Shoplifter (Part 1 Of 3) free porn video

SHOPLIFTER (Part 1 of 3) By Lisa Lovelace Back when I was still a boy, I was a grad student in history at State U. Like all grad students, I was broke. I couldn't afford to buy the ladies' underthings I secretly liked to dress up in. So I stole them. Always from the same place: Dullard's, a locally owned, old-fashioned department store in decline. Their security was weak, no doubt due to staffing cuts and lack of investment. They usually had a clerk at the women's dressing rooms to check items in and out, but not at the men's. The store had security mirrors but no cameras, and the mirrors had blind spots. None of the merchandise had RFID tags. It was a shoplifter's paradise. The first time, I stole a pair of panties. The next time, it was a bra and a half slip. A lipstick. A full slip and another pair of panties. A little black dress and a pair of pantyhose. This time, I planned to go for a major haul. I picked up a basket and shopped with a purposeful air, not lingering. In Intimates, I picked out a pair of panties, a bra, a slip, a garter belt and stockings. In Dresses, I found a pretty rayon frock, white polka dots on black, ooh la la. In Shoes, a round-toe pump with a cute little kitten heel. I entered the unguarded men's changing room from its less visible side, chose the next-to-last stall at the back, and closed the curtain. I quickly stripped off my sport coat, dress shirt and baggy chinos and put on the panties, bra, garter belt and stockings. I pulled the slip and then the dress down over my body, and hurriedly stuffed them into my pants. I doffed my shirt and jacket over the female attire. In the mirror, my clothes looked slightly bulky, but not so much so as to draw attention. I picked up the basket, which still contained the cute shoes, and left the dressing room. I went through checkout and, since I couldn't hide or wear them out of the store, I actually paid for the shoes, making me look less suspicious. Three hundred dollars' worth of clothes for fifty bucks was still a deal. Of course it was embarrassing to be buying women's shoes, but the salesgirl didn't even look up. I picked up the bag containing the shoebox, ostentatiously displaying my receipt, and strolled toward the exit. "Excuse me, sir," said a voice behind me. I turned. An attractive black female security guard approached. "Please come with me, sir. I need to ask you some questions." "Is this absolutely necessary, ma'am?" I said. "I have to get back to work for an important meeting." "After doing a little shoe shopping first. Please come with me, sir." She blocked my exit. To escape, I would have to back up and try to evade her, and she looked like she didn't intend to let me pass. The last thing I wanted was to make a scene. I started to panic. I had the horrible feeling I was busted. Could I escape? She looked athletic and was taller than me. I wasn't much to look at, macho-wise. She steered me towards an unmarked door. "In here, sir. It won't take a minute." She closed the door behind me, and I heard a click that suggested she'd locked it. I was trapped. "You're walking oddly, sir, as if you've stuffed something under your clothes," the guard said. "I'm afraid I need to frisk you." "Because of the way I walk? I can't help it. I have a nerve condition," I lied. "Or maybe you just have a lot of nerve," she said. She frisked me and immediately discovered the stolen panties, bra, slip, dress, garter belt and stockings. "Well, well, well," she said. "Looks like I've caught me a panty thief." "It's not what it looks like!" I said desperately. "It's for a fraternity initiation..." "I don't care if it's for your senior prom, miss," she said with a smirk. "This store has private procedures to handle shoplifters. Especially panty thieves." She whipped out a pair of handcuffs and locked my hands in front of me. "Surely," I said, "there's no need for -" "There's every need, miss. You're going to meet Mrs. Orderly. You'll love Mrs. Orderly. You'd better love Mrs. Orderly! Are you thirsty?" "A little, but -" She handed me a cup of water. "Here." I drank. I heard her say, "Sweet dreams, panty thief," before I blacked out. ~ ~ ~ When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in a windowless room with concrete-block walls painted pink. I was still handcuffed. My head felt foggy. My male clothes were gone. I was wearing a bra with breast forms and a slip. My waist was crushed by something way too tight. I reached down and found I was wearing some sort of waist cincher and white satin panties. These weren't the clothes I'd stolen. A female security guard - not the one in the store - stood on the far side of the room, next to a small desk and chair in front of a door in the wall. She wore a black uniform with trousers, had a Taser on her belt and carried a riding crop. "Where am I?" I said. "What happened?" "Shut the fuck up," she said. There was a small pillow on the desk. She dropped it on the floor in front of the desk. "Kneel," she said, swishing her crop in the air. Not wanting to find out how painful the crop would be, I knelt, ashamed to submit to her. She rapped on the door. A mature woman with a kindly face and an old- fashioned hairstyle entered, closed the door behind her and sat behind the desk. She was wearing an outfit similar to the guard's, but with a knee-length skirt instead of trousers. She, too, carried a crop, but no Taser. "I am Mrs. Orderly, the headmistress here," she said. "You tried to steal clothing from one of the merchants that use our service. You will now experience the consequences. This is not a jail. It is a private facility. You will stay here and work to compensate us for your theft." She paused. "And because you stole girls' clothes, we're going to treat you as a girl while you're here. What's your first name?" "Lance," I said. "Starting with L. Hmm... instead of Lance, your name will be Lisa. Use your boy name again and you'll be punished. What is your name, sweetie?" "Lance! Lance Wilcox." They couldn't change my name! Mrs. Orderly glanced at the guard. The guard approached and gave me a sharp spank with her crop. The slip and panties I wore absorbed almost none of the force. "Ow! That hurts!" I said, rubbing the line of fire across my rear. The guard raised her crop, ready to strike again. "Of course it hurts. What's your name, dear?" Mrs. Orderly said. "Lance!" The guard struck me again. "What's your name, little one?" Mrs. Orderly said. I gave up. "Lisa," I said. "And are you a boy or a girl, Lisa?" "I'm a boy." Another burning smack. I yelped. "Lisa isn't a boy's name. Are you a boy or a girl?" Mrs. Orderly said. "Please, ma'am! I can't help being a boy." The crop struck again. I howled in pain. "What are you, Lisa?" Mrs. Orderly said. They would keep spanking me until I gave them the answer they wanted. "A... a girl," I said, feeling utterly humiliated. "That's right," she said. "You're a girl now, and your name is Lisa. You're wearing appropriate underwear now, but we're going to make you so much prettier. Makeup, perfume, a petticoat, a dress, stockings and heels. If you damage or refuse to wear anything we give you to wear, you'll be punished. If you resist in any way, you will be punished. If you try to escape, you'll be severely punished. No girl like you has ever escaped from here." I gulped. "While you're here, you'll work to pay off the cost of the clothes you tried to steal. When you've paid the entire cost, we'll take you back to the store where you were caught and let you go. You'll be free to go to the police, but they won't be able to help you, because you won't be able to tell them anything useful. You don't know where you are. You don't know who we are. You don't even know if you're still in the U.S." Yikes. I was scared now. "I will take you to the workroom. The girls there are all like you. The prefect is Miss Madison, and she will be in charge of you and see that you are properly dressed and trained." Mrs. Orderly opened a different door and led me into a much larger room. It, too, was windowless and made of concrete blocks painted pink. The overhead lights were bright but did not glare. The workroom held two long rows of tables with stools next to them. On the stools sat girls wearing old-fashioned dresses with snug bodices and full, calf-length skirts. Over their dresses they wore frilly white cotton smocks with big patch pockets. All of them had their hair in pigtails. They lifted their heads to look at me, but did not speak. One girl had a ball gag in her mouth. Another was wearing a little girl's pale pink party dress in her size, with a matching lace-trimmed bonnet. I assumed they were being punished. They were all hand-sewing strips of white lace onto the seats of white panties. I could not imagine why. It was one of the weirdest and silliest scenes I'd ever seen. It made me stiff. At the head of the rows of tables was a large desk. On it sat an old- fashioned manual typewriter. Behind it sat a girl wearing the same kind of dress as the others, but no smock. She had a gold badge pinned to her bodice. Another black-uniformed female guard in trousers with a Taser and riding crop slowly circled the tables where the girls worked. "Miss Madison, here's another panty thief for you," Mrs. Orderly said, pushing me into the room. "Her name is Lisa." She drew back. "Thank you, ma'am," said Miss Madison. She stared at me. "Come here, Lisa." "What is this place?" I said. The girls around the table froze. I heard a few gasps. "No talking in the workroom, Lisa," Miss Madison said. "Do it again and you'll be gagged, like bad little Fifi over there. Come here." I walked up to her desk. Did not speak. "You're only half-dressed, Lisa," she said. "Did you forget to put on your dress this morning? No petticoat? No stockings, no shoes?" She tsked. "We can't have that here! Let's get you properly dressed." She opened a door in the wall and led me into a side room filled with racks and cabinets of clothing, supply cabinets, a large vanity and a shower enclosure. "Strip," she said. I shed the lingerie I was wearing. She started the shower, handed me a bottle of Nair and told me to rub it all over my body. She helped, smearing it over my back and butt, and made me wait for a few minutes before I got into the shower. When I wiped a washcloth over my skin, my hair came off and washed down the drain. I scrubbed and rinsed off my entire body and was embarrassed to emerge from the shower all pink and hairless. I dried myself with a large pink towel. "Put on your panties, bra, garter belt, stockings, slip and waist cincher. Be sure to run your garters under your panties," she said. "What men's shoe size are you?" "Seven, Miss," I said. She handed me a pair of black patent Mary Janes with two-inch heels. "These should fit. Buckle them on before I do up the cincher - it'll be hard to bend over." I dressed as instructed, and then winced as she drew the cincher tighter and tighter around my waist. It hurt! My body wasn't designed to wear this. I gasped for air. "Almost there," Miss Madison said. After a final yank, she wrapped the cords around my waist and tied them in a double knot in front. "It hurts, Miss!" I said. "The price of beauty," she said. "Worth paying in your case. I can already tell you're going to be a cutie." She had me pull on a very full taffeta petticoat half an inch shorter than the dress. It made a tantalizing frou-frou sound as I swished it around my hips. She inserted dense foam breast forms into the cups of my bra. Over my head and down my arms she drew an extremely feminine pink gingham dress with a white collar, snug bodice and a full skirt that slid smoothly over the petticoat. She covered the dress with a frilly white sewing smock like the others wore, did up its two buttons high on my back and fluffed it out around my skirts. "There," she said. "Much nicer." I gritted my teeth. "Thank you, Miss," I said, and made my best attempt at a curtsy. "You'll learn to curtsy a lot better than that, but it's a start. One more thing." She took a rhinestone bracelet out of the vanity drawer and clipped it around my left wrist. It fit snugly. "Thank you, Miss Madison," I said. "It's pretty." "It's not just pretty," she said. "It's a GPS tracker, and you can't remove it. If you ever go missing, we'll find you almost instantly. You can't escape, Lisa." "I wasn't planning to try, Miss," I said. "Good, because you'd fail. Let's finish you off." My hair was too short to be a girl's, so Miss Madison fitted me with a brunette wig, brushed it into pigtails and tied them with white ribbon bows. She made up my face, and explained what she was doing as she went along. She made me put red nail polish on my fingers and toes. My effort was far from perfect, especially what my left hand did to my right hand, but she said it would have to do for now. When I was all girlied up, Miss Madison walked back into the workroom. "Tina! Come show Lisa what to do." One of the girls, a cute little blonde with pigtails that hung down to her shoulders, stood and curtsied. She shyly entered the side room and closed the door behind her. "We can talk in here," she said quietly. "Thank God! What is this place?" I said. "We don't know," Tina said. "We call it the Pink Prison, but don't let Madison or Mrs. Orderly hear you call it that." "Why are you all sewing lace onto panties?" I asked. "We sew lace onto panties because it's the only way we'll ever get out of here. I'll show you." She opened one of the supply cabinets and handed me a spool of white thread, a needle, a wrist pincushion, a thimble, a box full of white panties, a spool of white ruffled lace, and a pair of blunt-ended child's scissors. She showed me how to thread a needle, cut a strip of white lace to fit across the seat of a panty, pin the lace in place, and hand-stitch it to the seat of the panty. Three rows of lace on each panty. Stitches less than an eighth of an inch long. "Each panty you finish is a dollar off your debt," Tina said. "Your debt is the price of the clothes you stole, plus two hundred dollars for the seamstress outfit and lingerie you're wearing, which you get to keep. You also pay six dollars a day for room and board. If you're quick, you can stitch a row of lace in ten minutes and finish two panties an hour. At that rate, you'll be reducing your debt by about a dollar an hour." I'd tried to steal something like two hundred and fifty dollars' worth of clothes. That, plus two hundred for my outfit, meant I faced months in this sunless prison, maybe longer if I did anything to increase my debt. For all practical purposes, I'd been kidnapped, and now I had to earn my ransom. At a dollar an hour. I tried to think who would be the first to notice I was missing and what, if anything, they would do about it. Even if someone was looking for me, where would they look? For all I knew, I could be in a Mexican desert, or on a Caribbean island, or the Canadian tundra. These rooms could even be underground. "A six-hour day?" I said. "What do you do the rest of the time?" Tina looked down in embarrassment. "Girl School," she said. "What's Girl School?" "What we do every day before dinner, from three to six. Dress, deportment, curtsying, heels training, dancing, dildo play..." "Dildo play?" "Oh, yes," she said. "Down your throat and up your sissy pussy. To loosen us up." I had no idea what to say to that. A bell rang. "Lunch," Tina said. "Take my hand." She led me back to the workroom. I belatedly noticed that all the girls wore a rhinestone bracelet like mine. She pointed me to an empty stool. I sat and put down my sewing gear. A bell rang. Without a word, all the girls put away the panties they'd been stitching. A double door in one of the walls opened and four girls emerged carrying plates of food. They served each of the seated seamstresses a paper plate containing a tuna salad sandwich, an apple and a small salad, with a tall plastic glass of water, a plastic fork and a paper napkin. We ate in the same spot we worked. Would I have to sit on the same stool all day? It was just a little too tall to be comfortable. We ate lunch in silence. I sensed that the other girls - other? I wasn't a girl! - were checking me out. I had a million questions. I wished we could talk! A bell rang, and the four serving girls returned to take away the remains of lunch. They were different from us. They wore sturdy rubberized aprons instead of the frilly sewing smocks that we wore, and on the whole were bigger and less feminine, though they, too, were boys dressed as girls. I found out later that the servers were panty thieves who couldn't or wouldn't be taught to sew, and instead did the cooking, cleaning, laundry and other chores for all the inmates. I wondered how many panty thieves this private prison held. How many boys tried to steal girls' clothes and got caught? It was no consolation to think I wasn't the only one. After lunch, we each got out our sewing gear and resumed sewing strips of ruffled lace onto the seats of the panties. I'd never sewn before and felt slow and clumsy. The hard part was making my stitches tiny enough. My first panty took me more than an hour to finish. I saw that when a girl finished a panty, she held it above her head and Madison the prefect came to inspect it. Usually she handed it back with a nod, but sometimes she would find a flaw in the stitchery. When she did, she gave the seamstress a slap on the head and threw the offending panty at her, telling her what to fix. If the corrected panty failed a second inspection, Madison threw it in a rubbish bin, made the seamstress bend over and gave her three strokes of the crop. I would find out later that each discarded panty cost the seamstress ten dollars, and that the girls were convinced Madison sometimes discarded perfectly good panties just to punish someone she didn't like. The work session after lunch seemed interminable. I looked around the room for a clock, but didn't see one. At long last, a bell rang. All the girls put away their work, rose and took the hand of the girl next to them. Tina took mine, grasping it tightly. Madison led the column of couples through the servers' double doors. To the left was the kitchen, where we could see the serving girls washing pots and cleaning counters, while to the right stretched another hallway. The first room down the hallway had a double door. Madison opened it, and the rest of us paraded inside. I felt weird holding hands with another boy, even one as cute as Tina. Her hands were soft. She smelled nice. This room was the size of the workroom, but had a wooden dance floor and a wall of mirrors, like a dance studio, though there was no barre. Madison closed the door behind us, and the girls all let go of each other's hands. Tina gave my hand a squeeze first. We all took off our sewing smocks, hung them on a row of hooks on the wall, and stood in a long line facing the mirrored wall. I looked at myself. It was a humiliating sight. In my dress and pigtails, I looked just like everyone else - except that I was cuter than most of them. As a boy, I'd never much thought about how I looked, but as a girl, I realized that looks were important. They were one of the ways girls competed with each other. Mrs. Orderly entered the room and faced us. "Good afternoon, girls," she said. "Good afternoon, Headmistress," they all replied and curtsied. I hastily did the same. "Today, girls, you will divide into three groups. Let's go back to basics. First group will practice Standing and Walking. Second group will practice Sitting and Skirt Management, including Curtsies - that one was a bit ragged. Third group will practice the Waltz. Prefect Madison, please get the girls started while I explain things to our new girl." She took me aside and spoke quietly. "Every afternoon," she told me, "we have Girl School, with lessons in femininity. We've found that Girl School improves girls' behavior and reduces the number of punishments they get. If you find it humiliating, be aware that the humiliation is part of your punishment for being a panty thief." I winced. "There are any number of rules you can be punished for breaking. I want to make sure you're familiar with the most important ones, starting with: No talking in the workroom, except to answer a direct question from Mrs. Orderly or me. Anyone heard talking or whispering is gagged for the rest of the day, including mealtimes." I hated this rule. When women knitted or embroidered together, they chattered constantly - why couldn't we? She said we weren't allowed to walk anywhere alone. We had to hold hands with another girl - our Bed Buddy, if no one else was available - anytime we left a room, even if we just needed to go to the bathroom. Walking outside of a room without holding hands would get you three swats with the paddle. Repeat offenses meant you and your Bed Buddy would be cuffed together on a three-foot chain for a day. If your makeup was sloppy, you got a swat and, worse, a makeup lesson from Miss Madison instead of free time after dinner. New girls like me had a week's grace, but after that I would be expected to have perfect makeup at all times. I would have to start carrying a purse for my makeup and grooming tools, and checking my face regularly in my compact mirror. Any boyish behavior or gesture - for example, running, walking too quickly, shouting or, heaven forbid, fighting - was punished by making the offender wear an extra petticoat every day for a month. There was no limit to the number of petticoats a girl could be required to wear. A few girls had broken the rule so often that they had to dress in five or six petticoats every morning, and the skirt of their dress stood out horizontally from their waistline like a tutu. So embarrassing! Girls who had to wear extra petticoats also had to pay for them. Forty more panties added to their debt. Forty more panties to sew. Then there was the punishment dress. Madison could order any girl to put on the punishment dress and wear it for the rest of the day. She could do this for almost any reason, and seemed to use it to harass girls who were out of her favor. The punishment dress was in an adult size any of us could wear, but looked like a five-year-old's party dress. It was made of pink organdy with big puff sleeves, a Peter Pan collar, a bodice embroidered with kittens, a high waistline with a sash that tied in back, a full skirt that barely covered the wearer's panties, and a fluffy petticoat that made the dress hard to control. With it went a lace-trimmed pink bonnet with a stiff poke that limited the wearer's visibility. The other girls would tease whoever wore the punishment dress and talk to her as if she was a five-year-old, all cutesy and sweet. Sometimes they made the wearer suck on a pacifier or her thumb. It was a rare day that passed without Madison telling someone to put it on. A lot of the rules seemed pointless, except as a way to humiliate us. They should have made me angry, but instead they cowed me into submission. I would do almost anything to avoid being spanked or humiliated. "Now, about Girl School," she said. "There are a number of sessions to take. There is a Basic Deportment session that girls usually take first, but I'm waiting until we have another new girl or two to join you. So let's have you join Standing and Walking, and I'll observe you." I joined the seven or eight girls taking Standing and Walking. For the rest of the hour I learned, and the other girls were reminded, how women stand - seven basic positions, starting with feet together and hands folded in front - and how they walk. I was taught to shorten my stride, place my footsteps in a straight line, with my upper arms held against my body and my forearms slightly turned out, instead of swinging them back and forth like boys and gorillas did. I didn't quite get the knack of swiveling my hips. Mrs. Orderly worked with me on it and told me I'd need to practice. By the end of the hour, I understood some of the basic things boys needed to do in order to look and behave like girls. It explained why all the other seamstresses were so much more feminine and graceful in their movements than I was. For the second hour, the three groups rotated sessions, so that now my group worked on Sitting and Skirt Management. The way girls sat also turned out to be very different from how men did. Girls sat well forward, especially on upholstered furniture, so as not to sink into the cushions and have no ladylike way to get back up. Back very straight, not touching the back of the chair. Hands folded in lap. Knees together always. Ankles crossed and angled off to one side. We learned how to sit and rise gracefully, with a reminder to always smooth our skirts under us before we sat, and to smooth them over our legs and knees after we sat, to avoid wrinkling and to make sure our slip or petticoat didn't show. This led into Skirt Management. Since we were all wearing petticoats, we focused on when to wear them and when not to, and how to manage the sometimes unruly fullness they added to skirts. In the final hour, I learned how to dance the waltz. I didn't know any social dances like that, so I started from zero, but the rhythm was easy, and when the hour ended, I was able to do the basic step for the women's part and was learning how to follow my partner's lead. Madison danced with me, doing the man's part. I liked waltzing, and how it made my skirts swirl around me, and wondered what other social dances I might learn. It was the only pleasant part of my experience in this place so far. The bell rang. Girl School was over, and we had an hour and a half before dinner. I was exhausted, mostly from the physical strain of standing and walking and sitting and dancing the ways girls did, but also from the stress of having to cope with the strange new feminine world I now inhabited. I wanted to lie down, but didn't know what room I was in. I asked Miss Madison. "I'll have to look it up," she said, annoyed. She took my hand and walked me across the hall to her desk, where she opened a drawer full of paper files, leafed through them and found the one she wanted. "You're in room 24 on the second floor." "Thank you, Miss," I said. "Curtsy when you speak to me," she said. "Oh! Sorry, Miss," I said, and hastily curtsied. I found room 24. Tina was out. I hung my smock on a hook in the wall next to my bed, lay down and tried to sort out my thoughts. I was being punished for a crime for which I'd never been arrested, charged, tried or convicted. This was privatized justice, a cruel but cost-effective way of making shoplifters not only pay for the stolen goods, but do so in a way that took them off the street until their debt was paid and discouraged them from ever stealing again - without involving the police, courts or government in any way. No one would rescue me, because no one knew where I was. I had no idea who was holding me here. I didn't know how long I would be here. The only thing I knew was that it was run day-to-day by Mrs. Orderly, which was probably a fake name. I had no idea who was behind her. Presumably a large, well-financed organization with tight security and good lawyers. The weirdest part of it was the panty factory in the workroom. We were sewing ruffled lace onto the seats of something like two hundred and fifty pairs of panties a day, every day. Tens of thousands of panties a year. Why? It made no sense that I could see. Where did the panties go? Why did they make us sew by hand when it would faster and easier to do it by machine? Was it just make-work to humiliate panty thieves? We wore the ruffled panties, but they never came back from the laundry. Our panties were always brand-new. Why? The dinner bell rang. I got up and saw Tina hurrying down the hall. She grabbed my hand and led me back to the workroom, where we took our places. The double doors opened again and the serving girls brought out dinner: broiled chicken, mashed potatoes and overcooked broccoli, with tall glasses of water. We ate in silence, which I found vastly frustrating. The female guard slowly circled the tables, keeping an eye on us, sometimes prodding a girl in the back to make her sit up straight. Another bell rang. Dinner was over. The servers emerged from the double doors to clear the plates. Tina and I scurried upstairs to room 24. She sat on the other side of the double bed. "We share the bed?" I said. "Yes! You and I are Bed Buddies. Here, that means Best Friends Forever - for as long as we're here." She must have seen dismay in my face. "Don't worry! Being Bed Buddies doesn't mean we have to do anything in bed! Unless you want to." "No, thanks," I said. "You're really cute, but I prefer real girls." She pouted. "Well, you won't find any of those here! Aren't I cute enough for you?" She scampered to our closet and returned with two baby doll nightgowns, one pink and one baby blue. "I want the pink. You can have the blue." I changed out of my day dress into the baby doll. It was a humiliating garment, too sheer to hide what lay beneath it. Tina took one look and giggled. "You're supposed to keep your bra and panties on," she said. "I can see your tits and clit!" "I don't have tits, and it's not a clit!" I said. "It is here," she replied. "That's a rule. Don't call it anything else. If you do, Madison will make you go naked for a day and wear a sign around your neck and tie a pink ribbon in a bow around your clit." "What does the sign say?" I asked. "'I Have a Clit, And I'm Proud of It!' With arrows pointing down," she said. I shivered at the thought. I undressed, put on my bra and panties, and slid back into the skimpy nightie. Tina looked good in pink. She was adorable. Tempting. But she was a boy... "There, now we're Baby Doll Buddies!" she said. "Let's go find the other girls. They'll be in one of the bedrooms." "Why do you call yourselves girls when you're not?" I asked. "It's a rule," she said. "Girls. She. Her. Or five spanks and get your mouth washed out with soap." We slipped out the door and down the hallway. Passing a closed door, we heard chitchat and giggling on the other side. Tina knocked. A girl named Cookie opened the door and let us in, and squealed and hugged Tina as soon as the door was closed. Inside, we found what I'd always imagined girls' sleepovers were like: a bunch of friends crammed into one room, all wearing pretty nighties, laughing, chattering away a mile a minute and playing with each other's hair and makeup. I was taken aback. The silent, smock-shrouded seamstresses of the workroom had turned into a gaggle of girls all talking at once. Tina leaned over and kissed me on the lips. "First kiss!" she said. All the other girls promptly crowded around me to kiss me. Someone played with my nipples, which were sensitive enough to erect. Someone invaded my armpits. "First tickle!" I shrieked. I'm very ticklish, and I almost hyperventilated before the girls stopped. Cookie took a seat and beckoned to me. I walked over to her. She grabbed my wrist, pulled me down over her knees, and pulled my nightie up and my panties down. "First spank!" she said, and laid into me - ten swats too sweet to sting. The other girls all crowded round to watch and take a turn spanking me. They started spanking me harder, and my bottom turned bright pink. Eventually I started to cry. They stopped spanking me and made fun of me for being a crybaby. I couldn't win. I didn't know what to do. This morning, I'd been a young man going to college, and now I was a prisoner somewhere, dressed as a girl in a filmy nightgown and being harassed by a bunch of boys who were even girlier than I was. I wasn't like them yet. I wasn't shrieking and flapping my limp wrists and flipping my hair and bouncing my tits and shaking my ass. Not yet. After a couple of months of Girl School, though, I'd be a lot more like them. The thought made me stiff. A bell rang. The party dissolved instantly, as giggling pairs of girls in their nightgowns hurried down the hallway to their rooms. Tina closed the door behind us. I flopped onto my half of the bed, trying to catch my breath. "Get up, Lisa!" Tina said. "Beauty regimen! Makeup off, moisturizer on." "Yes, ma'am," I said with a sigh, and got up to do my feminine tasks. I realized our room had no screens: no TV, no computer, no phones, no Internet. We were cut off from the rest of the world. I realized that my universe now consisted of the girls in the workroom and the two people who controlled us: Mrs. Orderly and Miss Madison. There were the servers, too, but we never spoke to them or them to us. Tina turned off the light. We lay in the darkness. I listened to her breathe. I was afraid of touching her, but I must admit I was hoping she would touch me. We were both boys, but we were dressed and moisturized and smooth and scented like girls, and Tina was really cute. Even so, we did not touch each other that night. I'd never worn a baby doll before, and discovered the pleasure of rubbing my little nipples through the diaphanous fabric. The next day, we rose at seven, showered, and checked for and removed any unsightly hair. Tina helped me with my makeup and brushed out my wig and put it in pigtails. We dressed and buttoned each other into our smocks. Breakfast - oatmeal, ugh! - was at eight, and we started work at eight-thirty. I took my place near the foot of the table and started sewing strips of lace onto panties. The silence was disquieting, but it also had a soothing quality that was almost like being in a library, except of course we were all staring at ladies' knickers, not books. We stitched quietly until twelve-thirty, had lunch where we sat, and resumed working until three. I must admit I loved the feel of my clothes as I worked, the rustle of my petticoats, the hug of my bra, the tug of my garters. I liked the routine of pushing a needle through fabric. It was like meditation. My stitchery was already better than yesterday. Lace strip one, lace strip two, lace strip three, raise my hand, hold up the panties for Madison to inspect, hope she didn't reject them. The bell rang for Girl School. Tina found me and held my hand as we walked to the studio. Today's sessions were Using Your Hips, Heel Training and Foxtrot. I continued to struggle with my hips but made some progress. Heel training involved stumbling about in four-inch heels, twice the height of any shoes I'd worn, and my feet were on fire afterwards. Learning the foxtrot was fun, though we only learned a few of the basic steps. Dinner on my second night was vegetarian burgers, boiled potatoes and a salad. The party was in a different bedroom, Emma and Binky's, but it was much the same: constant chatter, giggles, and playing with hair and makeup. I realized that the girls played with their hair and makeup because it was all they had to play with. We had no TV, music, movies, games, phones, selfies or social media. We couldn't even do a fashion show, because we all wore the same style of dresses, and our nightwear and lingerie were all the same. The only things we had to play with were each other. Which we did. Even though we were boys underneath our panties with three strips of lace across the bottom. The curfew bell rang, and five minutes later, the lights went out. Tina's hand found mine and gave it a squeeze, and I returned it. The next night, we joined hands, and Tina reached across and gently tweaked my nipples. I got a jolt of pleasure. The next night, I played with her nipples. They were more sensitive than mine. I was jealous. The next night, we kissed while we played with each other's nipples. A few nights later, we gave each other hand jobs. I was dreadfully embarrassed, but we were Bed Buddies and BFFs, and we had no other outlet for our priapic urges. A few nights after that, Tina gave me a blowjob. And a few nights later, after she gave me another, I forced myself to return the favor. I didn't much care for it, but it wasn't as gross as I'd feared. I had no idea what I was doing, so Tina coached me. She begged me to fuck her in the ass, and I did, using a condom, of course. She managed to have an orgasm that way. She tried fucking me in the ass, but nothing happened. She had a noticeably small cock, even smaller than my unimpressive tool. I ended up on top most of the time and didn't mind. Fucking Tina was more pleasant than blowing her. As weeks passed, I felt myself becoming steadily more feminine in my body and behavior. My skin softened. The hair on my body dwindled, but the hair on my head grew thicker and faster. I had itchy bumps under my breast forms. I wondered if they were adding female hormones to our food. I became convinced of it as my breasts and bottom began to swell. It was alarming, but there was nothing I could do about it. I did start to fit my clothes better. I became proficient in doing my hair, even if it was still a wig, and my makeup. I got to know the rest of the girls. Almost all of them were paired off with their Bed Buddy, and the bedroom parties in our free hour at night split into a foreplay party and a non-foreplay party. Mrs. Orderly and Madison must have known that we were behaving the way genetic males often behave in prisons, but if so, they said and did nothing about it. After all, being fucked was a way to make us feel less manly, and we couldn't get pregnant. Toward the end of my third month, my emotions started getting the better of me. I was desperate for a change, desperate to do anything except sewing lace on panties. My body was turning female. My breasts were growing. I had crying jags. I was having trouble getting it up for Tina, and had to resort to blowjobs instead. The only silver lining was that I could stop wearing a wig. My hair was just long enough to style now, and Miss Madison made me an appointment with Jennifer, the girl who was best among us at hairdressing. She trimmed it lightly, brushed it back into pigtails and decorated them with bows. My pigtails weren't very impressive, but they were a lot cooler and more comfortable than the wig. Just after I got my hair done, there was another break in the empty routine of my days. We had visitors. A man and woman in expensive-looking clothing came to tour the workroom one day. Mrs. Orderly fawned on them as if they were royalty, calling them Sir and Madam. We girls didn't know who they were, but they were obviously important, so when Mrs. Orderly ordered us to line up, we hurried to obey. "Take off your smocks, girls," Mrs. Orderly said. This was unexpected - normally the rule was that girls always wore smocks in the workroom. We hastily removed them and quickly smoothed our dresses, tidied our pigtails and wished we had time to freshen our makeup. Mrs. Orderly walked Sir and Madam down the line, naming each of us to them in turn. I had the feeling that Sir's eyes lingered longer on me than most of the other girls. The three of them disappeared into the headmistress' office. An hour later, Mrs. Orderly called me in. "Sir and Madam have expressed interest in you, Lisa," she said, smiling. "They would like the pleasure of your company on Sunday evening at their house." "Me?" I said. "Why?" At their house. That's what she said. At their house. Not here. Somewhere else. A house, not a concrete box. Oh! I had to do this. "Sir expressed a particular interest in you," she said, "and they both would like to know you better." An alarm went off in my mind. "What kind of interest did he express, ma'am?" Mrs. Orderly looked me in the eyes. "The interest a mature gentleman might take in a pretty young girl." Uh-oh. "Does he know I, um, used to be a boy, ma'am?" "I mentioned it." "Is he gay, ma'am?" "He thinks you're cute as a girl," Mrs. Orderly said. "I said you would be happy to come. Wear your prettiest lingerie and nicest dress. No smock or apron. Your highest heels. I'll help with your makeup and hair." ~ ~ ~ That Sunday evening, I put on my prettiest frock, a maroon cotton day dress dotted with tiny pink flowers, and one petticoat. Mrs. Orderly gave me a cup of water. I sat down before drinking it. I knew I would pass out and have no idea where I was taken. This seemed to be standard for all trips to and from Pink Prison. I woke up on a fantasy bed in a fantasy room unlike any I'd ever seen. Its construction, d?cor and furnishings were pure Art Nouveau, all organic curves rather than rectilinear forms. It was a look I'd always admired, and here it was done to perfection. It looked original, not a reproduction. Madam was sitting in a fabulous armchair next to what looked like a Tiffany lamp. "Are you feeling well, Lisa?" she said. "Yes, Madam." I managed to curtsy. Less foggy than last time. "Do you like the room?" "It's beautiful, Madam. I love Art Nouveau. Alphonse Mucha posters..." "You know the style? I'm impressed. This house was built in 1900 by a wealthy man who let his wife dictate its style and d?cor. She had an unlimited budget and exquisite taste. Tiffany glass. Craftsman furniture by Tiffany, Greene and Greene, and Frank Lloyd Wright. A rare Gaudi bench. You are lying on a Louis Majorelle bed." I hastily scrambled off the bed and gave her a nice curtsy. "Yes, Madam." She smiled. "Do you know why you are here, Lisa?" "Um... I was told it was at your request, Madam." "Sir's request more than mine. He finds you attractive." I blushed and didn't speak. "To be frank, he would like to have sex with you. To be perfectly frank, so would I." "Oh! I didn't know that, Madam." "Now you do. Are you willing to have sex with us?" "In what way, Madam?" She was blunt. "Fellatio and anal intercourse with him, and cunnilingus with me afterwards." All my alarms went off. "Forgive me, Madam, but I don't know who you and Sir are. Why should I do this?" "The official answer is because Mrs. Orderly wants you to. But it's a reasonable question. Sir is a powerful man. I'm sorry I can't tell you his name. For a girl to be noticed by a man like him is a great honor. And I am a powerful woman. This may be your best chance to become more than you are now." "If I have sex with your husband, Madam, won't you be jealous?" She laughed. "I'd be jealous only if you were female. I don't care if he fucks sissy boys, as long as I bear his children." "I'm in your home, Madam," I said. "I'm completely in your power. At your mercy. If Sir wants me, he can just take me. Why are you asking for permission?" "Because he is showing what I must say is an uncharacteristic regard for your feelings," she said. "From your point of view, that's a good sign. If you are willing to accommodate him - both of us - it can only be to your advantage." I'd given and received a blowjob with Tina, so I could do that, and I'd penetrated her, but she had not successfully penetrated me. So I didn't know if I could achieve fulfillment that way. However, I very much liked the idea of drawing the attention of anyone powerful enough to get me out of Pink Prison. "Madam," I said, "if I completely satisfy you and your husband, is there any chance I could leave the place where you found me? I don't know where or what it is, but I don't like it, and I don't want to spend my life doing what they make me do there." She smiled. "You don't like sewing lace onto satin panties?" "Not at all, Madam. I would much rather serve you here." That was explicit enough! "We shall have to see what Sir thinks," she said. "If you are talented and creative and pleasing and perfectly submissive, it is not impossible." "Thank you, Madam. I'm eager to please you, and I'm completely at your command." "Are you? Kiss my feet." She kicked off her red-soled heels. I dropped to my knees and placed a kiss on each of her feet. I remained on my knees. "Very good, Lisa," she said, giving me a hand up. "Come with me. I will touch up your makeup and perfume you and lube you before you wait on Sir. You will find that he recovers quickly. Have you ever performed cunnilingus?" "No, Madam, I'm sorry." "Well, then I shall have to guide you. You won't be the first. When you're done with him, he'll fall asleep. Clean him with your tongue, cover him up and come to me." "Yes, Madam." I did myself proud that night, if proud is the right word. It was all quite humiliating, actually, but more than in the past, I found myself stirred and even aroused by my subjugation. I gave Sir an enthusiastic blowjob, doing exactly what he told me to do, and was rewarded, if rewarded is the right word, with a mouthful of his semen. I swallowed and sucked him dry. He lay back and allowed me to softly stroke his chest and legs, slowly zeroing in on his loins. I fluffed him with my mouth, and was impressed by how quickly he was ready to return to action. I got into doggie position and let him penetrate me, grateful that Madam had lubed me. He hit my sweet spot and brought me to the edge. Without pulling out, he flipped me onto my back with my ankles over his shoulders and slid back and forth over my pleasure point. I moaned. Oh oh oh! I shrieked as we both came at the same instant. I think his orgasm was more intense than mine, but mine lasted longer. When I recovered, I licked and sucked him clean. He was asleep by the time I drew the covers over him. I tiptoed out of his bedroom, adjusted my lingerie, and returned to Madam's room. "Success?" she asked. "Yes, Madam, on both counts." "Excellent. Now it's my turn." She was already aroused. My tongue found her clit, and after that it was easy. I brought her to three climaxes. The first one made her scream, the second one made her moan, and the last one made her purr. "Well done, Lisa," Madam said as she put on a silk robe. "Come with me." She led me down an amazing staircase, all curves and swirls and tracery, to an elegant foyer. "Sit." I obediently lowered myself onto a delicate loveseat. She handed me a glass of water. "I don't want to go back," I said. "Drink it," she said. "I'm not thirsty." "Drink it anyway, or we'll tell Mrs. Orderly you refused a direct order." I drank. In the moments before I lost consciousness, I wondered about Madam's words. "This may be your best chance to become more than you are now." It was true that I had nowhere to go but up. ~ ~ ~ I woke up on my half of the bed in room 24, wearing a baby doll. Someone had changed me out of my dress and put it away. Tina was sound asleep. I got up, drank a glass of water and went back to sleep. In the morning, Tina asked me where I'd been. I told her something at dinner disagreed with me and I spent most of the night in the bathroom down the hall, so as not to disturb her. Breakfast. Sewing lace onto panties. Lunch. Sewing lace onto panties. Girl School: Shoes, Eyeshadow, and Twerking. Afterwards, Mrs. Orderly pulled me aside. "See me after dinner," she said. "Yes, ma'am." Curtsy. Dinner. Meat loaf, roast yams, salad. I picked at it, too nervous to eat. What did Mrs. Orderly want? When the after-dinner bell rang, I saw her outside her office. She opened the door. I followed her inside. "Lisa, I'm pleased to tell you that you have repaid your debt," she said. "You're free to go." I was dumbfounded. "How can that be, ma'am?" I said. "I thought I still owed hundreds of panties." "The remainder of your debt has been forgiven," she said. "I have heard from Madam. She wishes to make you an offer." "Yes?" I felt my heart pound. Oh, I wish I wish I wish... "A position as a maid in her house." Happy happy joy joy! "I accept," I said. "What will I be doing? Hopefully not sewing lace on panties." She smiled. "You'll be wearing panties, not sewing them. You'll do housework, serve at meals - the usual things maids do." I wondered if that included the things I'd done during my visit to their house. It didn't matter. Anything would be better than sewing strips of ruffled white lace on the seats of panties for six hours a day, and then Girl School afterwards. "But you can't accept before you hear the terms," she said. "Room and board in their house. Minimum wage for 40 hours a week, though you'll probably work more than that. Free uniforms. No corporal punishment." "You mean, no spanking?" "None." "Not even a teensy bit of spanking?" I said wistfully. Single swats had begun to create a certain warmth in my bottom, not just discomfort. "I can ask," she said with a straight face. "And I'd get out of Pink Prison?" I said. "It's not a prison! It's a private facility. But yes." I thought it over. The maid job was obviously much better than my current situation - I'd miss Tina, but nothing else. The only question was whether I'd be better off trying to return to my former life. I'd been gone for months now. I could return to State U - but I surely got all Incompletes for last quarter, and it was too late to enroll for this quarter. My adviser probably thought I'd dropped out without notice. Even if I did return, I already owed a bundle in undergrad loans. I was still a year away from a master's degree, easily five years from my Ph.D. If I got my doctorate, I'd probably have to settle for a lousy adjunct instructor's job that paid shit, and I'd be more than a hundred thousand dollars in debt. Plus, I'd have to start wearing men's clothing again. Or I could become a maid for a rich, powerful couple. Maid and sex toy. "The big problem," I told Mrs. Orderly, "is that I've got thirty grand in student loans..." "Sir and Madam thought you might, and are willing to pay off that amount. " This was a gift from the gods. "I accept," I said. "When can I start?" "How about tomorrow?" she said. "Yes, please, ma'am," I said. "Are other seamstresses getting offers like this?" "No, Lisa. Sir and Madam were impressed by your performance when you visited, and they look forward to enjoying you again." "Thank you, ma'am." "Good. Say nothing to the other girls, not even that luscious little Bed Buddy of yours. Come to my office before breakfast tomorrow." I rose early and silently dressed in my favorite frock. No smock. I tiptoed down the staircase in my stockings, and put on my heels in the foyer. Mrs. Orderly called me into her office. "Any second thoughts?" "No, ma'am," I said. "Very well. Take off everything you're wearing, and put on your new uniform." She pointed to a pile of black and white clothing on her desk. It was a maid's uniform. Not one of your cheap satin French maid outfits for Halloween, but a serious uniform in the English style. A calf-length black cotton dress trimmed with narrow white lace, a pinafore apron and a maid's cap. A full set of lingerie, including a corset, and a glorious white taffeta petticoat the same length as the dress, a hidden Gallic touch. The white satin panties had three rows of ruffled lace on the seat. I wondered if I'd sewed them on. Probably not. It didn't matter now. I dressed quickly. The uniform fit perfectly. The prison must've had my measurements. "You look just darling! A perfect little maid," Mrs. Orderly said. She touched up my hair and makeup. When she was satisfied, she handed me a glass of water. "I'll tell Tina you cried and will miss her terribly." "Can I write to her, ma'am?" "No. Goodbye and good luck in your new life, Lisa." "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." I drank, knowing what would happen. Before I passed out, I had a vision of Sir's face, contorted by passion and exertion, looking down at me the first time he fucked me. End of Part 1