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Maid For Pleasure By Nancy Moore PART ONE Mrs. Moore kept her dirty laundry basket in the bathroom. I had noticed it on a number of visits in the past, when I had to use the toilet in my friend Martin's house. The washing basket was gray plastic, about waist high and, on this occasion, very, very full. Full to overflowing, in fact, with a pair of tan nylons and a white bra drooping over the edge and, just underneath them, a white panty girdle. It intrigued me. Perhaps a bit too much. This was the third visit I had made to the bathroom in the three hours I had been at Martin's house, ostensibly to study for a math exam. Martin wasn't a particularly great friend of mine. We shared a couple of classes and he lived quite nearby but... well, he was a bit too weird for me. We were both 17, but while I was of small to average height - admit it, I was on the weedy side at 5ft 6 - Martin was tall and gangly. He stood at 6ft 4 inches and his long straight mousy brown hair didn't help his appearance while his clothes... we'll he wasn't going to win best dressed in school prizes. Other kids laughed at him. His manner freaked them out too. He was bright, but withdrawn. His occasional utterances during break seemed outlandish. He knew nothing about music, television shows, films, or sport. Martin seemed to have been brought up in a different culture. His parents were religious, he told me once. He didn't say what religion. I was just slightly more hip than Martin. I liked rock, grew my curly red hair long, way past my shoulders, wore a biker jacket, smoked and tried my best within my small circle of friends to seem cool. I was a bit wary of Martin but my math was shockingly bad and he was one of the best in the class and I needed to pass the exam to get to university after the summer. Joining him for after school study seemed a good idea. He lived in a large house on the outskirts of town, about half a mile from my own. I usually cycled out there around 6pm, after tea, studied until 9.30, then headed home. I saw little of his family formally. No sign of his father at all, a brief glimpse of a younger brother, aged 13 or so... and a few quick encounters with his mother. One look at Mrs Moore and I could easily figure her to be some kind of religious maniac. Like her son, she was tall, around 6ft, and practically towering over me. She must have been in her 40's and her face was hard, lined and, well, a bit scary. Her hair was jet black, cut in an unflattering pageboy style and her clothes were on the dowdy side. Sweaters, white blouses and, always, a knee length skirt, worn with tan stockings. I've had friends with mothers who were attractive, even, dare I say, the subject of the occasional fantasy of mine, but Mrs Moore... ooooh, no way. That said, her laundry basket did fascinate me. More than it should have. What can I say? I was 17, vastly more inexperienced in the ways of women than I would ever admit to my school friends and... well, women's underwear gave me a bit of a thrill. On my first two, brief, visits to the bathroom, I gazed at the laundry hanging from the basket, not quit daring to touch. I found I couldn't concentrate on math. Blaming the orange juice we'd been drinking, had told Martin I needed to go again. This time, I couldn't resist. I gently lifted the tan tights and sniffed them. Pantyhose, they were called in the USA. That sounded sexier. They smelled... soiled. I lifted the bra and found the real prize underneath - the panty girdle. I sniffed it too... God help me, I even sniffed the slightly stained crotch. Was this how a women smelled? For some reason, it really turned me on. I was straining at the crotch of my own, rather sad y-fronts. Then - and to this day, I don't know exactly why I put the panty girdle over my head, with the crotch over my nose and began to rub myself. The aroma filled my nostrils and I became more excited, more turned on. Without really thinking about it, I got down on my knees, fumbled my cock out of my trousers and... It was then that Mrs Moore opened the door and towered over me with a look of horror on that strict and more than menacing face. She didn't scream - though I almost did. Instead, she spoke in a harsh whisper. "You dirty little boy." By this time I was trying desperately to stick my rapidly descending erection back into my y-fronts, while tugging the panty girdle off my head with my other hand. "Pervert." The panty girdle was off now and I tossed it back in the laundry basket. "How long have you been sniffing my panties and playing with yourself?" "Oh God, I'm really sorry," I said pathetically. "I'm really sorry. I've never, ever..." "Wait until everyone finds out about this. Your parents, the school ... I should call the police." "Oh God no... please!" Tears were welling up in my eyes now. My life was flashing - blurred - before them. My heart was beating like drum machine. "You disgusting little shit." She stepped in the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I was off my knees now and stammering. "Just shut up," she growled. "Just shut up and listen to me. I've never seen such a disgusting little pervert in all my life. I hate to think what you've been up to, leading my boy astray." "Look. I've never..." "Shut up". I didn't know someone could whisper so loudly. "You'd better go back downstairs while I think about this. About your punishment..." "Look I'll go home, but please..." Tears were falling down my cheeks now. "Please don't." "If you don't shut up now, then everyone will be told. Starting with Martin. I don't know whether he'd be disgusted or just laugh at you. Maybe both. Now dry your eyes and get back downstairs while I think. Now!" I did as I was told. Martin looked concerned when I walked back in the room. "What took you so long? Did I hear mum upstairs?" "Er.... yes... I think so. Errrr... how you doing with.... erm.... that algebra?" We got back down to math. My head was elsewhere. Five minutes later, a knock at the door. There stood Mrs. Moore. Me... I couldn't breathe. "Martin dear, would you nip down to the shop for me on your bike. I need cigarettes and it shuts in ten minutes." "Yes mum." Martin was the only guy I knew who never argued with his mother when asked to do something. I was starting to realise why. She stared at me as Martin prepared. "Why don't you stay for supper Nicky? Martin won't be long. I'll phone your mum if you like." My heart did a tango. "No, that's okay Mrs Moore, no need to phone her. She won't mind if I'm a bit late and it's not a school night tomorrow so..." "Okay then. Bye Martin." He left. I was alone with his mum in his study room downstairs. Petrified does not describe how I was feeling. Numb? State of shock? On the verge of a heart attack? All of these and more. "Right," she said. "You have a choice. You can do exactly as I say, without question, or I tell the school, your parents and the police just what a little pervert you are. Your miserable life wouldn't be worth living, knicker sniffer. What is your answer? "Yes, I'll do whatever you say Mrs Moore." "No matter what?" "No matter what." "Then follow me, pervert." She went back upstairs. I followed, head bowed, tears welling in my eyes again as she opened the bathroom door and held it until I joined her inside. The laundry basket was in the same place. The lid was on it now. But the panty girdle, her nylons and the bra lay on top. "Strip and put them on," she commanded. "Eh?" "DO AS I SAY, NOW STRIP OFF AND PUT THEM ON PERVERT. YOU KNOW THE ALTERNATIVE." She was so loud, I winced and began to unbutton my shirt. In a quieter voice, she said: "I thought since you were so obviously interested in my clothes, you might as well try them on. A little knicker sniffer like you should get a real turn on, don't you think." "Look, I don't like dressing up as a girl, I just..." "SHUT UP." I obeyed. I took off my shirt, shoes, sock and trousers and paused at my y-fronts. Mrs. Moore glowered. All she had to do was point at them and I whipped them off. I stood before her naked and shivered. "Tights on first pervert," she said. I didn't have a clue where to start, so she rolled the legs up and held them out for me to slip a foot into. First one, then the other and she rolled them up my legs. They felt very strange, but.... nice. She pulled them high and tight around my waist, then held out the panty girdle. I stepped into it. Jeez, what a squeeze. She was taller than me but not heavily built. This bloody garment must have been tight on her... on me, it was almost agonising. With her help, I managed to get it up. She pulled it high, squashing my balls. "Now the bra." It was white too, looked old fashioned to me and seemed to match the girdle. She beckoned me to put my arms forward, slipped it through them, then fastened it at the back. By this time, I was too plain scared to speak. She was obviously getting her own back by humiliating me, but she seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much. Anything ANYTHING - was better than her telling everyone though. "A nice fit, little Nicky. It could have been made for you. Stand back and let me see you. Oh very nice. With that long curly hair, you make a lovely girl. Turn around for me. Lovely. Now face me... and get on your knees." I did as I was told. My mouth must have dropped open when Mrs. Moore lifted her knee length black skirt, showing a white slip, her tan nylons which matched the ones I was wearing and... a white panty girdle. She stepped forward, thrust her pantied crotch in my face and lowered her skirt and slip over my head. She put her hands at the back of my head, gripping my hair tightly and kneaded my face into her crotch. It was wet and the smell matched that of the panty girdle I had now been forced to wear. I nearly choked. With one hand still holding my hair tightly, she slipped the other under her skirt and slid the girdle and her nylons down. "Lick," she ordered. This, I confess, was my first sexual experience. My tongue probed hesitantly, tasting hair. "Down, you fucking idiot." I moved my tongue down further and it slid into her. I lapped for a few seconds, then tried to break off, coughing. Mrs. Moore held my head tighter. "Harder... harder, or everyone finds out about your perversion." I did as I was told. She began to moan... I couldn't help myself, I began to get excited. That all faded when I heard the muffled sound of the front door slamming shut. Mrs Moore shoved my head down, freeing me from her skirts. I gasped for breath. "Nicky's just helping me bring some books upstairs Martin dear." she shouted. "We'll be down in a few seconds." She wiped my face and said to me: "Now put your clothes back on. On top of your pretty undies. You can stick those horrible y-fronts of yours in my laundry basket." "But..." "No buts, you know the alternative." "But Martin will see the bra through my shirt and..." "Do as you are told. Without question! You are trying my patience girl..." Girl. She called me girl. Oh fuck, what kind of mess was I in. Fumbling, I pulled my trousers over the nylons and panty girdle, then my shirt over the bra. I went to put my socks on. "No socks. They go in the wash too." By now, I knew better than to argue, but I was terrified that Martin would see the nylons in the gap between trousers and shoes. "You'll go home like that tonight," said Mrs. Moore. "That's just part of your punishment. And you will be back here tomorrow at one o'clock for the next stage. Tell your parents you'll be staying here overnight. It's Saturday, I'm sure they'd like a Saturday night to themselves for a change. Oh, and I want you wearing your nice new clothes. Now, downstairs and finish your studies like a good.... boy?" The next ten minutes were a haze. Martin didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. He didn't spot my bra straps... he didn't spot my nylons. He didn't see the sweat I was in. He didn't even seem concerned when I stammered something about having studied too much and needed to go home to sleep. Mrs. Moore saw me to the door. "Don't forget," she whispered. "Tomorrow at one. Or else." And with that, she gave the most chilling smile I had ever seen. Half way back home, in a quiet spot in the countryside, I stripped off the bra, girdle and stockings and stuck them in a jacket pocket. I longed to throw them away. But I knew I would be wearing them again tomorrow. PART TWO I barely slept that night and when I did, suffered from almost feverish dreams. I hardly spoke a word to my parents over breakfast - and didn't mention that I might be spending the night at my friend Martin's. I was too busy trying to think of a way out of my dilemma. The telephone rang - mum answered. She mouthed a few platitudes ? I heard her say "Lovely, no problem, that would be great." Then she put the receiver down and returned to the table. "That was your friend Martin's mum. Just confirming it was okay for you to stay there tonight. You didn't mention that before?" "No mum. Studying. If you don't want me to go then..." "No, that'll be fine son. Don't work too hard." I shivered. Just after midday, I went to my room and stared at Mrs. Moore's underwear for about ten minutes before, slowly, pulling on the nylons ... then the panty girdle... then, with some difficulty, fastening the bra behind my back. I pulled on a thick jumper and thick socks to hide any trace of feminine clothing. Saying goodbye to my mum, I cycled off into the countryside. I could feel the tightness of the girdle, the infamiliarity of the bra around my chest and, most of all, the nylons rubbing against my trousers as I cycled towards the Moore house. Despite all my fear, the feeling was strangely exciting. Possible outcomes to the day breezed through my brain. Maybe she would just laugh and tell me to take the stupid clothes off and go home - punishment over. But maybe she would expose me as a pervert in front of Martin and the rest of her family. Maybe she would just want some form of kinky sex. Unattractive as she was, maybe she wasn't getting any from the mysterious Mr Moore. I could talk her out of this weird female clothes idea and perhaps get away with a love-making session, keep her happy. But for how long? I was off to college after summer, but it could prove to be a very long summer indeed in the clutches of Mrs. Moore. I was at the driveway to the house. I cycled up, left the bike at the side of the house and, breathing deeply, rang the doorbell. Mrs. Moore answered. It was a very different Mrs. Moore to the frumpy housewife who had made my life such hell the evening before. I said she was tall, now she was even taller, thanks to six inch black stiletto heels she wore with black stockings. Somehow I knew they were stockings and her legs seemed to go on forever, until they disappeared into what appeared to be a black rubber miniskirt, tight, clinging and with a thick gold chain across the front from one hip to the other. A white blouse of the same material was tucked into the skirt. Her chest looked much fuller than I had previously noticed - probably thanks to the rubber material it was encased in. She wore black rubber gloves. And make up. I had never seen Mrs. Moore wear much-make up before. Now her face was pale, whitened, which offset deep red lipstick and contrasted with black, black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. Her hair was still in that pageboy style. She looked like Morticia from the Addams Family gone wrong. "Hello pervert," she said with a smirk. "I trust you are wearing my pretty underwear again today." I gulped. "Yes." "Then come inside. To the living room, quick, quick." I made my way inside the house. Scurried would be a better description. Mrs Moore sat down on a sofa in the room. I stood before her, head bowed, hands in my pockets. "Stand up straight pervert. Let me look at you. Ah, pathetic. Strip to your undies. NOW." My heart beating loudly, I obeyed, praying no one else was in the house. I soon stood before her clad in what was becoming an increasingly comfortable outfit. Mrs Moore stood up, walked behind me. I could feel her gloved hand rub my panty girdled bottom, her fingertips just barely touching my nylon covered thighs. "Very nice. They suit you. I think you should wear knickers, tights and bras from now on, but not these ones. I have a much bigger selection upstairs and you are going to be my little fashion model today, trying on lots of bras and knickers and girdles and stockings. Oh yes. But first, throw yourself in the shower pervert. You look like you need one." She marched me off to the bathroom. Hopes of some privacy were soon dashed as she came in with me. She picked the lid off the laundry basket and pulled out another panty girdle, then waved it in front of my face "This is the one I was wearing yesterday pervert. Can you smell it? I know you like the smell." She shoved the stained garment in my face. I had no choice but to smell. She rubbed it up and down my nose and mouth. "I bet you'd love to slip this on, wouldn't you. Give you a nice womanly smell, eh? Now strip and shower." I quickly did as I was told and jumped under lukewarm water. I was given shower gel and shampoo and I washed down quickly. Then Mrs. Moore handed me a lotion. "That'll get rid of what little body hair you have. Rub it all over - legs, arms, chest and pubic area. Oh, and under your arms too." Hairless. Oh God, what was coming next? This was taking things too far. People would see. I played sport in the summer. While I wasn't particularly hairy, smooth legs would be a real giveaway. I began to protest. "SHUT UP. You know the options pervert. Do as I say, or everyone finds out what you get up to in people's bathrooms. You'll be the laughing stock of the school and maybe even of the young offenders institution if I decide to tell the police you stole my knickers and bra to wear. I'm sure once word got out, you'd have wonderful fun in the showers. Be some thug's little bitch for him. Would you like to be a little bitch pervert? I think you probably would." "NO," I yelled. "But please, the hair thing..." "NOW". In hindsight, I should have called her bluff there and then. God, earlier even! It was her word against mine. If I told them what a pervert SHE really was, then maybe... But in reality, my will was broken. I would do as I was told. Fear is a great motivator. I think Mrs. Moore understood that. Fifteen minutes later, my only remaining hair was on my head. Great lumps of hair from my pubic area clogged the bathroom plughole. Mrs Moore helped, particularly getting rid of the hair between my legs and the light fluff on my bottom. I was soon as smooth as a baby and stood naked before her feeling more exposed than at any time in my life. "Lovely," she said as she watched me towel dry. "That will keep you hairless for a few weeks at least. Now stand still while I attach this." I hadn't noticed the black dog collar and long leash lying beside the bath. She put the collar around my neck, just a little bit too tight, and attached the leash. She led my by it, through to what I assumed was her bedroom. I couldn't help but watch the wiggle of her rear in that tight rubber mini skirt as she tugged me like a helpless puppy. Mrs. Moore had spent a considerable time deciding what I was going to wear for her. That much was obvious it was all laid on her bed. Subdued, I made no protest as she made me pull a pair of sheer white tights up my now hairless legs. A was strange and not unpleasant sensation, despite my predicament. A panty girdle followed - an old fashioned looking garment, again in white, its paneled front came up past my belly-button and the rear end and hips seemed to be padded in some fashion, giving me a girlish bottom. From the bed, Mrs. Moore lifted some flesh coloured shapes. "This will help your figure dear," she leered. "Silicon. Expensive ones too." False boobs! I should have known. I flinched as she put some sort of glue on my smooth chest. "It will come off. Eventually! Now stop wriggling bitch." First one, then the other boob was attached to my chest. My god, they looked so real. They even jiggled when I moved. Looking down, I believed I looked enough like a girl to fool most guys. Before I had much more time to think, a kind of coned bra was slipped over my arms and fastened tightly behind me, forcing my new titties into a rather pointy shape, thrusting out before me. I was still too scared to speak. "Legs," said Mrs. Moore. "Lift." As if in a trance, I did as I was told. She pulled first one petticoat up my legs and around my waist - then another. They were both very flouncy, with ruffles and lace edging. "Now arms. Up. I SAID UP GIRL!" My arms were quickly above my head. Mrs. Moore pulled the last remaining garment on the bed over my head - a very pink, very frilly and very girly dress. It fell to just below my knees and flared out thanks to the petticoats. There were four flowery ruffles and my petticoats could be glimpsed beneath the final white lace trim. It had puffed sleeves from the shoulder to the elbow, which then fitted tightly from elbows to the wrists, again completed with white lace trims. There was an almost transparent square white panel from neck to chest exposing just a hint of my new cleavage and it fastened tightly at my throat with a pink ribbon. I remained speechless as she pushed me on the bed and lifted my nyloned feet to attach pink sandals, with a five inch heel. On each, a strap around the ankle, which fastened with a small golden lock. A matching golden chain was attached to each ankle, severely limiting my movement, as I quickly found as I stood up. I tripped back onto the bed. I found it very difficult indeed to stand at all in such high heels, never mind the chain. It felt surreal as Mrs. Moore helped me mince over the room to sit down before a large mirror and make-up table. She put a nylon cover around my neck to stop my 'pretty dress' from getting dirty, then proceeded to paint my face. I closed my eyes as she applied white powder liberally over my face, a spot of rouge on my cheekbones, then black kohl and eye liner followed by thick, thick black mascara. Bright blue eyeshadow was brushed on my eyelids, then the pinkest of lipsticks. I was afraid to look in the mirror and kept my eyes tightly closed. By now Mrs. Moore was attaching false nails to my fingers... long and bright pink to match my dress. White lace gloves were next , then she started toying with my long red hair, French combing it make it look very full and girlish. She tied a pink ribbon in my locks and as I was pulled up, she added the finishing touch to my feminine costume: a white lace apron, tied tightly around my waist. Completing a large bow behind my back, she whirled me round to face the mirror. "There. Don't you make a lovely little girl." I still couldn't speak. But she was right. I resembled an overgrown Barbie doll in a pink maids uniform. And I looked gorgeous. I didn't have too much time to stare at my transformed image. The collar and leash were reattached to my neck and used to lead me through to her main room. I almost broke my neck trying to walk in those heels and chains - especially as she led me down the stairs. Somehow I made it. Then I thanked God she lived in the country as I entered the room. Her curtains were opened wide, letting the sun stream in. I felt very exposed. "Now, there's plenty space for you to practice in. I want you to walk up and down in feminine manner." I tried my best. I really did. But within a few feet, I stumbled thanks to those damned heels. "USELESS. You are walking like a bricklayer. I want you to mince... like the little bit of fluff you are. AGAIN." I tried again. I fell again. This proved to be one mistake too many. Mrs Moore pulled me up by the leash and I fell again... this time face down over her knees. Before I knew what was happening, she pulled up my skirt and petticoats and proceeded to spank my pantied behind. I yelled. She hit me harder. Four, five times. I sobbed. The beating continued. Nine, ten slaps on my bottom. I wept and cried. I felt the mascara sting my eyes. Fifteen, sixteen slaps. She stopped at 21. "Let me see your face. Oh what a mess, your mascara has run. You'll get another punishment for that bitch. Later." She slipped me off her knees and onto the floor. I lay at her feet. "I was going to do this later," she said with a smirk. "But your lovely make up has already been ruined, we might as well do it now. Pleasure me slut. Put that little tongue of yours to good use for a change." She pulled up the short rubber skirt, showing her stocking tops, then a black panty girdle. Just like the last time, she grabbed me by the hair and pushed my face into her groin. She rubbed my face up and down her, moaning with pleasure. After a few minutes, she pushed me aside and lowered her girdle, exposing her full, black haired muff. My face was soon pulled back between her legs and, having learned my lesson from the last time, I lapped almost eagerly at her already moist lips. Frankly I lost track of time. It could have been five minutes, it could have been thirty before she gave an almighty moan and her body shuddered. Her thighs squeezed my head tightly, almost choking me, before Mrs. Moore released me from her stockinged embrace. She lay back on her settee and I knelt at her feet, my hands nestling in front of me. "Better bitch," said Mrs Moore, recovering herself, pulling her panty girdle back on and rearranging her rubber skirt. "You are learning. But look what a mess you are in. Make up everywhere, hair all over the place. It just won't do." But instead of hauling me back through to her bedroom for another make-up session, she picked up a small bell from a nearby table and rang it lightly. What next? I heard footsteps. My lip trembled, my heart sank. The door opened - and I gasped. It seems I wasn't Mrs. Moore's first victim. Nor her second, nor third. Before me stood all three males in the Moore family, feminised, corsetted, beautifully made up and all wearing matching black satin maids uniforms. My jaw dropped as they curtsied in unison and lined up in a row. My school friend Martin was on the left, unmistakable and towering at almost 6ft 9 in his high heels, that mousy hair of his tied up in a very feminine style and protruding from a neat little maids cap. Despite his attire, he looked far from female - more a humiliated, emasculated gangly teenage boy. The creature in the middle was, I assumed, his father. Wearing a similar uniform, he looked much more feminine. Curvy, with what seemed to me to be unfeasibly large breasts, he was around 5ft 11 in his heels and wore what must have been a blonde wig in a beehive style. Very 50's... On the right was a much smaller figure. Martin's little brother - was it David? - looked like cute little schoolgirl, playing maid. He had jet black hair, like his mother. And a figure to match. What the hell was going on here? The maids were silent. I was lost for words. Only Mrs. Moore spoke. "Little pervert, I would like you to meet Maid Tina, Maid Sissy and Maid Jenny. Say hello to Nancy girls." "Hello Nancy," they echoed. "As you know, Nancy is going to be spending some time with us here. Maid Sissy, take her to my bedroom and fix her hair and make up. Maid Tina... fix me a drink and Maid Jenny... sit here with me until they return." "Yes mistress." They bobbed again in unison. Sissy came over and grabbed my hand as the ungainly Tina minced through to the adjoining kitchen. I wanted to scream. She was obviously a madwoman. And the 'maids' were obviously insane to go along with her so obediently. I wanted to run. But dressed like this? Mrs. Moore must have seen the look of panic on my face. "No choice Nancy girl. And just to make things worse for you, I have all of this on videotape. Including your little knicker sniffing scene in my bathroom which got you into this predicament in the first place. Oh dear, you fell right into my trap. And now you are fucked. Go with Sissy. NOW." Meekly, I took Sissy's hand and followed her upstairs, teetering on my pink high heels. PART THREE It seemed very quiet in Mrs. Moore's room. I sat on the bed and cast a sideways glance in the mirror. I looked a state. A prettified boy in a girly pink dress, complete with white apron and stockings. And my make up... well, after all those tears running into thick eyeliner, I looked like a panda in drag. Around me, Maid Sissy Martin's hitherto unseen dad flounced around me trying to look busy at the make-up table. She... he... didn't speak, but beckoned me over to sit on a chair by the dressing table. I stared at him as my sobs died down. He made a passable woman, a bit taller than me, but not as freakish in size as his son Martin. He was plump... especially plump around the hips and below his black satin maids uniform, it looked like he had a pair of titties to put Pamela Anderson to shame. I was glad I hadn't been forced to wear falsies that size. Sissy put a white lace gloved hand under my chin and raised my head up slightly as he started to remove my smudged make-up with cotton buds. I decided it was time to ask some questions, but... well, words failed me. "I, eh, I erm, what's... er" "Sssshhhh," said Sissy, now working on a fresh coat of powder on my face. His voice seemed quite high for a man. "But..." "No talking." He did sound a bit like a woman. "Mistress will be very cross." I gave up and let him continue to paint my face. Sissy's face came right up close to my own as he applied eye-shadow to my lids, then more kohl, liner, blusher and lipstick. His own face was heavily made up, but not enough to cover the lines on his face. He wasn't pretty, but he didn't look much like a guy. Especially with those huge breasts straining tightly against his satin dress. I wondered how often Mrs. Moore made him wear a dress, and what about Martin and his little brother? The door opened. It was Mrs. Moore. "Why are you taking so long Sissy," she snapped. "I told you to do her make up, not feel the little bitch up." "Sorry mistress, finishing now mistress," said Sissy, somewhat breathlessly. "Let me see her.... oh yes, that'll do. What do you think of our new girl Sissy? Fancy her, do you?" "No mistress," Sissy blushed. "Liar. You're a fucking little slut, that's what you are. Just like Nancy here. Isn't that right Nancy?" I didn't answer her. "ISN'T THAT RIGHT, TART?" "Yes mistress.... I'm sorry." "Oh you will be Nancy. You will be." Mrs. Moore gave me a look which I could only describe as a leer. I had never seen a leer before, but I'd read a few books in my time and guessed that this was it. The door knocked. Mrs. Moore said, "Enter." And in minced my mate Martin in his maids uniform. His mum sneered at him, pointed to the table and he sat two glasses of wine down on a little wicker mat, curtsied, then left the room, keeping his eyes at his feet all the time. As he left, Mrs. Moore took a sip from her glass and told me: "She's becoming a good slave really. But she'll never make a convincing girl, not at that height. Shame really, I had such high hopes for her. You however..." She stroked my nyloned legs, shuffling my pink dress and white petticoats further up my thigh. "You will make an absolutely gorgeous maid slut." Oh god, I was petrified. She was right in my face now, her heavily made-up eyes and lips contrasting with that pale, white powdered face. She was nestling next to me now, her black stockinged legs rubbing slowly against my white tights. Brrrrr... I gave another shiver. "Sissy," she barked. "Bind this slut, hands and feet." My will by now broken, I put up no resistance as Maid Sissy pulled my hands behind my back and tied them tightly together with white rope. He did the same around my ankles, just where the pink straps of my sandals met my white tights. Mrs Moore was by now playing with the dog lead still attached to my neck. She flicked the end across my crotch, then offered me some wine to sip from a glass. I was thirsty and grateful. "Now Nancy," said my captor. "I want no more of this wailing and crying. My girls don't wail and cry unless I tell them to. They just obey. Always. I'm not one of those mistresses who gets turned on by tears, though I've met a few who do. I like my girls to be submissive, meek, docile and cowed. Sissy here is all these things. She's certainly cowed, aren't you darling. With those udders?" Mrs. Moore snorted with laughter. "Maybe you should let Nancy have a look, eh? Go on, NOW." I swallowed hard and looked at Sissy as untied his apron and turned round with his back to his mistress. Mrs. Moore produced a tiny key from a golden chain around her neck she had kept it hidden within her white rubber blouse and she undid a small padlock at the top of his uniform, allowing Sissy to unzip his dress. The black satin uniform fell to the floor, soon joined by voluminous but short petticoats and Sissy stood before me in his undies. They were a red blooded man's fantasy matching black bra and panty girdle, suspender belt and black seamed stockings. The bra was low cut... and I swallowed hard once again as I slowly realised Sissy's tits were real. His bra must have been a size or two too small because those 'udders' bulged out of the black silk. It was incredible. Before it could sink in, Mrs. Moore told me: "42DD. That's her cup size, in case you were wondering. A miracle of modern science, isn't that right Sissy dear. She wanted big ones. Well, she didn't actually, but I did. It made her humiliation even greater. The bra dear..." Sissy unhooked her black brassiere, but her huge boobs fell only slightly. Mrs. Moore offered me another sip of wine, then continued. "Silicon implants, the best we could get," said Mrs Moore casually putting out her rubber gloved hand and tweaking one of Sissy's large and swollen nipples. Sissy flinched, ever so slightly. "Don't they look delicious Nancy. I bet you've never sucked a pair of titties quite so big, have you? Well now's your chance. Sissy?" Sissy stepped forward and thrust one of her tits in my face. "Suck," ordered Mrs. Moore. This was too much. I just couldn't bring myself to. He was a man. She wanted me to suck a man's tits, and her husband's at that. I felt sick. Sissy's breast was now at my painted lips and I turned my head away. Wrong move. SLAP. Mrs. Moore hit me across the cheek. "NOW SUCK SLUT." I began to cry softly. "AND NO TEARS. BY GOD GIRL, YOU ARE GOING TO GET SOME PUNISHMENT LATER. NOW SUCK." I did as I was told and gently took Sissy's left nipple between my lips. I lapped gently at the very tip, quivering as I did so. I wanted to run, more than ever. Bound as I was, I had no chance and no choice. Oh god, this would all be on videotape too... "Suck harder Nancy. You're going to be my little lesbian slut and it's time you got a taste of titties. Might as well practice on Sissy's." I nibbled at the mammary offering for a few minutes, trying not to gag, before Sissy removed her left breast and stuck the right one between my lips. Mrs. Moore had a hand over my shoulder and the other stroked my stockinged thigh. She was breathing deeply and was obviously aroused. "That's nice girls." She placed the glass of wine at my lips again and I drank. "Now give Nancy a great big kiss for sucking your titties so nicely Sissy." The male maid bent down and thrust his tongue down my throat. I kept my eyes closed as he kissed me for what seemed like minutes. I could feel Mrs. Moore's hand stroking further up my thigh, delving under my skirt and petticoats to fondle my panty-girdled cock. By the time the kiss ended, and despite my feelings of horror and disgust, I had become quite aroused. I had tried dope once. I felt high as a kite and quite out of control. Now I felt the same way - helpless, sluggish and unable to think straight. What were they doing to me? Was it the wine? Without warning, Mrs. Moore threw me back flat onto the bed and motioned to Sissy, who turned me over and untied my hands and feet .. if only briefly. My panty girdle was quickly stripped from me and I soon found myself draped in the shape of a cross, my hands tied to the brass headboard and my legs apart, feet strapped to the bottom of the bed. What next? The answer soon came. Sissy lifted my skirt and petticoats, exposing my now hard cock... and he began to suck it. Believe me, it was agony and ecstasy. I felt incredibly turned on and terribly disgusted at the same time. I let out a cry and was slapped again by Mrs. Moore ... hard. "That should do Sissy. Tell me Nancy, are you a virgin. Answer me girl, or you'll get another slap. And I'll know if you're lying." "Yes..." "YES WHAT?" "Yes mistress, I'm still a virgin." "Mmmm nice. Sissy... remove your panties and let Nancy see what"s down below." I managed to lift my head to see Sissy at the edge of the bed and... oh dear god... Mrs. Moore had turned him into a woman for real. I expected to see a cock and balls... all I saw was a vagina. And shaved, at that. "That's a surprise, isn't it Nancy," said Mrs Moore,leering once again. "It was just as big surprise for Sissy here just a few years ago. But she's got used to it now, haven't you slut?" "Yes mistress." "She likes having a cunt instead of that pathetic little cock she used to have, doesn't she." "Yes mistress." "And you'd just love to take Nancy's virginity wouldn't you Sissy." Sissy answered in the same slightly high pitched monotone. "Yes mistress." I was completely out of it by now. I felt drugged and couldn't have run even if I wasnt tied up. My mouth gaped as I stared again at Sissy, now wearing only her black stockings and suspenders I was finding it easy to refer to Martin's dad as a 'her' now. Those huge breasts, that... space where her bits should be. Oh god, was she planning to do the same to me. I let out a wail. Another slap. "Be quiet girl. Now, Sissy's obviously dying to be fucked by you, helpless as you are. She loves cock. Can't get enough. But then it's been a while since her mistress gave a cock a good hard fucking." she laughed bitterly. "I still remember Sissy's last attempt before I had it cut off. Pathetic really. So maybe... well, let's give the new maid a chance to decide, eh Sissy. Who do you want Nancy? Your mistress, or Maid Sissy? Come on..." It wasn't much of a choice really. Without hesitation I mumbled, "You mistress." "Right answer," said Mrs. Moore. "Sissy, if you would oblige slut" The maid helped his/her mistress hitch up the tight black rubber skirt and slip down her panty girdle. Mrs. Moore climbed on the bed above me, then lowered herself onto my still hard cock. She had me pinned and mounted like a broken butterfly. My breath came quickly as she raised herself up and down my shaft, slowly at first, then faster, harder. She was hurting me and her hands gripped my false tits. I could feel her long nails digging into my flesh, even through my 'pretty dress'. She bent over me, still writhing on my cock and pressed her pert rubber-clad breasts against 'my own'. Then she kissed me. I could taste wine on her lips and she stuck her tongue deep down my throat. A couple of locks of her black, black hair brushed against my face, then she sat up and rode me even harder. I didn't last long. And as I came it was obvious, she wasn't pleased. Mrs. Moore slapped me, harder than ever before, across my cheek. Then again. "Fucking useless little bitch. You're not going to be much use to me if you come so quickly. By god girl, you need some training. Sissy, clean me out, finish me off then attend to her." My eyes were closed, but I knew Sissy was now between her mistresses legs lapping up my juices. I could heard sharp intakes of breath from Mrs Moore... then a long, deep moan. I kept my eyes closed as Sissy turned her attentions to me, licking her mistresses juices from my now limp manhood. Limp manhood, that just about summed up the day. As Sissy finished off, I narrowly opened my eyes again, to see Mrs. Moors had put her panty girdle back on and pulled down her rubber skirt. There was a knock on the door. "Enter," commanded the mistress. It was Martin. Sorry, make that Maid Tina. I closed my eyes again and wondered what he thought as he saw me tied to the bed, my skirts and petticoats raised up to let his dad - what used to be his dad - suck my cock. And I wondered if Martin still had a cock, or... "The first of your guests are here Ma'am," he whispered. "Very good, I'll be straight down. Sissy, clean the bitch up again and make her presentable for my visitors. A change of clothes too, I think. A working girl this time... no, not that kind, I mean a secretary. You know just what to dress her in Sissy. And I want you in the Victorian number. You too Tina, once you've fixed the guests a drink." "Yes ma'am," they bobbed almost in unison. Mrs Moore followed 'Tina' downstairs. Sissy, still naked apart from stockings and sussies, untied me and sat me up on the bed. To my surprise, she cuddled me... a big hug ... then kissed me gently on the forehead. She whispered: "I'm so sorry, but you're hers now. You don't have any say in the matter. Just make the best of it." She hugged me again and I could feel her plump mammaries press against me. Then she scurried across the room to prepare my make-up as I pulled my panty girdle back on. I felt as though I had been ravished and devoured by some kind of black widow spider. And it wasn't even teatime... PART FOUR It took half an hour for Sissy to change me and make me 'presentable' once more. I was stripped naked and dressed in black tights, a new panty girdle - white again and very tight - with a matching underwired bra, which hugged my false titties, forcing them up and out. A white halfslip was pulled up around my waist, then a white blouse and a black skirt. Very much the secretary look except... the skirt and blouse were both in rubber, much like Mrs. Moore's. My make up was fixed, my red hair French combed in a very girlish style and I was forced to put on stiletto shoes... with a four inch heel. The skirt and blouse clung tightly to my now hairless body. The skirt in particular restricted my movements to a hobble... all my steps in this would be mincing ones. I waited as Sissy changed. She too was in rubber. After rather awkwardly lacing her into a tight corset, which emphasised her smallish waist against her pendulous boobs and plump hips and bottom, I helped her into a long white rubber petticoat, then a full length black dress. It was even tighter than my own attire, falling right to her toes, allowing her only tiny, tiny steps, especially when she put on six inch heeled shoes... which had her almost on tiptoe. I tied a full white rubber apron behind her back, as she fixed a matching white bonnet on her head. I was referring to Sissy as 'her' quite naturally by now. It seemed only right. I followed her downstairs and she knocked on the sitting room door. "Enter," ordered Mrs Moore. We hobbled inside. My new mistress had four guests, two sitting on the settee beside her and another two standing in a line next to 'Tina' - as I was now referring to Martin and his little brother... what had he been renamed? Jenny, I recalled. Tina was dressed exactly the same as Sissy, but 'Jenny' now wore a grey schoolgirls uniform, complete with white socks. Jeez, what age was he anyway? Fifteen? Younger? It was hard to tell when he was dressed that way. The guests were also a sight to behold. On Mrs. Moore's left sat an older woman, maybe in her late forties. Long blonde hair, very good looking, very elegant in a Chinese silk print dress, black stockings and heels. On the right sat a much younger woman, quite small in height, perhaps aged around 20, just a few years older than me. She had brown hair, cut short around a pretty face, with a pert little nose and very full lips, painted dark red. She wore black leather trousers, tucked into tall boots and a tantalising fishnet top, through which I could see her black bra. "Mistress Judy and her daughter Mistress Anna," said Mrs. Moore. I looked at the other guests. Instantly, I knew they had suffered the same fate as Mr. Moore and his sons. The same fate as me... The taller of the two was also in a maids uniform... this one in electric blue, with the usual white cap and apron. It was a short dress, with full petticoated skirts, worn with white stockings - I could see the tops - and matching electric blue highheeled shoes. He/she had a mop of blonde hair, with a tiny cap perched above. Her make up was very tarty, bright blue eyeshadow and pinkish lipstick. She was an inch or two taller than me, with a full figure. The other guest seemed to be around my age, but it was hard to be sure. This one had the most startling appearance of all. A very feminine face, with the same tarty make up... but bald as a cueball. All of his or her hair had been shaved off. It focussed all the attention on impossibly long eyelashes and astonishingly pouting bright red lips. He - I felt sure this she was a he - was quite plump. No, make that fat... but he had been given a voluptuous figure to rival Maid Sissy's. His breasts - and for his sake I hoped they were falsies like my own - strained against a short pink party dress, not dissimilar to the one I had wore earlier, but without the apron. He too wore white stockings - I could see an inch of pale, plump flesh between the stocking tops and the petticoated edge of the dress. His heels were pink and were quite the highest I had seen so far. Six or seven inches... and he was still slightly shorter than me. He could only have been around 5ft 1 in his stocking feet. Worst of all, when I looked at him, he gave a simpering smile in return. "And this is Maid Tracey and little Wendy," said Mrs. Moore. "Wendy has been a naughty girl and won't be allowed to wear her beautiful wig for a day or two. Doesn't she look like a little pink pig. Miss Piggy, in fact, don't you think." The other women laughed. Wendy pouted. "And this, dear ladies, is Nancy, our new arrival." "Oh doesn't she look pretty," gushed Mistress Judy. "She's gorgeous, isn't she Anna." Mistress Anna simply arched an eyebrow and made no comment. Mrs Moore said: "Yes, I'm quite pleased with her so far, but she has a lot to learn. An awful lot! Curtsy for the mistresses Nancy.." I did my best. They laughed. "Yes, I see what you mean," giggled Mistress Judy. "A bit awkward. Still, both my two were like that, weren't they Anna." Anna still said nothing, but gave a sly grin out the side of her mouth. Mrs. Moore stood beside me now, her hand on my rubber skirted rear. "Have arrangements been made yet Jane?" asked Mistress Judy. So that was Mrs. Moore's first name... "They are in hand. I just need our last arrival to cast her eyes over her and work her magic and then... well..." Mistress Judy beckoned me over to sit between her and Anna on the settee and Mrs Moore settled into her favourite easy chair, Maid Sissy taking up a standing position beside her. I perched nervously between the mother and daughter, my hands crossed in my lap and too nervous to speak. "The poor dear, she's shaking," said Mistress Judy. Mistress Anna spoke for the first time. "With good reason too. Mistress Jane informs us you were caught sniffing her knickers. Is that right." "Yes ma'am," I mumbled. "Disgusting little pervert. You should have it castrated right away and given proper training. Or maybe packed off to one of those gay brothels I've heard so much about. That would show it..." Mistress Anna glowered at me. She seemed even nastier than Mrs Moore. I didn't know what nasty was until the doorbell rang and the final guest arrived. Sissy answered the door and appeared again to announce: "Madam Rita," before ushering in a smallish, fat and dumpy woman in her sixties. "Ah Rita," chorused the mistresses, rising to welcome her with kisses on her cheeks. Madam Rita didn't look much to worry about. She was completely covered in a black pvc raincoat, tightly belted and coming down to her knees. Black leather highheeled boots made her about five foot four in height. Her gray hair was cropped very close to her scalp and she wore long dangling gold earrings. The welcomes over, I was ordered to stand up. "So, the new slut," rasped Madam Rita. "Quite fetching Jane darling, she'll do very well once she's broken in." She pushed my head up slightly with a black gloved hand. "Definite possibilities." "We think so," said Mrs. Moore. "And look at our hulking Tina there," she sighed. "Still as feminine as a bricklayer. I think we'll have to do what we discussed before. Find an owner who likes feminised freaks or dispose of her on the gay scene. Never mind, did you prepare the new girl as I ordered?" "Of course." "Then we might as well begin right away. I take it the silly little bitch doesn't have a clue as to what's happened to her?" "No. None at all." "Good. Well. take her out to the stables. We'll join you in ten minutes or so." Mrs. Moore gestured and Sissy and Tina grabbed my arms and led me outside. For the first time, I felt the wind against my stockings and felt even more vulnerable than before. But still, I did as I was told. I guessed it was the wine... The led me across a path to the stable block I had noticed on previous visits to Martin's home. It was quite a large white building with a thatched roof... and always padlocked. A lot of these old country houses had similar buildings attached and I had never given it a second thought before. Now, it seemed ominous. Sissy produced a key to the lock and opened the large doors. I expected a barn inside... what I saw was a small corridor, stretching right down the side of the stable block. There were four doors off it and the maids led me through the second of them. It was a large room, completely draped in black and red with no windows. It looked like a torture chamber. Adapted pieces of gym equipment, dentist-style chairs, leather padded tables, unnerving hooks hanging from the ceiling, metal cages, two small, one large and another suspended in mid air. There was a strange man-sized cross with leather straps attached, two tables covered in what might have been medical items, tubes, creams, vials and large phallic objects including dildoes and vibrators. There were two wardrobes - one of them was slightly ajar and I glimpsed black rubber costumes hanging inside. It was a house of horrors. I finally cracked. Using the last vestiges of my ailing will power, I snatched myself free from Sissy and Tina's grasp and made for the door. The heels were my downfall. I tripped and fell flat on my face. Before I knew what was happening, Sissy had fixed handcuffs to my wrists, securing my arms behind my back. I wept as they led my to a dentists chair, pushed me in and strapped my legs and ankles to it, then undid the cuffs and strapped my elbows and wrists tightly to the arm of the chair. My mouth was forced open and a red ball gag forced inside, almost choking me. I couldn't move, couldn't speak and couldn't understand what was going on. Sissy remained silent, but Tina bent over me and whispered: "''m so sorry Nancy, but you understand I had no say in the matter. It was all your own fault. If you'd left my mother's panties alone, nothing would have happened. She was just waiting for one of my schoolfriends to show some interest in her knicker basket. And she told me it would be you a good six months ago... So I'm sorry. But if you are a good girl, you'll find it's not all unpleasurable..." No more was said as we waited for the mistresses to arrive. It seemed to take ages and tears welled up in my eyes. Sissy brushed them away with a white lace hanky and said: "Shhhhhh." The door opened and the four mistresses strode in. Madam Rita had removed her pvc coat... and what she had on underneath left nothing to the imagination. She wore an outfit made entirely from leather straps, which covered very little, leaving most of her pink flabby flesh on display. Her large drooping breasts were totally exposed, surrounded by the leather straps. A central strap curved over her belly, attached to a tiny piece of leather, complete with zipper, which covered her pubic mound. Her leather boots were thigh high. She looked grotesque. Mrs. Moore spoke. "Sissy, Tina, go and join the others in the ready room. This is not for your eyes." The maids curtsied and left me alone with the four witches. Three of them sat on a nearby comfy leather sofa and Mrs. Moore and Mistress Judy held hands. Madam Rita, hands on her hips, stood right in front of me and began to speak. Her voice, which seemed so harsh before, now sounded soothing. "Well Nancy, a difficult little predicament you've left us with. Oh don't blubber girl, you know you brought this all on yourself with your perverted ways. Mistress Moore has told me all about you. She suspected you were fiddling in her knicker basket last week and alerted me right away. Then we set up the video camera in the bathroom ready for your next visit. That paid dividends, oh yes." I couldn't help but stare into her eyes. I began to feel woozy. I seemed to lose all sense of what she was saying, drifting off some place else. I snapped back to attention as I heard my new name. "As you now know Nancy, you're not the first perverted little boy - or man - to be caught and punished by our organisation," she continued. "But you would be surprised just how many are now in our service, right across the country. We call ourselves The Network and we have dozens of sissified boys, she males and fully feminised slaves based in houses just like this one. Some of them live as serving girls, others as sex toys. A number live with their original mistresses - just like Sissy and Tracey. Many more have been sold or exchanged when they reach the proper age and standard of training. Your friend Tina and perhaps Wendy and little Jenny will fill that role. They will serve other women or perhaps even male clients - and there are increasing numbers of men who will pay good money for their own submissive she male forced to be a feminised sex toy. A few even end up abroad. Just last month, I visited four girls who now work in Amsterdam's red light district as she male whores." I could feel beads of sweat on my forehead. And tears well up again at the corner of my eyes. "I take pride in telling all new girls a little bit about how The Network was first established. I was there at the very beginning, almost twenty years ago now, though I was not the founder. "For many years I was a psychotherapist with a small practice in London. I never married, always preferring female companionship and I was quite successful in my work, in my own small way. I had all the relevant training, certificates and degrees, but, increasingly, found more and more clients making use of another of my skills - hypnotherapy. "One of my clients was a woman - call her Madam Elizabeth - whom I helped cure of smoking. We got on rather well. In fact, we began an affair. Madam Elizabeth was married to an extremely wealthy industrialist, a horrid little man. She loathed him, but couldn't divorce him without a substantial drop in income, thanks to a silly prenuptial agreement. She told me about the stacks of books on the subject of transvestism in his private room and of her belief that he was a secret cross dresser. And she had a plan. "Madam Elizabeth persuaded him to come to me to cure his love of smoking. I did more than that. With some auto-suggestion, he soon came to see Elizabeth as his mistress. She encouraged his cross- dressing. Soon he was flouncing around in female clothing all day, neglecting his business duties. He was persuaded to sell his businesses, for a very substantial sum, and transfer all the cash into his wife's name. She soon divorced him and we decided to put the money to good use. "Elizabeth set up the network, with my willing help, to assist women in similar predicaments. To turn their twisted men into obedient women. And, I have to confess, turn some wayward boys into pretty, feminised sluts. "Many abused women have made good use of our service, Mistress Jane and Mistress Judy here among them." The three mistresses on the couch smiled. "Mistress Jane was a loving dutiful wife until her slob of a husband started playing around with his secretary. He used to beat poor Jane too, the bastard. She was just 22 when he threw her out, penniless. She was a wreck, no money, forced into selling her body just to survive. And her husband married the secretary and had two darling little boys. Five years ago, Jane was in an institution - and was referred to me for treatment. I listened to her story and helped her plot her revenge. You can see the results. Sissy's second wife got her just desserts too. You may meet her one day soon. I'm sure you'll be amused. "As you have seen, Sissy has been transformed into a submissive, fully feminised maid slut. And she'll serve Mistress Jane until her dying day. Without question! Much of her treatment was carried out at a little clinic we acquired in the north of England. One of Britain's finest consultant's in gender reassignment now works for us. Quite against his will to begin with, I might add, but now she's very obedient. And very talented, as you have seen. A couple of our girls now work as his nursing assistants. And two of our Mistresses have gained extraordinary medical expertise under his tuition. In fact, they've taken feminisation surgery a few steps forward themselves... but I digress. "As for you... well, your life as a male is over. Your friend Tina has already called your parents, wondering why you never turned up. In an hour or so, dear Jane will follow that up, trying to find out where you are as her darling Martin is so worried about his good friend, who was so depressed about his exams." "In a few days, a letter will arrive in your handwriting, explaining to your parents that you've run away - fled the country indeed - because you've been living a lie. You really want to be a woman. And it will tell them not to bother looking for you. They probably will, of course, but they'll find no trace and they won't make too much of a public fuss because they'll be so ashamed at having raised a little girly boy as a son. Trust me on this, slut, I've been there before. "Even if they should stir things up too much, The Network has some highly placed and extremely influential friends, in the police and indeed in Parliament. Things can be hushed up - and you'll soon be completely forgotten about." My eyes were wide. The tears were falling freely. They couldn't get away with this. Surely not! There was no way I would write such a note. "You'll be coming with me in a few hours, just in case anyone does call here to find you. We have a special school for new girls. You'll like it. Perhaps... Some of the girls do , anyway. "In the meantime, we're going to have a little fun with you first. Break you in, as it were, though perhaps not gently. Not too gently at all, if Mistress Anna has anything to do with it..." The mistresses laughed again. Anna gave a cruel smile, but remained seated as Mrs Moore and Mistress Judy walked towards me, standing on either side of my chair. Mistress Judy stroked my hair and Mrs. Moore began to fondle my false titties. I began to fear they would not be false for long... Madam Rita resumed her talk. "You may get some small pleasure from all of this. You've been programmed to, after all." What was she talking about? "From now on you will obey all our commands without hesitation." Mrs. Moore removed my ankle straps while Mistress Judy undid my wrists. I stood up. "You are a silly little feminised slut who just adores pretty dresses and looking good for her mistresses." I arched my back slightly and jutted my breasts out. "You love lesbian sex... but will willingly pleasure any male if you are ordered to do so - even if they disgust you." I clasped my hands before me and could feel the rubber of my skirt. It excited me. "You go weak at the knees for bondage and kinky sex. You live to please your superiors." I began to feel turned on. My cock strained against my tight panty girdle. "And you have no regrets about writing this letter to your parents and becoming a feminised sex toy." She held out the letter I must have written earlier. Did I black out? But she was right. I loved being a girl. I fell to my black stockinged knees, raising my rubber skirt ever so slightly and looked adoringly at my mistresses. They began to advance towards me. END