desire! What a tramp she is!" Rebecca was completely immersed in the show now, chin on knees as he pressed his small bikini'ed breasts against them. Smedley snickered as he left the room. Derek Dirk was far from the stud he portrayed on television. In deed, it was commonly known in the circles where such things were known, that the six foot tall, one time college football player and all-around hunk was thoroughly gay and had no interest in the women he seduced on The Young Lovers. Too bad, Smedley thought. What a wasted opportunity. Ironic he should enjoy such on-screen company without as much as a spark of desire for the opposite sex. That was life! An hour later, Smedley returned to make sure the television was off. The Young Lovers was the ONLY show Rebecca was allowed to watch EVER and he didn't want the teen abusing privileges. Rebecca watched with resignation as the teevee was shut off for another day. "Three o'clock, Rebecca. Time to do your exercises." He jumped up obediently. "Yes, Sir." Without further instructions, the bikinied beach bunny was off to change into a spandex leotard and work out on the exercise equipment in the house gymnasium. Smedley left the femme alone for a bit, then poked his head in an hour later to check on HER. SHE was puffing, sweet sweat trickling down the soft cheeks. The big dirty blonde mane was tucked under a red headband and the red unitard showed perspiration under the arms as the boy-girl worked away on the exercise cycle. Rebecca looked up, face flushed hotly. Smedley knew then what the pretty wench would look like in the throes of passion. He left quickly, removing temptation. It was too close now, too close to ruin. "Dinner in an hour, Rebecca," he muttered. Dinner was silent till Smedley began to question Rebecca about her show. Rebecca answered his questions about The Young Lovers with thrilling excitement. It was the only thing SHE was really an authority on. "And Jaymi was such a b--I mean tramp, Sir, I'm sorry! She was a tramp and Derek found out and--" "How would you describe Derek, Rebecca?" The feminized boy looked into his plate. "I don't know how you mean, Sir." "Oh, I think you do-- I mean, a pretty girl like you. I bet you have a crush on him, don't you?" "I'm not a g--" he shut his pouty mouth then, and continued bravely. "I'm not a girl, Sir." Chin trembling, but there, he had said it. The response was laughter-- withering, devastating laughter. "Oh, really? Then why do you look like a girl? Why do you dress, act, feel, THINK like a girl? Huh, Rebecca? Funny, I never meet a boy who was named Rebecca!" The teen's eyes grew damp. "You made me this way! You made me into a g--" "GIRL! That's right, Rebecca! Say it! GIRL! Pretty, sexy teenage girl!" Rebecca looked away in shock. "No, no," he whispered weakly, "please, no!" "Oh, yes! Yes indeed, Rebecca!" Smedley insisted. "You said you would help me at the bus station, that you would--" "Take care of you," Smedley completed. "And I have. Now, back to Derek--" But Rebecca was sobbing inconsolately now. "May I be excused, Sir? May I go to bed...please, please, Sir?" he pleaded pathetically. Smedley looked at his watch. Tomorrow would be a big day for Rebecca and he nodded. "Yes, you may Rebecca. But I want you to say your prayers first." Rebecca nodded, wiping tears away. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against Smedley's cheeks goodnight. Smedley patted the boy-girl's backside and told HER to run along. "You'll feel better tomorrow, Princess." Smedley enjoyed his evening coffee at the table, listening to the water running in the bathroom. Rebecca was getting ready for bed. He would wait a few minutes then check on HER. Rebecca splashed the water on the yellow facecloth, careful to remove the tears and makeup. Residue makeup could cause pimples and Sir wouldn't like that. As mad as he was (he still thought of himself no matter what Sir said), he didn't want to cross his kidnapper. Sir was only too happy to take him over his knee for a good hard spanking. And before Rebecca had "calmed down" it had been a lot more that spankings! Sir had layed into his butt with canes, riding crops, and paddles until he had accepted his new identity as Rebecca. As he peeled off his clothes, he looked down at the humiliating thing on his "Mischief-maker." It didn't hurt so much now, since he had stopped thinking about girls THAT way. He was a girl now, that was what Sir said, so thinking about girls THAT way didn't make any sense did it? Rebecca hadn't answered. I mean I can't even remember what I was called before Rebecca, can I? he thought furiously. "Have you combed your hair yet, Rebecca?" "I'm about to do it, Sir!" he cried back promptly. He fished in his drawer for something to wear to bed. He picked out a baby blue cotton teddy that looked comfy, slipping into it. Then he drew off his hairband and sitting in front of his vanity, began the hundred strokes of the brush required nightly, counting aloud so Sir might hear. When he had reached one hundred, the stairs creaked. Sir poked his head in. "Say your prayers, Rebecca." Rebecca dropped to his knees, closing his eyes and folding his hands in prayer. He hated that Sir was watching over him, but he was required to say all his prayers before getting into bed. "God, please bless Mister Smedley who has been so nice to me and trained me to become a little princess. Please help me to make my face prettier, my breasts bigger, my butt cuter and my waist smaller so that boys will like me. Please help me to remember that I am a girl and should act, think and feel like one all the time. Please make my Mischief-maker behave. And please forgive me for trying to run away today. It was very naughty of me and I won't do it again." Rebecca looked up at Sir questioningly. He smiled. "Good girl. Now get your beauty rest for tomorrow." Rebecca snuggled into his bed, pulling the sheets to cover his chest and closed his eyes. He felt Sir kiss his forehead and then the door was shut and locked. Then Rebecca thought about The Young Lovers. Why had Sir asked him about Derek Dirk so much tonight? It was a question that was soon forgotten as thought turned to slumber. Smedley checked the door lock again, an old habit, and dashed down to get the ringing phone. "Lila? Yes, how nice to hear from you. Yes, everything is quite alright. Yes, sixteen-- isn't it wonderful? I loved your idea for her birthday to be on Valentine's Day! What a wonderful combination of events to celebrate every year! I know it's been a long wait, but well worth it, I assure you. You got the photo? Well, she's developed since then. I think you'll be very happy. Yes, I have obtained the proper papers for you. Oh, quite legal-- all of them. I have, ah, friends who do this for me all the time. Rebecca will be your young cousin, your uncle's daughter. No one has to know you don't have an uncle, Lila! You'll be the legal ward with complete authority over her. Relax Lila, you're not my first customer, you know! No, she's not at all, in fact she's very flat-- the way you think Derek would prefer wanted her to be! A 32A in a training bra! Yes, the little thing is locked up for good. Rebecca will be "catching all Derek's pitches" so to speak, unable to throw any of her own. Oh, I think you'll be quite pleased with her ass, Lila. Quite tight and thoroughly virgin---until you give her to Derek tomorrow I assume! Yes, she's a big fan of the show. I'm sure that in time she'll learn to love him. If not, there are other ways of enforcing discipline and affection, ways I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on. Believe me, Rebecca is quite familiar with them. Did the technicians show up to install the invisible fence in Derek's apartment? Good. I'll give you the mobile control too, in case he wants to bring her out and show her off. It fits on a keychain-- very unobtrusive. Yes, this is a nice solution. It should eventually dispel all those nasty rumors about your client. He'll continue to be the hunk of The Young Lovers and everyone will think he's completely straight when he marries Rebecca in a year or two. In the meantime, he can train her to her new duties as teenybopper soap groupie. Yes, the money was deposited in my Caymans account-- thank you! Goodnight Lila. See you at the party tomorrow. Of course I know its a surprise! And may I say that I am thrilled to be of service to you. If I were Derek and MY agent gave me such a wonderful birthday gift, I'd be delighted too!" Smedley put the phone back into the receiver cradle. He so loved his work and the money was so good. Another job completed, another satisfied customer. That's what it was all about. Suddenly he felt like a veritable Santa bringing gifts to good boys everywhere. Ah, but Santa didn't live in West Palm, did he? And he didn't leave pretty packages like Rebecca no matter how good a boy you were. Good thing I'm around, thought Smedley and smiled. THE END