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MASTER OF THE LESBIANS by "c.c." I guess some people might say that what we did to Michael was terribly cruel and mean, especially on my part since I was his wife, in a sense. And perhaps they're right. But I mean, Michael Clark had been trampling over my feelings for years, without even meeting me. Doing things like automatically blackballing me from clubs that I had a perfect right to join, just because he didn't like my last name. Or omitting me from his guest lists because the millions that I owned hadn't been in my family long enough. So I just had to get back at him some way, and since my friend Irene and my maid, Dolores, have always been fond of practical jokes, we... but let me start from the beginning. First off, I'm a man. Really I am, although I don't talk much like one - - or look much like one just at this moment. I met Irene and Dolores in College. It was late one night when I was trying to drown my sorrows over being black-balled from a fraternity (by you-know-who) and staggered quite by accident into a lesbian bar. Irene and Dolores got me out of there in one piece, poured coffee into me and listened to my problems and we've been close friends ever since. Lovers, in fact. I might as well tell you that I've always been very turned on by the way women make love to each other, and I gradually moved from being a confidant to being a spectator, and finally to being a participant in their erotic games. The three of us have had some pretty wild times in the past. We still do, as a matter of fact, only it's much different now. Anyway, I've always had much more money than Irene and Dolores put together, but we've never let that come between us. I came into half of my inheritance the same month that Irene graduated in Business Administration, so I just left school and hired Irene to manage my money. Together, we talked Dolores into into quitting school and coming to work for me as a maid on my small but lavish estate. Since Dolores was my sleep-in servant and Irene "rented" rooms from me in my house, the three of us were quite happy together, especially me, being pampered by my lesbian maid while my lesbian business manager made oodles of money for me. And we might have gone on that way forever if it weren't for the insatiable itch that I had to do something unpleasant to this Michael Clark fellow... and the other half of my inheritance. "There's just no way around it, Master," Irene announced to me as I was lounging in the tub one day, "The only way for you to get the other Hundred Million in cash and securities is to get married before you're Thirty. Your late Uncle's will is iron-clad on that point." "Oh well," I sighed as Dolores oozed warm bubble-bath all over me, Have I told you that Dolores is a Black Girl? No? Well she is, and she made a very sexy pic ture in her tiny white swimsuit and shower cap... now where was I? "Oh well," I said, "I suppose I will have to marry one of you when the time comes, but w& don't have to worry about that for a few years yet, do we?" "It's more complicated than you think." Irene insisted. "For one thing, your Uncle never did like Dolores or me, and his will spells out provisions that would cut very deeply into your inheritance if you married one of us. That being the case it's going to take a little time to find you a suitable spouse-- one who won't be upset by our living arrangements, or try to walk off with half your money. For another thing, there are investments where I can that money to work for me -er- us now, that might not be open in a few years." "But I like things the way they are right now," I pouted, "Why does it have to be me?" "Listen, Master," Irene shot me a mock-stern look. "You know very well why it has to be you; You're the one with the money, remember? Now am I going to have to put you over my knee again?" Dolores giggled as I blushed. Despite the fact that I have all the money, and insist that the girls call me "Master",we three have our own code of proper behavior worked out, and that includes some very imaginative punishments for acting spoiled, stubborn or petty. In fact, I had received a spanking from Dolores just yesterday. Three spankings in a week would merit me an additional punishment of being forced to serve as a Maid myself for Twenty-Four hours, and I certainly wasn't anxious to do that again! "No," I said, "you're right, Irene. I'll get married if you say so." "Fine," Irene replied, "Now get out of that tub and get dressed. The three of us have some serious things to discuss and it's too distracting for me to look at that lovely white body of yours covered in nothing but soap suds." Just the way Irene said that made me feel real sexy. The girls like me to keep my body shaved smooth, like theirs, and we frequently make sensuous games out of bathing and shaving. I deliberately leaned forward in the tub. "Unh-unh," I said, "I'm not finished yet! Dolores, do my back, please." "Hmmph" Irene winked at our black girlfriend. "Come on, Dolores. While our sexy Master is lolling around naked in the tub, maybe we can play a little trick on him! Remember what used to happen at School?" "I sure do!" Dolores tittered, ignoring my back. She got to her feet. "And as long as he likes to stay in that tub, we'll have plenty of time to work on his clothes! This'll make those college pranks seem tame!" "Oh no!" I cried, springing up out of the tub, "I'm out! I'm drying myself! See?" Maybe I'd better explain that all through College, Irene and Dolores were real Nature Girls. They loved skinny-dipping in out-of-the-way streams and sunbathing in deserted woods in the nude, and I went along with them, although 'I've always been much more modest, especially after they started shaving off my body hair. Somehow, though, almost every time we went out swimming or sunning, someone would steal my clothes! Always just mine, never the other girls'! Of course, my clothes were always much nicer and more expensive, but still, you'd think whoever it was would at least take something of Dolores' or Irene's! But they never did, and this always left me in quite a jam. I mean, there we'd be, all naked in the woods, drying ourselves in the sun after a nice swim or just getting an all-over tan, Then we'd go over to wherever we'd left our stuff, and my stuff would be gone! I'd search frantically around for my clothes all the while Dolores and Irene were calmly getting dressed, but I never could find them. And then of course, I'd have to ask my two girlfriends to loan me something, just to get home in, and they could be quite cruel at times like that. "Honestly, Bat-Brain," I remember Dolores chiding, "Seems like you just can't keep hold of anything! It'd serve you right if we just left you out here like that!" "Oh no!" I squealed, going red all over and trying to cover myself from the amused stares of my two room-mates -- who had already packed up Irene's car and were getting ready to leave. "Oh please give me something to wear! Take me home! I can't go anywhere like this!" I gestured down at my shamefully nude, smooth-shaven body, just imagining all the stares and whistles I'd get if I tried to get down the street this way. Well, I can't remember exactly what was said, but it always seemed to work out that my two girlfriends would agree to help me out if I'd promise to play "slave" to them for a few days... you know, do all the cleaning and stuff.., and then they'd give me something to wear. Trouble is, Irene always seemed to be carrying something rather exotic and ultra-feminine, and this would be the only spare thing for me to wear. Some of those outfits I wouldn't be caught dead in, not if I had a choice, but a naked man out in the woods couldn't be choosey, and I'd end up putting on whatever Irene had for me. But really, some of those costumes were just too much! One time I had to dress up in a Girl's Gym Uniform, and Dolores and Irene insisted on adding a little makeup, then a padded bra, and finally the girls just had to test the results of their work by going into the locker room of the Campus Women's Gym and showering while I waited, nervous and perspiring, afraid of discovery at any moment, and finally had to help dry them off while other girls gave us funny looks. Oh, and there were much worse outfits, too; a school-girl's uniform, a harem-slave costume, another ensemble that consisted of corset, garterbelt, dark seamed hose, and high, high heels.., there was even a tiny, see-through black lace nightie, and the time I had to wear that thing home, the girls insisted on stopping out at a drive-in hamburger stand. And there was-- -- But you're probably wondering what all this had to do with Michael Clark and what the three of us did to him. Well, I kind of think those jokes they played on me gave Dolores and Irene their idea for the one we pulled on him. Certainly, the fact that over the years I had occasionally played the feminine role for my two lovers, and even gotten to the point where I could pass in public as a woman, with makeup and padding, that is, helped out a lot. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that even though I had a lot of money, I never got bossy with my two employees (except for insisting that they call me "Master"); just the opposite, in fact! And in a way, I even kind of liked their little pranks and small "punishments" to keep me from getting stuck-up. It was Irene who came up with the idea that I should marry my bitter rival, a man who had never even bothered to look at me. The three of us were discussing a suitable spouse for me, and I was trying to concentrate, really I was, although I still had a lot of bad feelings from ray most recent set-back -- excluded from a Society Ball sight unseen because that social snob Michael Clark didn't think my family was good enough. Irene must have noticed my lack of attention, and she knew the reason for it well enough, because she suddenly said, "Since he's on your mind so much, why don't you just marry that Clark fellow?" "Hunh?" I asked stupidly. Dolores looked interested. "You serious?" She asked. "I wasn't at first," Irene replied, "But now that I think of it, it's the perfect idea!" "Irene, what are you talking about?" I asked, "It's patently impossible. More than that, it's distasteful to me. I'm no damn Homo, to go around marrying another man!" Irene bristled a little at the words "damn Homo', but she explained patiently: "Listen, Master, it's like this; You need to marry someone before you're Thirty. The will isn't very specific about what kind of marriage or how long it lasts, or even whether it's legally binding. All it says is that you have to get Married. We, on the other hand, have some definite requirements in mind for your future spouse: It has to be someone who won't interfere with our money plans or our life-style. Someone who won't make any claims on your inheritance.., maybe even contribute a little money... in short, a disposable mate!" "Go on." I said. "Now you have been trying for years to do something that will bring that Michael Clark guy down a peg. Something that would embarrass him, shame him, maybe even make him obliged to you in some way. Well, can you imagine how a man who thinks so much of his Good Name would feel if he found that he had unknowingly married another man? He'd do anything to keep that scandal out of circulation!" "True," I replied, "But he'd have to be awfully drunk to marry me. I know I can pass for a woman sometimes when I'm dressed, but there's no way I could fool another man into marrying me -- not that I'd want to. The whole thing is impossible and like I said before, the idea of playing Queer is distasteful to me." Once again, Irene looked just a bit offended by my slighting reference to homosexuals. But once again, she persisted evenly, "Suppose," She said, "Just suppose we could work out a plan where you could: (a) Pass convincingly ad a woman: physically, appearance-wise, and even in your social life; (b) Con this Michael Clark into marrying you without ever letting him get intimate; (c) And really work out some completely shameful mess to get him in, something that would make him a willing victim to your social blackmail for the rest of his life. Now if we could do all that, would you agree to give it a try?" A few months later, Michael and I were married. Well, it wasn't as simple as all that, but it wasn't nearly as complicated as I'd thought it was going to be, either. First, of course, came my feminization, and I quickly learned that there are a lot of changes that can be worked on the body of a male who is willing to undergo them and rich enough to afford the whole thing. There were hormone treatments, of course, and minor facial surgery, to give my features a more attractively feminine look. There were shots to enlarge my breasts and swell out my hips and bottom, and dieting, exercise and corsets to nip in my waist. The question of what to do with my genitals came up, of course, and after some shopping around, Dolores found a device that she told me was sometimes used by pre-operative transsexuals. It was a life-like synthetic replica of a woman's love-cleft, complete with an actual false vagina. When it was grafted over my crotch (I protested at this; 'I mean who wants to go around with false genitals for several months? But the girls insisted) my own cock and balls were tucked back out of sight, completely sealed up behind this thing, while I put on the appearance of a total woman. Meanwhile, Irene had been working away with a very sophisticated legal firm, ensuring that the provisions of my Uncle's will would stand, no matter what kind of marriage I had, and that it was perfectly all right for me to change my name, so long as some proof of the transition was filed. With this as background, she really set to work: First, I had my surname changed to one of those unisex names... you know, like Dana, or Evelyn, or Chris.... Then she dug up an impoverished but aristocratic family in Sweden who were glad to perform some genealogical hocus-pocus and claim me as a relative -- for a price, of course. My last name was subsequently changed to their more royal sounding family name. And to make things look better, Irene transferred all my assets to a Swedish Bank account. All this while, of course, the three of us were working even harder on my skills at female impersonation. Besides walking and talking, Irene insisted on drilling me in feminine patterns of behavior, including the way I spoke, my handwriting, the words and expressions I used, even the way I thought. She had tapes playing under my pillow while I slept, to subtly change my attitudes and outlook. She surrounded me with the color Pink whenever possible, and made me read women's magazines and romances until. I felt like I was actually becoming stupid and scatter-brained. "That's just the kind of woman that will appeal to a pig like this Clark fellow," Irene reassured me, "Don't worry your pretty little head about it." "But I'm getting sort of confused," I protested, "All this indoctrination and those hormones and my body so changed and all... I'm starting to forget sometimes who I really am!" "But me no 'buts', Mistress," Irene replied firmly, "This is all in a very good cause, and everything can be reversed when we're finished. Now stop acting like a fraidy cat and help me plan for you debut in Society." Well, like I said, with Irene handling all the details and Dolores taking charge of my diet, medication, and manner of dress, it really wasn't all that complicated. I officially "met" Michael a few weeks later at a soiree given by some friends of the people whose name I had bought. Michael was immediately taken with my good looks, demure, lady- like behavior, and supposedly aristocratic background! The very next week, he asked me out for a date. It was late on a Friday night when I returned from my first date with Michael to find Irene and Dolores waiting up for me. They helped me bathe and change, then began pumping me for details like schoolgirls. "Well he certainly likes having his own way," I told the girls. "And he's rich enough that he's gotten used to it. He watches out for every penny he spends, he thinks a woman's proper role is that of helper, servant, and sex-object to her man, and he's something of a racial bigot." Dolores, sitting on thecouch in her maid's outfit, snorted in disgust. "Sounds like a perfect fool!" "Hmmm," Irene looked at me closely. "That look in your eye tells me you're keeping something back, Little Mistress! Come on now, give!" "Well," I smiled, "I don't know if it's something we can use or not, but he just casually asked me tonight if I was ever arrested, and how I'd feel if I were put in jail for something. There was just this kind of undertone in his voice that made me think this was kind of important to him. So I made up some story about an unpaid parking ticket, and just telling Michael about it seemed to get him all excited...." "Go on," Dolores sat up, looking interested. "Well, I let him take me to his apartment for a night-cap this evening - - after making it clear that I wasn't that kind of girl! And I noticed that he had a lot of CDs with titles like CAGED HEAT, PRISON WOMEN, THE HOT BOX, CHAIN GANG GIRLS. . . "I get the picture!" Irene said, "Your darling Michael has a fetish about Women in Prison." "A very strong fetish," I insisted, "It seems he just can't hear enough on the subject." "Well that is interesting," Irene tapped her cheek thoughtfully. Now if we can just think of some way to turn it to our advantage... Oh well, there's plenty of time to think about that tomorrow. For right now, seeing you in that nightie has made me awfully horny, Mistress. .. " "Me too, Missie!" Dolores got up and began unbuttoning her dress. "My pussy's just aching for that pretty mouth of yours!" Oh yes. Sealing my male genitals up behind that false pussy had definitely not meant the end of my sex life. Only now, I was more of a helper than a real participant. Our most common sexual position now was for Irene to prop herself up on pillows and be orally pleasured by Dolores, who would be sitting on my face, receiving loving attention from my tongue. At first I found this very frustrating, to say the least, but as the hormones and training slowly changed my sexual orientation, I found myself responding more and more to these lesbian three-ways as a woman would, tingling in my crotch and nipples, and shivering, quivering with delight at the tingling touch of all this woman-flesh around me. I realized, of course, that those hormones and the subliminal sleep-messages were turning me into a real honest-to-gosh lesbian, and a rather submissive one at that, and part of me was really looking forward to getting this thing over with and becoming a man again. But another part of me was definitely enjoying this! "Goodie!" I sprang to my feet and helped Dolores off with her dress. "You two go ahead and get ready. I'll run on ahead and turn down the bed and lay out your night things!" "Why how thoughtful!" Irene smiled cryptically. "You just go ahead and do that, Mistress...." Afterwards, the three of us talked long into the night, thinking up plans, discarding them, refining details, working out a timetable... And by the next day, we had our scheme all set. A week after Michael and I were engaged, I asked him to take me to a rather risqu? nightclub, where the entertainment that night "just happened" to be a troupe of female impersonators. Michael was quite surprised at how completely feminine the performers looked, with their well-shaped breasts and smooth G-strings, but that was as far as his interest in the matter went. I didn't care; the seeds had been sown. That night, Michael again brought up the subject of the day I had supposedly spent in jail for the unpaid parking ticket. I smiled and told him that that little episode was going to have an interesting sequel. "What do you mean?" He asked with rapt attention. "Well," I spoke slowly, playing on his suspense. "Just that a close friend of mine in the D.A.'s office is going to investigate procedures and policies at the Women's Correctional Institute. She says it was much too easy for them to put me in jail, and she intends to make a thorough and exhaustive study of their intake and incarceration policies and practices." "Sounds fascinating!" Michael said, "But won't they try to clean up their act and cover up their mistakes once they know your friend is investigating?" "They won't know," I smiled, "Until too late! You see, my friend is going to be working from the inside out!" I'd swear I could hear Michael's heart pounding as he tried to speak. "Y-you mean sh-she's g-going to let herself b-be put in J-J-...." "Right!" I said, "She's working out plans now to get a false identity and a bogus criminal record faked up. Since she's in the D.A.'s office already, she can plant fake records of arrest, trial, and conviction. She can send through paperwork that such-and-such person is to turn herself in for a -- oh, a one-week incarceration, maybe -- and then just show up at the Jail House on the assigned day, claiming to be that person. Simple as pie!" I could tell that Michael was fascinated by this story, but told him that I really wasn't allowed to say much more, and steered the conversation to another topic: like our planned living arrangements after the wedding. "That's something I've been meaning to tell you," Michael was his old, bossy self now. "You're going to have to make some major changes in your household staff once we get married." "What do you mean, Dear?" I asked, all innocence. "Well for one thing, you can fire Irene. There's no sense in you having a money manager once I'm around. And that maid Dolores is going to have to shape up or ship out. You already have a cleaning lady three times a week, and there's no sense in having both. Besides, there's something funny about the way she looks at you. No, she and Irene will definitely have to go, but don't tell them about it until after we're married. No sense in making them resentful or suspicious." "Yes, Dear," I said meekly. That night, I told Irene and Dolores about our conversation, and the three of us had a good laugh over it. The little twerp was so confident of himself that he actually thought I was going to get rid of my two oldest and closest friends just to please him! Actually,-our plan was just getting on track. You see, I did have a friend in the D.A.'s office, but she was just a file clerk there, and actually, she was more Dolores' friend than mine. I mean, she's black too, and Dolores knew her from somewhere. But she did have access to all those files I mentioned, and she could fake up the records just like I said, if she wanted to -- and Irene was offering enough money that she definitely wanted to.... "By the way," Irene asked me with a smile that night, "You haven't said much about your sex life with Michael? Are you still keeping him at a distance? Or is it getting too intimate for you to discuss with us, Mistress?" "No," I blushed. "I'm playing him the way you told me to, acting passionate but proper. We kiss, of course, and his hands roam a bit from time to time, but I've made it plain that that stuff is strictly for after the wedding." "And how do you like it?" Dolores asked. "Is kissing another man as bad as you thought it was gonna be?" "It's awful!" I insisted. "I just hate acting like such a queer--" Once again, I felt that cold flash of resentment from my lesbian girlfriends. I hastened to make amends. "--especially since I'd so much rather be spending the time with you two!" "How sweet!" Dolores smiled, "Well come on up to beddy-bye, Mistress Honeys I got a feeling I'm gonna want to sit extra long on that pretty face of yours tonight!" Actually, I had lied a bit to my girlfriends. I had expected to be physically disgusted at the slightest physical contact with Michael--what bothered me was that I wasn't. My mind and body had been so radically altered that I sometimes even felt myself responding to his kisses! But always in the back of my mind, I kept remembering that I was a man, a heterosexual man! No matter what the mirror and my body told me! A week later, Michael and I attended a costume party thrown by some mutual acquaintances of ours. I had told Michael that I would arrange for our outfits and that he was to show up a couple of hours early, at my estate. He arrived as planned, and looked delighted when I answered the door dressed up as a female prisoner. On my legs, I wore leg-warmers in a bold, horizontal stripe, which matched the short-sleeve jersey that I wore. I had even had Dolores sew a name tag with a number on the back. In addition to this, I had on a pair of striped Hot Pants, high heels, and a cute little prisoner's cap. For added touches, I wore hand-and-ankle cuffs with extra-long chains to give me freedom of movement. I had made sure, though, that the hot pants and jersey were the tightest I could get on, and the heels and leg warmers really accentuated my long, shapely stems. Well, when Michael saw me in this outfit, I thought his eyes were going to pop right out, so enchanted was he by my "prisoner" costume that he made no objections when I led him up to the bathroom that adjoins my boudoir and insisted on shaving his legs! "This will be a very quick and simple process," I explained, lathering him up, "And when I'm finished(with your legs, I'll want to do your chest and arms. Fortunately, you have a light beard and you shaved close today." As I worked, I noted that, just as Irene had stressed, Michael had rather soft features for a man and fine dark hair. His brown eyes, now that I looked at them this way, even seemed sort of soft and demure. "But this is sort of awkward," Michael protested weakly, still star- struck by my outfit, "And you're getting my shorts wet!" "That's all right," I smiled seductively, "You won't be needing them!" "Humph--" Michael started to protest further, then saw that I was shaving up close to his crotch and decided not to spoil my concentration. "-- it must be some costume," He finished lamely. It certainly was! For when I had finished, Michael was completely decked out as a Vegas Showgirl! Something like a gold-sequined, backless bathing suit covered his torso, rising to the neck, where it was held up by a rhinestone collar. In the back, though, it dipped down to just above the curve of his bottom. A gold lame belt went around his waist, with lots of feathers in the rear, and a blonde wig with a plumed tiara set in it went on his head. I set to work with makeup, then, using all the skills that Irene and Dolores had taught me. I did his face in strong, stage-girl fashion, with plenty of foundation, rouge, heavy eye shadow, false eyelashes, and brilliant red lipstick. Oh, I forgot to tell you: the front of' Michael's sequined swim-suit thing had breast-shaped rubber pads sewn into the chest and padding on the hips, giving him a truly luscious figure. Anyway, when I had Michael completely dressed in this thing, he looked like about the most scrumptious piece of cheesecake you ever set eyes on. Sheer glistening hosiery went up his legs, held up by frilly garters, and I managed to squeeze high-heeled ruby-red slippers on his feet. His false chest strutted and jiggled saucily in front of him, and his cute round bottom swayed and swished naughtily behind, made more noticeable by the fluttering feathers on the back of his belt. He was just so cute decked out this way that I knew then and there, that Irene's plan would be perfect for him. Well, when we went downstairs, Dolores just simply had to have some snapshots of us, so I posed for several, and then it was Michael's turn. It was so sweet, the way he blushed at being seen this way; I could have laughed out loud. And Dolores insisted that he do some chorus-girl kicks and high-steps and even a bump-and-grind while she snapped away with her camera. It was wild! You know, I had really sort of expected that Michael would act like his old bossy self and try to make us stop teasing him and let him change clothes. But to my surprise, he acted unusually meek and docile, as if wearing women's garments somehow robbed him of his overbearing ultra- macho: manhood. Irene and I discussed this later on, and she told me that this was the one sure sign that her plan was going to work out just as she had expected. But to get back to the party... It was really kind of dull. Michael and I got a few compliments on our imaginative outfits (although if anyone had guessed how well-disguised I really was, I'm sure they'd have been shocked!) and a couple of the women there looked rather interested in him -- or maybe it was just envy. Anyway, the crowd was just too straight to do anything really kinky with him, and we left early. On the way over to Michael's (I was driving, since he wasn't used to high heels.) he brought up the topic I had been expecting all night: "That -um- costume of yours reminds me," He said, trying to sound casual, "What's -er- happening with the investigation your friend in the D.A.'s office is conducting?" "I'm afraid it's going to be a total wash-out," I sighed, "I spoke to Corinne -- that's my friend -- over the phone yesterday and we set up a lunch appointment for tomorrow. I guess she has to put in some overtime work on Saturdays so I thought I'd make it a little easier on her by bringing in some sandwiches. Do you think sandwiches will be all right? Or should I try Chicken? I mean, Corinne is Black, you know, and I'm afraid she might think Fried Chicken was a racial slur." "Oh for Chrissakes," Michael said, tosssing his feathered hair petulantly, "No one's that sensitive anymore! Anyway, what about her investigation?" "Well I asked her about that and she sounded very discouraged and said we could talk about it tomorrow. Say, that's a thought: How would you like to have lunch with us, and she can tell you the whole thing herself?" Well, my little feminized Michael just jumped at the chance to hear such an exciting (to him) story first-hand; An Undercover Investigation in a Women's Prison! In fact, he got so worked up about it that he didn't even notice when I let him out in front of his townhouse and drove off - - Leaving him outside without his keys, dressed up as a Vegas Showgirl! I knew I could pass it off as absent-mindedness on my part, but I chuckled secretly at the thought of him out on the street, decked out in that scanty, sequined outfit! I wondered what he'd do! I remembered him complaining to me one night that the neighbor on one side of him was Gay, and kept having his boyfriends over for parties. And that the house on the other side was occupied by a rather predatory middle-aged widow with two daughters in their late teens, and all of them (according to Michael) were on the make for him. I had visions of poor Michael scampering about in his gaudy, feminine outfit, trying to figure out whom he should ask to call me, where to go for shelter.., to the gay playboy or the horny widow and her daughters? And him so girlish and vulnerable! You, can imagine my disappointment, then, when Michael told me the next day 'that he had used a spare key he keeps. under his doormat to get in with. The key was to come in very handy for Irene later on, but when Michael told me about it, I really felt that the previous evening had been a total waste. How wrong I was! Michael picked me up about Eleven the next morning, and we stopped off at an elegant catering service to pick up sandwiches before going Downtown to the Hall of Justice to meet with Dolores' file-clerk friend, Corinne. We gave our names to a watchman at the door who found our names on a list of expected visitors and directed us to an office on the Twelfth Floor. All the while Michael and I were waiting for the elevator, I felt the eyes of that watchman on me, devouring my full breasts and shapely ass in the tight, short dress that Dolores had laid out for me that day. Soon, I thought, soon this masquerade will all be over, and I can go back to being a man again. What a relief it'll be to get away from all those hungry, predatory stares! Soon, however, Michael and I were seated in an expensive-looking, ultra- efficient office, looking across a large desk at Corinne, who was busily rummaging through some papers or something. (Of course it wasn't really Corinne's office; she had simply typed our names onto the watchman's list and snuck up to this deserted office on this, a Saturday. But to get back...) Corinne did not rise to meet us, but sat back and extended her hand rather regally. I got a good look at her, a young, rather slender Black Woman with mischievous eyes and a short afro. Michael eyed her rather quizzically (I guess he was used to people rising to meet him) but then, as he politely shook her hand, saw the reason for her lack of motion. Her right leg was wrapped in a cast! "Thanks for the Lunch, Honey," Corinne sparkled a smile up at me. Although we had never actually met, we knew our parts well, and were acting like old friends. "This thing on my leg kind of slows me down, but the work here," She gestured at a stack of papers. "Never stops." "You poor Dear," I cooed sympathetically, "How long is it on for?" "Six to Eight Weeks," Corinne sighed ruefully, "But please introduce me to your nice-looking fianc? here!" Well, I made introductions, Corinne said how lucky I was, and Michael looked awkward and impatient while we ate our sandwiches and wasted time in small talk. Finally, I steered the conversation around to Corinne's supposed plans for an undercover investigation of the Women's Jail. "I'm afraid that's off permanently now thanks to this," She tapped her cast. "I was chosen for this assignment because I'm new with the D.A.'s Office and pretty much unknown. No one at the Jail would have recognized me. But by the time this cast comes off, I'll be an old familiar face around here, and there's no way I could go into the Jail without someone spotting me and knowing immediately what's going on." "But can't you get someone else for the job?" Michael asked. "Our budget won't allow it," Corinne looked at him with a sort of sexy, helpless look. The kind I had mastered on my first week of this impersonation. "And I don't think we could find a volunteer. My big problem now is that copies of the necessary paperwork for a one-week incarceration have already been planted in the files down at the Jail. That includes names, dates, a general description, everything. And I've got to find a way to get it out of the files there without making anyone suspicious." "Oh, but Corinne-- I'd volunteer for you!" I offered. "You're sweet," She smiled at me. "But you're also hopelessly scatter- brained and very, very blonde. The woman we place in the jail has got to be Black, like me. 'The paperwork specifies it." "Darn!" I said, slapping my purse petulantly on the desk, "That means your whole wonderful plan goes up in smoke!" I had been watching Michael carefully all the while we talked, sensing his interest rise as Corinne and I spoke of the possibility of getting someone secretly into the Women's Jail, and fall whenever Corinne said that it couldn't be done. Then, when I suggested that I go in as an undercover inmate, I'd almost swear I saw his prick stiffen inside his pants. Boy, this guy was really hooked on a fantasy! And then the accident that we had planned so carefully happened. As I slapped my purse onto Corinne's desk, it fell open and a gush of papers, credit cards and pictures spilled out. "What a mess!" I exclaimed helplessly, "And all over your desk, Corinne. I'll get all this up in no time." "I'll help," Corinne leaned forward, despite her fake leg cast, and began gathering up cards and pictures. "Say!" She smiled at one of the snap shots. "Who's this little honey? She sure is built!" "Oh!" I giggled, "That's Michael. Doesn't he look just darling?" "Good enough to eat!" Corinne's smile widened as Michael blushed. "But Honey, you never told me your boyfriend was into wearing women's dresses!" "I'm not--" Michael protested uncomfortably, "That was just for a costume party last night. I never dreamed they'd be developed so fast..." "You look pretty developed yourself in some of these," Corinne gathered up some more of the snapshots, unobtrusively keeping them out of Michael's reach as she leaned back. "And in such scanty attire! Are you sure this was just for a costume party?" "Of -er- of course it was," Michael coughed, "The whole thing was her idea!" "Well you certainly have a natural talent for female impersonation," Corinne said, "A real gift!" "Corinne!" I gasped on cue, "That's it!" "What do you mean?" She asked, playing innocent and dumb. "I mean Michael!" I blurted out, "He can be your volunteer!" Corinne looked at me in disbelief, then over at Michael for along time. Then back at me with renewed interest, playing the scene very nicely, I thought. "Honey," She said slowly, "I hate to say it, but I think you're right. I think he could do it!" "Do what?" Michael asked. The look on his face was a wonderful mixture of doubt, anxiety... and anticipation! "What are you girls talking about?" "You!" I smiled, "You could go undercover as an inmate in the Women's Jail!" He blushed red, then turned pale, then reddened again, trying to keep from betraying his sexual excitement at my words. Just think! For years, he'd had this fantasy about women in prison, and now here we were, offering him a chance to experience it first-hand -- even if it was under some rather unusual circumstances! "Im-- Im-- Impossible!" He finally managed a weak protest. "I could never pass as a woman!" "These photos say different," Corinne pronounced firmly. "But-but that's in costume," Michael persisted, even more feebly, "I couldn't look like that without -er-urn- in a Prison uniform!" "You mean naked, don't you?" I corrected him teasingly, "You don't think you could pass as a woman in those close, intimate circumstances, surrounded by other women?" "Uhhhh-er- something like that...." "Well remember those female impersonators we saw at that nightclub?" I said, "They were practically naked themselves, and they had real breasts and everything!" "But I wouldn't know how to go about--a" "You could find out," Corinne put in, "I hear that act is still in town, and it certainly wouldn't be much trouble to at least go and talk to them." "Yes, Michael. Let's do it," I said firmly, "Just talk to those female impersonators and find out if there is some way you could pass as a woman!" "But I--" He started. "It won't hurt just to ask," I insisted. "I mean, you can always change your mind." "That's right," Corinne added. "Not that I'd blame you if you did chicken out. After all, living among all those hookers, thieves and nymphomaniacs may not be dangerous for a man of your strength, but it might not be pleasant, either, even if it did only last for a week." "But think of the Good you'd be doing," I said, "For Corinne and for me, and even for the Community." "Well...." Michael hesitated. That was how we sucked him into it. Bit by bit, we drew him into the idea, until he was as sold on it as we were. That afternoon, Michael and I talked to the female impersonators (who had been carefully coached and generously bribed by Irene.) Yes, they said, it was entirely possible for Michael to alter his physique enough in a month's time that he could easily pass as a woman. Injections in the breasts and buttocks could quickly fill him out so that he would look firm and natural, his face and body hair could be thoroughly removed with special depilatory creams, and hormone treatment could soften his masculine build into a more feminine mold. There was even a device that could be glued onto his crotch to disguise it as a woman's. Why, with some makeup and a little training, there was no reason at all why Michael couldn't pass as a perfect female! Of course, I knew all this myself already--after all, I had willingly gone through it myself (well at least semi-willingly!) to trap Michael in our web. But it was so amusing to see him getting used to the idea! Oh yes: by this time, the idea of being in a Women's Prison -- just for a week -- had really caught hold of Michael's fancy, and he willingly endured the shots, the hair removal, the feminine training... He even allowed us to graft a synthetic pussy (Just like mine!) over his real genitals, pushing his cock and balls up between his legs, holding them there so firmly that he had to sit down to go to the bathroom, and the slightest swelling of an erection created terribly painful pressure on his confined balls.... Just like me. The female hormones were hard to get, but Irene assured me that they were the strongest and fastest-working on the market, and she supplemented them with a mild mood-altering drug, which made Michael act very docile and agreeable, even when we brought up some of the less appealing aspects of this project: "Corinne just called," I told him after about two weeks of treatment, "You're scheduled to go to jail on our Wedding Day! Can you believe it? You'll be going right from the Reception to the Work House!" "Oh, but-but that doesn't sound like any fun," Michael protested. We were at my place, and he was getting used to wearing high heels by walking around in them. I had also insisted that he learn how to sit and stand in a dress by wearing one at all times when we were alone, so he had on a frilly, mid-length skirt of mine in red satin, In addition, he had spent the morning practicing makeup techniques, so his face was very nicely done up with soft powder and rouge, delicate eye shadow and mascara, and deep. red lipstick outlining his full, pouty lips. Since he was wearing absolutely nothing else, he made a very fetching sight, what with his smooth, hairless body, develping breasts, and silly attire, mincing about in nothing but heels and a skirt. His voice had already become softer and higher-pitched, and he looked so completely frivolous, trying to object like that, that I could barely keep from laughing in his pretty face. "Really, Michael," I said flatly, "If you consider everything, I think it's perfect timing. Point One: You won't be able to act much like a Husband on our Wedding night anyway, now that the Doctor has put that false puss-- er, that cover over your genitals. Point Two: Everyone thinks well be going away for our honeymoon anyway, so you won't be missed during the time you spend in jail. And Point Three: Corinne has told us several times that this thing has been too carefully prepared for her to make any last-minute changes. If she says that you go to jail on your wedding night, then to jail you must go." "I guess you're right Dear," He sighed, blushing a little as Dolores entered with a tray of drinks and sandwiches. "It's just that...." "Of course I'm right," I interrupted coolly. "Now eat your lunch and don't forget your pills. When we're finished, I'll want you to help Dolores with the dishes. When you go to jail, you'll be expected to know about doing housework, so you might as well have her instruct you in dusting, sweeping and mopping as well. Then this afternoon, Irene wants you to model the tuxedo she's having designed for you, specially padded to disguise your figure. Then tomorrow there'll be the...." Well that's how it went for a full month. The more we feminized Michael, the more docile and obedient he became. For myself, it made me feel rather odd to be steering this man down the path I had gone myself so recently, and I wondered more than once if Irene or Dolores wasn't slipping something into my hormone pills and shots to make me more relaxed and submissive. Now that I thought about it, I had gone through quite a lot more than I had planned, acquiescing to every new idea or suggestion that these two had come up with. But then I reflected that this whole idea of getting revenge on Michael had been my idea (hadn't it? sort of?) and my two girlfriends were merely helping me along. Anyway, Michael and I would be married soon, and then, according to our plan, he would be sent away to jail (for a little longer than he thought) while I returned to my natural masculine appearance. I smiled at the thought. It would be rich, seeing the look on the face of the simpering, feminine thing that Michael was becoming when she learned she was married to a man. And not just a man, but one whom s/he had always treated as a social inferior. Yes, Michael Clark would pay dearly for his divorce. And for his past snobbery. But that was all in the future. For right now, I was still very confused about my feelings towards my future spouse. I mean, after all, I am a normal, heterosexual male, despite my appearance, and I had already been a little confused by being forced to play the feminine role with Michael while he was in the masculine mode, so to speak. Now that I saw him becoming more and more the sexy young lady, my natural masculinity was re-asserting itself, and I found I was responding to her presence in quite a different way! I mentioned my confused feelings to Irene one day; "Must we really send Michael to Jail, Darling?" I asked, "I mean, he's become such a sweet little doll recently, especially since they bonded that false pussy over his genitals. I'm sure we could work our trick without imprisoning him! I mean, why do we have to send him away like that when he's willing to do whatever, we tell him already? And besides, he looks so cute now in all the pictures we've taken of him! I swear, his breasts must be a 36-D; almost as big as mine!" "Hminm," Irene looked at me sharply. "You're not getting the hots for your future husband, are you? You know how jealous that would make Dolores and me. And besides, just how long do you think we could keep him docile like this?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "Oh use your pretty head," Irene admonished. "We certainly can't keep administering those drugs that keep that little wimp as docile as he is right now. And once he quits taking them, he'll go right back to being as stuck-up and bossy as he ever was. Now how long do you think he'd stand still for the kind of blackmail we're going to pull if he didn't have the threat of Jail hanging over his head? And how long do you think he'd wait before he hired someone to do something even worse to all of us if we left him a free hand to do it? The only way this is going to work is for us to play along with his "women-in-prison" fantasy and use it to frame him up properly! Honestly Dear, sometimes you just don'tthink!" "I do too!" I pouted, "For instance, once Michael lands in Jail and we're not giving him the female hormones anymore, won't he change back into a man after a while? What about that?" "That's taken care of," Irene smiled at me. "I've been having come very interesting talks with the Warden at the Women's Jail, and we've found some common interests." "You mean she's gay too?" I gasped, "Irene, I don't believe it!" "Not that," Irene explained, "But it seems that several years ago, she was a brand-new rookie cop on the street when your fianc? Michael was a freshman in College." "So?" "So it seems she tried to arrest Michael once during a panty-raid incident. Only Michael and some of his buddies overpowered her and took away her uniform! Later, when she brought charges against him, he hired an expensive lawyer who got him out of it, after humiliating her on the Stand. She never forgot that little episode, and when I explained to her how she could help us out without endangering herself, she really went for it! Especially after I promised to contribute to her campaign when she runs for County Sherriff next year. Michael's diet in prison will definitely include large doses of female hormone. And his guards, and the inmates in his dorm-room will all be very 'carefully selected." "My!" I gasped again, in admiration this time. "Irene, you're much cleverer than I thought!" "Believe me, Sweet-Cakes," Irene's smile turned sort of secret and mocking. "Once this plan really takes effect, you'll be surprised at how carefully I've planned -- everything!" So it was pretty much settled. A week later, Michael and I were married and he went to Jail. The Wedding itself was nice enough (I wore a simply stunning white silk dress with a very daring neck line and lots of teasing, peek-a-boo see-through lace. A "relative" of mine from Sweden gave me away, and of course, Irene and Dolores were my Bridesmaids.) and we got some pretty gifts at the reception, but Michael and I were both impatient to get it over with and get on with our real plans. The festivities finally reached a point where we could slip away, and we sped off in a rented car that some joke- sters had painted up with signs like SOCK IT TO HER and LOOK OUT TONITE. If only they knew! A short time later, I dropped Michael off at the Hotel where Irene and Dolores were waiting to complete his transformation. "Aren't you coming in with me?" He asked, standing nervously on the curb, looking awkward in his tuxedo. Irene had cleverly designed it without pockets so that Michael was carrying no keys, money or identification. The padding in it made him look a bit chubby, but it hid his feminine figure well. "No way!" I smiled, "I'm certainly not going into a Hotel wearing this Bridal Dress! Now Irene and Dolores are waiting for you with some last- minute instructions, so just go on up to room 347. I'm going home and change." "But when will I see you again?" "I'll drop in," I giggled, "On the next visiting day!" I blew him a kiss, winked naughtily, and drove off, leaving him there. Well, it had been a long and tiring day, so I guess it's no wonder that by the time I got home and out of that dress I was practically dead to the world. I drew myself a nice, hot bath, wishing that Dolores was there to attend me, and promptly fell asleep in the tub, comfortable in the knowledge that my feminine masquerade was almost at an end. ///// "Hunh! Would you look at Sleeping Beauty!" Dolores' voice startled me awake. I looked up from the tub to see her and Irene, standing in the Bathroom, grinning wickedly. "Oh!" I gaped stupidly, blinking the sleep from my eyes, suddenly noticing how cold the water had become. "You're home!" "We sure are," Irene said, "And we've got plenty to talk about, so shake that pretty little tail of yours." "Sure, Sweet," I said, rising from the tub as Dolores threw me a towel, "But tell me: How did things go with Michael?" "Uh-hee-hee-hee!" Dolores laughed out loud. "Honey, you sure married yourself one sweet little honkey she-male! You should've seen her face when we told her she was gonna have to turn black for a while!" "Turn black?" I said, towelling off, "What do you mean?" "Did you forget what Corinne told you?" Irene asked. She saw that I had and went on, "Everything had been set up for a Black Girl to go into Jail, and it was too late to change plans." "That's right," I said, "I did forget about that and I'll bet Michael did too. Hand me my robe, would you Dolores?" "I don't see any robe." The black maid said flatly. I looked about. She was right! My robe must still be in the bedroom. But I'd have sworn I wore it in here! Oh well. I slipped my feet into my high-heeled satin slippers (Did I wear those in here? I almost never put them on because the heels are so high and uncomfortable.) and the three of us went into the bedroom while Irene told me what happened with Michael. "You should have seen his face after Dolores and I undressed him and started covering his body with skin dye. Fortunately, we'd given him a rather heavy dose of the tranquilizer pills, so he didn't protest too much, even when I gave him new breast-swelling injections and set his hair in curlers." "It took hours," Dolores sighed, sinking onto my bed. "Doing his hair up, making sure the dye made his skin look Black and Beautiful, checking to see that he dressed right and got all the ID that we faked up for him. Hoowhee, I'm tired! Help me get my shoes off, would you Honey?" She looked at me, raising one booted foot. Well, I really wanted to get dressed, and besides, it's supposed to be her job to help me. But after all, Dolores is a friend as well as a servant... so I dutifully backed up to her, naked except for my slippers, and straddled her leg. The mischievous black girl playfully tickled my false pussy with her toe, then put the sole of her other foot on my bottom (Oh! How odd the sole of her boot felt against my bare rump!) and pushed. "Ooof!" I squeaked. "Well, that's off, now the other one.... There! So what happened with Michael next?" "Oh not much," Irene said, sitting comfortably in the easy chair I keep in my bedroom. "We just took our black, feminine Michael to the Jail House and made sure she got checked in. She's now Michelle Sweete, better known as Number 44296! You can go visit her in Three Days!" "Wonderful!" I said, moving to my closet. "I can't wait to face that male bitch through the bars and see how she likes it. You certainly plann---" "Honey," Dolores interrupted, "As long as you're going to the closet, go ahead and put my boots in there." I wondered at this. Why would Dolores want to put her boots in my closet? But I was anxious to put something on (After all, I was still running around in just my slippers, and the way those girls were ogling my breasts and pussy was just .shameless!) so I obediently picked up her boots and took them over to my closet. It was empty. "Girls!" I spun about, facing the amused looks of my two girlfriends. "What have you done with my clothes?" "Just what we warned you we'd do if you kept dawdling in the tub," Irene said, "We've taken them away!" "But how can I get by without any clothes?" I asked, shivering. "Especially like this! I wouldn't be able to go to the bank and cash checks, get my name changed back, or sign any of those legal papers to annul my marriage. Why I couldn't even run the household like this!" "That's right," Dolores said simply, "You couldn't. So I'm going to run things for awhile. Since I'll be busy doing that, you can be the Maid. And you can start by moving my things in here; You'll sleep in the Maid's Quarters!" "But I haven't any clothes!" I protested, hugging myself awkwardly to fight the chill of embarrassment that was racing through me. "You won't need any," Irene said sternly, "Now get started -- Maid!" I shivered again, but it was an odd shiver. My nipples were erect, and beneath my false pussy, I could feel my cock throbbing, trying to swell in its confinement. Obediently, I bowed my head. "Yes, Mistress," I said. So, for the next few days I acted as Maid around the house, dusting, cleaning, fetching and carrying things for my two demanding mistresses, and serving them in bed. Besides slippers, they let me wear a pair of sheer black hose, held up by big lacey white garters, elbow-length black gloves, a frilly white apron, and a matching maid's cap. That was all. Well! I mean, the top of the apron just barely covered my titties, and the skirt portion was so tiny that I had to be careful when I reached upwards or my pussy would show! So you can imagine how I blushed whenever I had to appear before my mistresses this way, and curtsey and pick things up off the floor. And I must say that Irene and Dolores were much harder on me than I ever was on them. It seemed they were always finding fault with my dusting or cleaning, and when I protested that I simply hadn't been brought up to do work like that, Dolores got very offended and insisted that I be punished for insolent back-talk. Well, that's how my bottom got so pink in just a couple of days. I mean, Dolores had quite a forearm swing, and she wasn't at all hesitant about putting me over her knee for a spanking - bare-bottomed, of course, because that's how I spent all my time now. I had also thought that my hormone treatments would stop, but Irene pointed out that Maids had to adjust themselves to the whims of their mistresses, so the shots in my breasts and buns continued. Naturally, this was all quite confusing for me. I mean, I hadn't really thought about it, but I just assumed that as soon as Michael was safely locked away, I would return to my old masculine identity. So you can imagine how bewildered I was that Irene and Dolores kept me growing more and more feminine--an d practically naked, too! Also, despite the hormones, I was getting almost desperately horny lately, and I wished like anything that I could get my cock and balls out from behind that false pussy and experience some sexual relief. But at last, Visiting Day rolled around and my Mistresses allowed me to put on a short black dress, cut very tight, and a little skimpy underwear so I could visit my spouse, Michael. Dolores had told me what to expect, and Irene had coached me on what to say, but it still came as quite a surprise when I sat down on the simple chair in that stark, white room, deserted except for a muscular female guard standing just out of ear-shot, and Michael minced in. The door opened slowly, just part-way., and a pretty black feminine face peeked around. I could see the soft, wavy hair-do they had given my "husband" (Or was he my "wife" now?) the graceful arch of his eyebrows, and the long, dark lashes around each brown eye. I noted the gentle brown color of his skin, like lightly-creamed coffee, and the full, sensuous curve of his pale lips. He saw me, took in my appearance in my sexy, tight dress, made sure that we were alone (except for the guard) then gulped and tremblingly entered. Wow! I couldn't decide whether to gape in wonder at the sight of him or just burst out laughing. For the creature mincing hesitantly up to me was a busty, curvaceous young Black Girl clad only in a sleeveless jersey! I know, I had been expecting this kind of change, and Dolores had told me how much they'd altered his appearance, but it was just such a shock, seeing this brown-skinned, ultra-feminine little chickie tiptoeing around barefoot, the straps on her jersey just barely holding the too- tight garment up over her chest as she tugged at the hem, trying (unsuccessfully) to get it down completely over her round, brown bottom. And the look in her pretty eyes, of fear, embarrassment, nervousness... It was just too rich for words! Michael tiptoed up and perched his bare butt on the chair across from mine. Beneath his skin-dye, I could detect an obvious blush as I looked him up and down and smiled. "Well, Michelle!" I said brightly, "How you've changed! And what a lovely outfit! I'm surprised they let you run around like that, all hanging out, so to speak, And are you enjoying yourself here?" "Oh, please don't joke about it!" Her voice was softer, but still recognizably Michael's. "It's awful here! Different than I'd expected. Completely different! They can't treat all the prisoners like they treat me. It's just not possible!" "How do they treat you, Darling?" Michael lowered his pretty eyelids. "Horribly," S/he muttered, "I got here late at night, the first night, so they gave me a plain cotton nightie and took me to a Six-girl dorm room, set sort of away from the others. I felt terribly awkward, so changed like this, but I was determined to try and carry it through. Then, as soon as the guard left, the other girls in the dorm jumped me!" "Jumped you?" I asked, "What do you mean?" "They just swarmed all over me," She said, "Like they'd been expecting me and planning it! Two of them grabbed my elbows and tied them behind me with cloth strips. Then they bent my arms and tied my wrists up near my shoulders. It was incredibly painful! I tried to scream, but they stuffed panties into my mouth and tied them in with a scarf. Then they pulled my nightie up over my shoulders and tied my ankles to my thighs!" I tried to picture my husband this way, bound up feminized and naked, with his arms pinned behind him and his legs tied so that he could only walk on his knees, thrusting out his dark, furry pussy and his bare tits jiggling in front. I found the picture immensely satisfying and even a little arousing! "The Boss of the Dorm is a muscular, blonde-haired dyke named Angie," Michael was saying, "And she told me in no uncertain terms that she was in charge and I was to be nothing more than a slave to her and the other four girls in the dorm since I'm the only -er- the only Black Girl there. And as a sign of submission I had to... I had to... Oh, I can't say it!" "Please try, Dear," I said firmly, "You know how important this all is. No matter what it was, I'll realize that you did it in a good cause and I'll respect you for it." "They forced me to-to make love to them... like a woman does.., to another woman," She stammered, eyes downcast, "They told me they'd cut my throat if I screamed, then they pulled out the gag and each of them took turns straddling my face. Oh, it was awful!" "Heavens!" I tried to look shocked at the notion that Michael had been forced into something that I'd been doing willingly for years. "What did they do next?" "They all decided that I hadn't... hadn't been good enough," The timid Black Girl who was now my husband continued, "So they spanked me, sitting on the back of my head with my face in a pillow to muffle the screams. Then they flipped me over and took turns sitting on my face while they spanked my thighs and my-my breasts, until I performed well--enough to satisfy them." "That must have been quite a night," I said, trying to look concerned and not smile, "Did you tell any of the guards about it?" "I haven't seen any of the guards," She replied, twisting uncomfortably in her chair,""This is the first time I've been out of that dorm room in three days. There's a sink and a toilet and a shower facility in there, and our meals are wheeled to the door in a cart. The other girls leave fairly often, but two or three of them always stay behind with me. 'They-they have ways of keeping me quiet whenever anyone comes near. It's almost as if my presence here is some sort of secret." "Hmmm, and what do you do all day in that dorm?" I asked. Her pretty brown eyes dropped even further and she twisted the hem of her short shirt-skirt nervously. "I do whatever they tell me to," She replied in a low voice. "They make me keep the entire dorm spotless, scrubbing the floors, making the beds, cleaning the toilet and shower.., and I have to serve them their meals and curtsey and perform for them. When there's no work for me to do, they make me stand motionless in silly poses and amuse themselves by tickling me or rubbing their bodies up against mine or hanging things on me until I break my pose and they have an excuse to spank me again. And they use me sexually in every way they can, sitting on me, riding me like a pony... and they keep me naked all the time. I only got to wear this thing because they knew I had to 'come out here, and it doesn't even fit... Oh, it's awful!" "There, there, Michelle," I soothed, "It's only for a few more days, you know." "That's what worries me!" Her eyes widened. "I heard one of the girls say that she'd peeked at my record and I was sentenced to two years! That can't be right, but it's got me so worried... Darling, I think I'd better have you talk to the Warden or maybe see here myself and explain this whole thing." "That's a thought," I pretended to consider it, even though Irene had already anticipated this possibility and told me what to say. "But mightn't that be just a wee bit dangerous?" "Dangerous?" Michelle echoed, "What do you mean?" "Well," I explained, "The whole reason you're here is to show how corrupt and badly-run this Jail is. You've already proven that anyone can just waltz in off the street and get locked up here. And you have fir