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SCHOOL FOR SISSIES by Throne Clark sat uneasily on the hard wooden chair. He was a small man and the chair had longer-than-usual legs, so that he had to point his toes downward to make them touch the floor. The effect was to make him feel like a naughty student who had been sent to the principal's office. Once again he glanced at the slim female receptionist with her neat cream colored blouse, eyeglasses with large round frames, and auburn hair pulled back into a severe bun. She worked quietly and efficiently behind her desk, as if he wasn't even there. When he had arrived she acknowledged his presence with a curt nod and pointed toward the chair. It had been awkward for him to boost himself up onto the elevated seat. Since then she had ignored him as his unease continued to mount. He wasn't even sure what this place was, or why his wife Carmella had dropped him off here. As usual, he hadn't been able to summon the nerve to question her. She had ruled his life for the past year, since they got married. Carmella was tall and carried extra weight in all the right places, and it was her generous curves that had first attracted him to her. She had taken over at that point and steered him into dating, getting engaged, and becoming husband and wife. Or rather, wife and husband. Make that Wife and husband. Carmella was so controlling that when she began to insist that he was being too macho (which was laughably incorrect) and decreed that he 'get in touch with' his 'feminine side', he was too cowed to defy her. It had started simply, with her making him use depilatories to remove all of his body hair, and having him wear panties under his male clothing. Then she added stockings and, when he was home, just a hint of make-up. Next she ordered him to skip his usual haircut at the barber shop, and instead accompany her to a unisex salon where, while she got the full treatment, he had got the slightest of trims ("Just to eliminate those dead ends, dear" the effeminate fellow whose chair he was in told him.) and had his nails coated with clear lacquer. When he went to his low level office job the next day he felt like everyone was noticing his compromised masculinity and mentally expanding on what it might mean. Gary, a college student working there part-time, who was openly gay, repeatedly made eye contact with him, which Clark found disconcerting. The next time his wife took him to the salon, she had Clark's eyebrows thinned out just a bit which, though most people might not notice it conciously, they might still be aware of. Gary noticed and complimented him; Clark mumbled something about how his wife thought it looked good, stressing the 'wife' part and hoping that he was sending the message that he was married and, by extension, straight. Gary gave him a conspiritual smile and an understanding nod. So there Clark sat in that austere reception room, trying to stay still but fidgeting anyway, for nearly a half hour. At last the receptionist looked up and said, "You are Clark Candide?" He nodded wordlessly and she picked up the receiver of her phone, said something he couldn't hear, and set it back in the cradle. Again he had to wait. Finally, after another quarter hour, the door alongside the receptionist's desk opened and a woman emerged. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a conservative skirt suit that even included a necktie, with straight blond hair that fell just below her ears. She put herself directly in front of Clark and consulted a clipboard she carried, then looked him directly in the eyes. He squirmed under her unrelenting gaze. Was he supposed to speak? Should he wait for her to say something? After a few more moments she said in a formal voice, "Clark Candide." It didn't sound like a question so he remained mute. "You were brought to us by your wife, Carmella Faustine. As, she retained her maiden name. That's very good." She ran a finger down the page as she read and a thin smile appeared on her lips. "And she has ordered the full makeover. I hope you appreciate what she's doing for you." More at a loss than ever, he finally dared to speak. "I... um... I'm not sure why I'm here. And for how long. Or even what this place is." She gave him a wry smirk. "Silly boy. She has signed you up for a lovely transformation. You've already been taken halfway to being a real sissy by her, which wasn't too difficult because you're that type by nature, and now we're going to finish the job." "But... I'm not... I mean, I don't like to..." The woman cocked her head to the side and showed a patronizing face. "You're obviously not being honest with yourself. We see that reaction a lot. Plenty of denial. Started out imagining you were a macho he-man and then had to be told to settle down and access your gentler side." "No, I never thought I was... I mean, I never acted like a..." "So you're saying your wife was wrong?" "N... no," he recanted meekly. "And when she was kind enough to help you, to start you on the path to discovering who you really are, did you resist? Put up a fight?" He wanted to explain, the say how Carmella intimidated him, how infatuated he was with her stunning curvaceous beauty, how he only wanted to try to be worthy of her but, as so often happened, words failed him. So he answered with a weak, "No." "Well, there you go. And I don't imagine you had anything to brag about in bed. Right." His cheeks burned as he admitted, "No, Ma'am." It felt right to address her that way. "Tiny dick? No staying power?" She gave him an especially hard stare. "Finished almost before you got started? Hmmm?" Shamefaced, eyes downturned, he confessed, "Yes, Ma'am. All of that." "The classic sissy type. Don't worry, sweetie. We see ones like you all the time. Nothing to be ashamed of." But of course he felt deep shame from having to reveal his shortcomings. The way she spoke, as if it was a foregone conclusion that he was a... sissy... made him deeply doubt himself. He had never been very manly. Ever. But also would never have referred to himself with that term. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. Moving right along, the tall woman looked down at him and said, "So, let's get you hooked up with an instructor." She turned to the receptionist and asked that someone be sent out. "And this little guy is obviously fragile, so tell them to give him someone who'll go easy on him." They waited for a few minutes, with the nearer woman reviewing something on her clipboard and Clark trying to sort out all the revelations she had just made. He couldn't believe that his wife would send him to this... this sissy school. He knew that what she saw as his overly male side offended her, even though he thought he didn't possess that personality component at all. And he had willingly gone along with all her wishes up until then, with the loss of his body hair and wearing panties and, well, all of it. But this was a huge change. Just the thought of others seeing him looking that way was highly disturbing. And what would their makeover consist of? He was still mulling over those unnerving thoughts when the door by the desk opened again and out came a rather non- threatening young woman. She was of Asian descent, small like himself, wearing a full, long- sleeved blouse and loose, mid-calf-length skirt. Her shoes had only one- inch high heels. She even gave him a hint of a smile, and it appeared sincere, rather than cynical. Clark relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Of course not. His wife wasn't a mean person. As she so often had mentioned, she was only doing what was best for him. Or at least, he mentally amended, what SHE thought was best for him. The woman with the clipboard went to say something to the receptionist and the Asian woman chatted with Clark for a few minutes in a reassuring tone that eased his tension further. She asked a few simple questions and acted almost reluctant to inquire about anything too personal. At last she said they were ready to get started. That was when the receptionist called over to her, "Lee, honey, I'm sorry. They shouldn't have sent you out. You've been assigned to that rich college boy, the one sent by his Aunt. Someone else will have to take this client." The delicately built woman gave Clark an apologetic shrug, turned and left. The receptionist told him that his trainer (before that hadn't they used the term 'instructor'?) would be right out. He sat there with each minute feeling like five. Clark had been so glad to have lucked into someone understanding, unthreatening. He told himself that maybe the next one would also be like that. Certainly. It wasn't like they were going to intimidate and physically coerce him. Was it? He was still trying to convince himself that he would get a mild instructor (or rather, trainer) when that inner door was flung open and out stroke a frightening figure. She was tall, had a voluptuous figure, wore leather slacks, a sleeveless T-shirt, a leather vest and riding boots, all of them black. And she was Black, with her hair worn short and natural. The woman had a broad face with exotic eyes, flaring nostrils, very full lips, and high strong cheekbones. She went straight to Clark, like a cat cornering a mouse, and put herself so close that he couldn't help but inhale the mixed scents of leather, feminine muskiness, and just a hint of what smelled like male cologne. He shuddered. He blinked several times. He felt perspiration breaking out under his arms. "So," she said with a sneer in her contralto voice, "You're the lamb I'll playing wolf to." She gave him a throaty chuckle. "I can't wait to get started. My name's Tanisha. What's yours... sissy?" "I'm... Clark." "No, I don't think so." She drilled him with an unwavering stare, as if she could view the innermost depths of his mind. "You are..." She grinned. It was a wide grin. "... Candy. Now tell me, Candy girl, do you like to eat your wife's pussy?" He was nonplussed. His mouth opened and shut but no words came. Tanisha took a rubber paddle that hung from her wide belt and slapped it against her palm. Threateningly. He found his voice and croaked out, "N... not really." She slapped the instrument against her hand. "Wrong answer. You LOVE to eat pussy. Isn't that correct?" For long seconds he went blank and then, belatedly understanding what was expected of him, he said, "Yes, Ma'am. I love to... uuk... eat pussy." "That's better. Now tell me what you're wearing under those inappropriate boy clothes." His cheeks grew warm. He didn't want to have to tell her but knew there was no point in refusing. His eyes stayed on the paddle as he hesitantly confessed, "I have on panties. Pink ones. Thong cut." He was afraid that a lack of details would earn him punishment. "And stockings. Satiny feeling ones. With elastic tops. And they're pink too, with a subtle pattern in them. And the pattern is flowers. Roses. Big ones." "What else?" she wanted to know. "A... a bra. A training bra. It's white," he offered with a hint of apology. His lips quivered. "And, um..." He wasn't sure if he should mention this too but, again, wanted to be careful not to upset her. "... and I don't have any body hair." His cheeks burned hotter. "I'm pink and smooth all over." He was close to shedding tears of humiliation. "That's nice. Strip down so I can see for myself." Before that could fully register she added, "And so my girlfriends can see, too." The other females turned their full attention toward Clark. He got off the chair clumsily and his fingers went to his belt buckle. As he undid it his mind was teeming with confused thoughts. At the same time the sight of that paddle, held so confidently by Tanisha, focused his actions on one goal only, which was to keep her happy. He undid the pants and got out of them. Well, he tried. Because he had been so nervous and not thought to remove his shoes first, he found himself with a dilemma. His eyes darted from one closely watching woman to the next, but always returned to Tanisha. And her paddle. In desperation he sat on the floor and began to untie his shoes. The onlookers snickered at his comical efforts. At last he got out of both shoes and managed to stand without his ankle-encircling pants causing him to fall. He got out of them too. For a few seconds he felt positive about having done what he was told, or at least getting started. Then it struck him that his panties, stockings and hairless legs were on display. He pressed his smooth thighs together and tried not to whimper, but at the same time his fingers were already unbuttoning his shirt. All too soon he was undressed and unhappily showing off his bra as well. Tanisha let out a hearty laugh while the others giggled. "Now you look like the man you aren't," Tanisha said, and chortled at her own wordplay. "So let's get you to my training rooms and see if you can follow some more simple orders, Candy darling." She stepped up to him and took something off the side of her belt opposite where the paddle had been. It was a collar which she fastened around his slender neck and adjusted until it was uncomfortably snug. There was a leash attached and she gave that a tug, making him stumble toward her. Tanisha snapped, "Hey, you're on a leash, girl. That means you're supposed to be down on all fours. Are you going to put yourself on your hands and knees, or do I have to do it for you?" Seized by a momentary panic, he dropped into the demanded position. Tanisha sneered down at him. He gaped up at her. She was obviously in great shape and he was struck by the truth that if they got into a physical altercation she could best him without even trying. The whimpering that he had succeeded in containing previously now began to escape. The imposing woman heard it and flashed a condescending expression at him. He cringed and, as she began to move, light glinting off her highly polished boots, followed. They passed through the door and Clark had a sense that he was heading toward changes that would prove to be irreversible. As he struggled to keep up with her long strides he couldn't stop admiring her wide rolling backside and thinking about her full thrusting bust. To him she was like some mythical female creature, desirable but fearsome. She was a siren, a succubus, or something similar that had haunted men's dreams since time immemorial but never been given a name. They reached Tanisha's training rooms. The first one was mostly bare except for insturments of restraint and punishment displayed on the walls. Incongruously, there was a white and pink vanity table in one corner, with a matching scrollback chair. She snapped her fingers at Clark, yanked on his leash, and commanded, "Up, girl." He got to his feet with difficulty. His legs were trembling. Her eyes went to the front of his panties and he was certain she was noticing what a small bump his undersized genitals produced. Then she took his leash and tied it to a hook on the wall, high enough to force him onto tiptoes. With deft movements she seized his wrists,pulled them behind his back, and put him into handcuffs. Next she grabbed something from the wall, squatted, and forced his feet apart. There were two clicks and his ankles were attached to a spreader bar that kept his feet well apart. By reflex he tested his bondage but the effort was futile. Tanisha made a show of going to a display of items that were all for administering corporal punishment. His bottom cheeks clenched involuntarily at the thought of what was likely to follow. She made a show of the selection process, taking a wooden sorority paddle and swinging it through the air, trying a riding crop against her boot top, hefting a bamboo cane and pressing its length across both his buttocks as if estimating how much damage it would do. He broke out in a cold sweat. Her fingers went under the waistband of his panties and worked them down slowly, almost lovingly, even though with their thong-back they wouldn't have been any protection. Yet having them lowered made him feel more in jeopardy. He sniffled. She left him like that while she considered some more options of what to use on his vulnerable flesh. He could only stand there like an exhibit in some strange presentation, wait, and worry. At last she settled on a yardstick made of metal. She came close and put her arm around his shoulders, pressing her body against him, letting the side of one heavy breast touch him. Tanisha held the yardstick up for him to get a closer look at. "Think this'll hurt, Candy girl? Think it'll make your sissy bottom get all red? Think the way I use it'll make you cry hot tears? Hmmm?" "I... I don't know." "Well, maybe you know the answer to this one. If I unfasten you and take you to a comfortable bed, would you rather eat my pussy than get your pretty bum tanned?" "Yes." He was panting from stress. "Please." "Now see that. Before you said you didn't like to eat pussy and now you're asking for it. But how about if I also wanted you to shove your face into my armpit and lick me there? You know, to save your sensitive ass?" "I... I'd do that too. Yes, Ma'am." "You would, Candy?" She feigned surprise and disbelief. "So you must really REALLY enjoy doing those things. Yes?" "Yes, Ma'am. Definately." "That's good to know. But I have to ask you one more question, sweetie. You see, what I'd really like is to have you burrow your pretty face between my butt cheeks, get all up in there where its humid and maybe kind of stanky, and use your tongue to, you know, make my ass happy. Give me some kisses back there. I mean French kisses. Nice long deep ones, with plenty of tongue wiggling. How about that, sweet sissy girl?" He choaked at the thought of what she was requesting but couldn't stop thinking about that yardstick and the painful damage it would inflict. Clark was close to hyperventilating from distress. He managed to say, "Yes, Tanisha. Yes, Ma'am. I would do that." Remembering what she had said earlier about a wrong answer, he expanded his words to, "I would LOVE to do that for you." "To do WHAT?" she inquired, as if she needed clarification. Clark took a deep breath and told her, "I would love to get my face between your gorgeous ass cheeks, and breath in your wonderful scent, and feel your perspiration against my skin, and use my tongue..." This was the hardest part. He swallowed and forced himself to go on. "... use my tongue back there. Kiss your special spot and lick it and run my tongue all around it and... uuk... stick my tongue inside you and work it in and out and... and... make you feel good." "Whew," she enthused. "Sounds terrific. But right now I have to whack the hell out of your lily-white ass." "What? But I thought... if I said I'd do all those things... and that I wanted to... that you wouldn't..." "Smack your pink tushy until it's bright scarlet? Make you thrash around and squeal like a girl? Make it hurt so bad that from then on you will NEVER even think about not doing exactly what I say? No, baby girl. I'm going to do my worst on your rump. It's going to get roasted. Heh. It'll be a rump roast. But maybe afterwards we can do all that other stuff. You know, because you're so eager to get your face against my pussy, and your nose into my sweaty armpits, and your tongue up my ass so far and for so long that you might get addicted to it and want to do it all the time. But first, I have an ass to bust." "I only said that other stuff so you WOULDN'T whip me. Please, Tanisha. Ma'am. Don't hurt me." "Spoken like a true sissy," she commented, taking a step back, raising the yardstick, and getting her range. Clark had said all those self-disgracing things, lied about wanting to perform all those disgusting acts, and utterly demeaned himself becaue he was so fearful of the yardstick and what it could do when wielded by her athletic arm. And now he was going to get the beating and probably the sexual servitude as well. This couldn't be real. It couldn't. But the reality of it was undeniable as the length of metal flashed down, expertly aimed across both of his soft vulnerable cheeks, and struck with a loud splat. He yowled and jerked in his bonds; his little dick flipped up and down by the movement. With fire in her eyes, Tanisha landed blow after blow, working higher and lower to achieve an even coloration. The tender region began to change hue at once, from pale pink to hot pink to red to deep crimson. He quaked and wailed and shed the predicted tears, some of which rolled into the corners of his mouth so he could taste their saltiness. Clark hollered and thrashed, all to no avail. At last, after three dozen solid strokes, she stopped and stood there, panting a bit herself, the look of the confident victor on her dark sweat-sheened features. Her heavy breasts rose and fell. She said casually, between deep breaths, "There now, Candy. That wasn't so bad. Was it?" When there wasn't an immediate response she repeated, with a snarl, "Was it?" Staunching his tears, if only for the moment, Clark had the good sense to understand what she wanted and say, "No, Ma'am. It wasn't bad. Thank you. Thank you very much." After that how could he thank her further? And for what? He improvised, "For giving me what I needed." Just to be sure, he added, "And what I deserved." "Good girl, Candy, but you should use a more feminine voice. That's what sissies do. Because they want to be girly in every way." Pitching his voice higher and making is softer, he said, "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry, Ma'am. I wasn't thinking." And just for good measure he went on with, "I'm so stupid. Such a stupid... sissy." It hurt to use that word about himself. But she had him running scared, anxious in the extreme to mollify her, expecially now that he had felt her wrath and, judging from how sore his backside was, would be feeling it for at least 24 hours. "Now," she considered thoughtfully, "as a reward I could let you play all those other games you said would be so much fun for you, Candy. I know you'd love to do that." Obediently, he said, "Yes, Ma'am. Yes, Tanisha. That would be delightful." It was unsettling to hear himself speaking in that girlish way, but the pain in his rear end was more persuasive than whatever was left of his male pride. "But you know, you still look too macho. I might get scared, having such a tough looking stud working on my ass with his mouth, like a pig hunting for truffles. Maybe we should just skip all that pussy eating and armpit nuzzling and ass munching." She gave him brief seconds of false hope before ruining it by deciding, "But if I made you look like the sugary sissy you are inside, then you wouldn't be so intimidating." Clark had never intimidated anyone in his life. He couldn't have done It to even a kitten or a puppy, which Tanisha took for granted, but it was amusing for her to manipulate his emotions the way she was doing. "So let's take you to that convenient make-up table over there and give you a new face. Okay?" "Oh, yes," he assured her with false enthusiasm. "That would be... perfect." "That's my weak-willed wussy," Tanisha said, acknowledging that she had him playing an unwanted role. She began to unfasten his bonds in reverse order. When he was free she advised him, "Now remember that if you don't think I'm making you look like enough of a sissy, you can always politely request me to go even further. Right?" In a high airy voice he said, "I'm sure you'll do a super job. But if I think of any way to make it... to make me... look like an even bigger sissy, I'll tell you for certain." He gave her a smile that couldn't quite hide the trepidation he had inside, and even clapped his hands lightly to produce muted sissy applause. "I'm going to be soooo pretty. Ma'am." Still using the leash, but holding it high to signal that he didn't have to go down on hands and knees this time, she led him the short distance to the table and chair. He sat down primly and crossed his ankles, remembering tips Carmella had given him. He had sometimes been lackadaisical about following them but now tried to remember every one and use it as if his ass depended on the results. Considering the way it felt when he sat, how very sore his butt was, he conceded that his ass DID depend on them. Tanisha was suddenly a different person. Her nimble fingers held the various cosmetics and applied them with expertise. There was a mirror facing Clark and he marveled at the changes she wrought in his appearance. With every application of foundation, blush, shadow, liner, lashes, and lipstick, his face morphed until it was unrecognizable to him. He was seized by an unsettling sense of loss of identity. What had been said to him earlier, about how he was truely a sissy deep down inside, returned to him now. Could it be true? Was this his real self, waiting to be tapped into, awoken, and allowed to take over? The possibility horrified him. Without speaking them out loud he thought the words, "I don't want to be a sissy. I don't want to be a girl. I don't want to be a sissy." "It's all right," Tanisha said consolingly, as if understanding his inner concerns. She even put her hand on his bare shoulder. Her tone was understanding as she said, "Looking so sexy-cute will be worth it if it makes me like you. And want you. And be able to enjoy you." She moved herself further into his line of vision. Her body language had changed. She was holding herself almost... seductively. Tanisha's finger touched his chin and then trailed lower, onto his unhirsute chest, and across one nipple. It lingered, tantalizing him though he had no hope of it leading to fulfillment of his needs. After all, his own wife wouldn't allow him to be her sexual partner, only her sexual slave. He had to perform the unpleasant task of serving her orally several times a week, his only reward the proximity he was granted to her magnificent body. When Carmella was feeling generous she would give his little dick a few peremptory stokes with her soft warm hand, bringing him to the edge of completion almost at once, but then stopping and leaving him with aching balls. About once a month she woud begin the process and by then he was so needy and overly ready that even her minimal ministrations were enough and he spurted his meager output. This time, however, he wasn't going to receive more than limited teasing. Tanisha was amazingly desirable. Her generous curves left him feeling weak. Despite the recent assault on his buttocks he found himself craving her. At the same time, his feminized state and general helplessness made him feel unworthy and insufficient. The mental conflict between those two currents of thought was disabling. Still, her turnaround -- the show of tenderness -- put him under a spell and made him eager to please her. But the things she wanted him to do, that he had agreed to under a misapprehesnsion, were repugnant to him. Clark didn't know what was happening to his mind. He looked into the mirror at the reflection of her dark confident face with its show of care for him, and at his own face, now hard to identify as himself. That was when she said, "All right, pretty girl. Time for the bedroom." She undid his collar and set it aside, then took him by the hand and led him, as if he was in a trance, to another of her personal spaces, this one with a wide bed in the middle, dim lighting, and a dozen 12X18 pictures of her arranged on the walls. There were a few other pieces of furniture around the perimeter, in the shadows. Wherever Clark turned he saw the picures and her eyes in them, turned in his direction, as if evaluating him. She slipped out of her vest and top, removed the boots, and shed her slacks. Naked she was even more desirable than before. Tanisha gave him a salacious leer and pushed him back onto the bed. He shivered like a reluctant virgin bride on her wedding night but the powerful woman was not deterred. His tremulousness excited her. She got onto the bed and moved toward him. Suddenly he was pinned under her superior weight and she was moving her pussy toward his face. Those heavy firm breasts were gorgeous. He wanted to touch them. But she was mounting his face, at the same time reminding him of what was expected. Her musky scent made him dizzy. He obediently extended his tongue and began to put it to good use. She sighed and repositioned herself to give him the maximum access to the center of her sexuality. He wanted to grab her wide soft hips but didn't have the nerve to do it. From there they went through everything she had talked about, alternating the acts and mixing in some others, with him worshipping her body constantly. Two hours and several orgasms (hers only) later she was sated and his ego was permanently damaged. The combination of his naturally weak and introverted personality, his wife Carmella feminizing him and gradually eroding his willpower, and now this traumatic encounter, all united to break him down and prepare him for all the further conditioning yet to come. Clark would still put up a fight, if only in his own mind, but Tanisha knew he would be like clay for her to mold into something new and then set permanently into its fresh form. She put her boots back on and was gratified to observe how closely he watched as she did it. "Let's get you into your sleepwear," she said lazily. "Go over to that dresser and bring me what's on top. I'm sure you'll love what I've picked out for you, Candy." It was automatic by then for him to answer, "Yes, Ma'am." On the dresser were a pair of lavender thong panties, a filmy baby-doll nightie in the same color, and a stiff leather posture collar. She had him remove the panties, stockings, and bra that his wife had made him wear. He slipped into the new panties, aware of their silkiness as he slid them up his smooth legs. Their gusset held his small genitals snugly against his body. Then he put the nightie over his head and shimmied to work it down over him. The light material brushed against his receptive nipples. Those two garments together made him feel so... girly. But there was still that unpleasant looking posture collar to don. He held it up and saw that it was hinged on one side and opened on the other. There was a simple hasp and, as he closed the circle of leather he automatically fitted that together as well. The device forced him to hold his chin up at an unnatural angle, adding to his sense of being controlled. Tanisha deftly slipped a small padlock through the fastening mechanism and clicked it shut. She said, "I'm sure you want to thank me for giving you these pretty- pretty things to sleep in, Candy. Why don't you give me a goodnight kiss?" Really? She would allow that? He was seized by the need to do what she wanted, to perhaps begin shifting their relationship to something less harsh and more intimate. Clark went up on his toes and puckered his lips but she placed a fingertip on the end of his nose. "Not like that, sweet child. Not after where your mouth has been. No, what you should kiss to demonstrate your gratitude is my boots." He didn't want to do that but the muscles in his legs seemed to go limp and he sank to his knees, then put his hands on the floor so that his face was directly in front of those two columns of polished leather. The collar made it difficult but he turned his face down and pressed his lips to the toe of one boot and then the other, after which he went back and forth repeating the obescience several times. From there he worked his way up, kissing and even daring to lick -- because it seemed to be the proper thing to do -- her footwear. His adulation continued, despite the hampering collar and the knowledge of how he was demeaning himself. He didn't care. For some reason he couldn't understand, he had to do this. His little dick tingled. She watched him contentedly, pleased that he had fallen into such a submissive state so quickly. Tanisha was a great proponent of 'Break Them and Remake Them'. When he impulsively clutched one boot with both hands and fervently lapped his way up and down its front, she rewarded him by raising the toe a full inch off the floor. He had to lay flat to do what he felt compelled to do next, but he got onto his belly so he could take the tip of the boot into his mouth and suck it eagerly. She let him humble himself that way for several minutes before snapping her fingers and pointing to the other boot, which made him immediatly switch to that one for more of the same. In an amused tone she commented, "Maybe I shouldn't call you Candy. Perhaps your name should be Bootlover. You could take care of my boots when I'm not wearing them. I have quite a few pair. And your job would be to polish them. It could be kind of like a 'spit polish' but not exactly. More of a 'lick polish', with you slobbering all over them before you use the rag and buffer to bring the leather to a high sheen." The domineering woman kept him at his task for a while longer before she told him, her voice cool but commanding, to stop for a moment. Tanisha strolled away, went to the vanity, turned the chair around, and sat her plump bottom on it. She crossed her ankles and curled one finger at Clark, pointing with the other hand toward her feet. He understood and squirmed across the floor without rising at all. When he was close enough he began to slurp his tongue over the sole of one boot like a starving man. He held her ankle and rubbed his cheek against the wet surface, then demonstrated his adulation further by sucking the heel. The dominant woman let him continue obsessing over her footwear, observing his body language, and calculating his appetite. When she decided that he was almost sated but still wanted a little more, she pulled her feet away. He had both been given enough time to prove that she had made inroads into controlling his mind, but not given enough to satisfy this new and perverse hunger. Finally she ordered him to his feet. He got up shakily, eyes wide, the enormity of everything that had happened in such a short time still sinking in. Maybe he was trying to deny some of what had occured, to reassert his self image, but there was only a slim chance of him succeeding. Tanisha was an expert. At her direction he got into bed and she gently pulled the sheet up to the middle of his chest. Then she went to the dresser, opened the drawer, and took something out. When she came back she was carrying two slender cuffs, which she fastened around his wrists. Then she drew each hand up to one side of his neck and clipped the cuffs to small rings on the sides of his collar. "There you go, Candy. Nice and secure. After all, we wouldn't want you touching yourself in inappropriate ways. Nice girls don't do that. Do they?" "N... no, M... Ma'am," Clark replied with a stutter that his Mistress found charming. "So try not to think about all that sex stuff we did. It might get you hot and bothered. In fact, let me help you to develop your self control. I'll touch you myself -- just a bit, of course -- and you practice resisting how it might make you feel." Her fingertips went to Clark's sensitive nipples and began to toy with them. He moaned and shifted his hips around. While keeping one hand busy on his chest she lowered the other and began to play lightly with the crotchband of his panties and what was underneath it. He whimpered and raised his hips. She drew her hand up the same distance that he had risen, so that she wasn't touching him any harder than she had been. He dropped his pelvis and she lowered her hand, continuing the maddening contact but again not increasing hit. Tanisha leaned down over her victim and whispered in his ear, "Doesn't this feel lovely, Candy? Wouldn't you like to have me do more? To lick your ears and face, suck on your nipples, roll your little balls on the palm of my hand? Hmmmm? Wouldn't that be so nice? And make you feel so good? Maybe even cause you to squirt your jizz into your panties. But we don't want your panties to get all messy, do we? I mean, you couldn't change them with your hands trapped the way they are. So it's better if I just give you some more of this fun foreplay and then leave you to dream about what else I MIGHT have done for you." She chuckled, blew in his ear and made him shiver, played with him for another quarter hour, letting her fingertips roam over every part of him, making sure to slip and slide the material of his nightie against his skin, and finally standing up to smile down at him. Clark writhed on the sheets, desperate for even one more second of stimulation. In a quivering voice he said, "You told me earlier that if I thought of any more ways for you to... to make me g... girly, that I should tell you. I think I saw a pretty bow on the dresser. And my wife has been letting my hair get longer. So if you wanted to, Ma'am, you could clip that pretty bow to the t... top of my h... head." Why was he saying that? He didn't want to look even less like a guy. But he was desperate to please her and make her maybe be a bit kinder, or even touch him for another minute or two. She smiled inscutably -- he wished he was better at reading women -- got the bow and attached it to his hair. In his softest most feminine voice he thanked her. From the dresser she next took an atomizer and sprayed the air above the bed, letting the flowery perfume waft down and settle over him, his sleepwear, and the sheet. Without a word she replaced the bottle where it had been and went to the door. He ogled her wide shapely bottom and made a sad mewling sound of desire unfulfilled, a sound Tanisha fully expected to hear on a daily basis. And speaking of days, she turned to give him a piece of news. "I'm sure we'll have lots more fun together, Candy. But remember that there'll have to be plenty of punishments mixed in. Some of the time I'm going to have to be very mean to you. Still, everything will work out in the end. Plus, there's no rush. Your wife signed you up for the full course. Three months. Wasn't that generous of her?" Three months? Clark was in instant shock. He had to take several breaths before he could find his voice. Sounding like a frightened schoolgirl, he whispered, "Three months." Slightly louder, he told Tanisha, "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sure it will be... g... g... good. All of it. Even the p... pun... punishments." "That's my sugardrop sissy. Have sweet dreams about me, Candy." As she turned away he gazed at her backside again and panted softly. Twelve weeks under her unforgiving tuteledge would feel like forever. He was afraid but also eager. And he knew without being told that the changes she had already made in him were only the first steps in a much larger and more extreme transformation. All those things they had said shortly after he arrived, about how he was really a sissy underneath, just waiting to be brought to a full bloom, replayed in his mind. Was it true? Or was he actually a normal guy who was going to have his personality twisted and reshaped into that of a pansy, returned to his wife as a simpering slave, and always feel disgraced by his emasculation? Would he have to mince and prance around to fulfill her every whim? Be her pliant, and perhaps even eager, living sex toy? Her servant? Or more appropriatly, her maid, in a maid's outfit? He told himself, you'll just have to wait and see... Candy. ********* (Is this the same Tanisha who was in my story BABY GINA? I'm not sure. There was a request for the earlier version to return, so...) (And what about that 'boot' scene? Was that written for someone in particular? If so, who might it be?) (Thanks to Sissy Jeannie for adding some reviews of my previously posted work. Alway appreciate learning what readers thought of those earlier efforts.)