Shoplifter (Part 3 Of 3) free porn video

SHOPLIFTER (Part 3 of 3) By Lisa Lovelace Someone was shaking me. "Wake up, wake up! You're Lisa, right? You need to get dressed! It's almost time for breakfast." I opened my eyes and saw another girl staring into them. I was back in Pink Prison. My old bedroom, room 24. Windowless concrete block walls painted pink. This was the place where I'd been sent after I was caught shoplifting ladies' clothing from a local department store. I was one of two dozen boys here, all panty thieves like me, who had been transformed into pretty girls in dresses and petticoats. We spent our days silently hand-sewing three strips of ruffled lace onto the seat of one pair of white satin panties after another, for reasons none of us knew. It almost drove me mad last time, and now here I was again. I felt crushed. The girl who was shaking me wasn't Tina, my roommate, Bed Buddy and BFF during my previous time here. "Where's Tina?" I said. "I don't know," she said. "She left a week ago. No one knows what happens to people who leave. You left, didn't you? Now you're back. What happened to you?" "Who are you?" I said. She curtsied prettily. "I'm Kandi." She was really cute. Petite. Masses of blonde hair in pigtails. She reminded me more than a little of Tina. I got up and sat on the edge of the bed. I was wearing prison nightwear: a light blue baby doll nightgown over a white bra and white satin panties with three rows of white lace on the seat. "Do I have any day clothes?" I asked. She nodded. "The servers brought them last night." I checked the closet, and found that not only did I have clothes, they were the clothes I used to wear in Pink Prison. I recognized the dresses. The panties were new as usual, but the other lingerie looked like what I used to wear. It was as if I'd never been Sir and Madam's maid. I didn't have time for a bath, so I showered, did my makeup, brushed my hair into pigtails with white ribbon bows, and got dressed. I put on my favorite day dress with a full petticoat and asked Kandi to button my sewing smock behind me. I explored the smock's pockets. They held everything I had in them when I left last time. "Are you ready? Good, let's go!" Kandi said. She took my hand and we walked down to the workroom. The rule, of course, was that girls could not walk alone outside of rooms, and always had to walk hand in hand with another girl, even to the restroom. I took my old place, sat down, and broke into tears. I couldn't bear the thought that I was back here again, that in half an hour I would be sewing strips of lace onto panties again, and holding them up for Madison the prefect to inspect, with swats for every mistake she found. "Lisa!" snapped Madison at her desk facing the tables where we girls sat. "Stop making that noise." I stood, tears running down my cheeks, and curtsied to her. "Yes, Miss." I managed to choke out the words. I sat. "Lisa! Stay standing until you can control yourself." I curtsied again. "Yes, Miss." The double doors to the kitchen opened, and the servers trooped out carrying the bowls of oatmeal we always had for breakfast. I detested oatmeal. Madison made me stand until the oatmeal was cold, then told me I could sit. I hadn't had dinner the night before, so I was hungry, but I could choke down only a few bites of the unappetizing mush. "Lisa!" said Madison. "Eat your oatmeal! All of it." "Yes, Miss." I sat there, slowly forcing the pap down my throat, while the servers returned to clear the table. It took me half an hour to choke it all down. "You're late to work, Lisa," Madison said. "Three swats on your bare bottom." She picked up her crop and approached me. I obediently pulled my skirts up over my back, bent over the table and pulled down my panties. Madison's crop drew three lines of fire across my cheeks. I managed not to make a sound. "Get to work, bitch," she said. I curtsied to her, got out my needle and thread, grabbed a new panty from the box on the table and a roll of lace, and started what would be six hours of sewing the lace onto the panties, interrupted only by a meager lunch. When we finished working at three in the afternoon, we would have three hours of Girl School, where Mrs. Orderly and Madison would make us practice ladylike manners and deportment. Posted on the bulletin board, today's sessions would be Dusting & Vacuuming, Nail Care and Advanced Kissing. My partner for the last session would be Kandi. Kissing a boy dressed as a girl would probably be the highlight of my day. Dinner would follow, then our free time before bed. The girls would cram into a couple of our bedrooms and gab and gossip and play with hair and makeup until curfew at nine, followed by lights out. Kandi and I would squeeze into the double bed we had to share, and I would have trouble sleeping. And tomorrow I would do it all again, with something different at Girl School. And the day after, I would do it all again. And the day after that, I would do it all again. And the next day... I felt like I wanted to die. Sooner or sooner, Mrs. Orderly would get around to punishing me for my escape attempt, and I dreaded the decision. She could fine me hundreds of more panties to sew, at a dollar a panty. I could reduce my debt by only about six panties a day, so I would be here for months. During that time I might collect more fines, especially if Madison kept riding my ass. It was even harder to get up the next morning. The thought that I would be here indefinitely made me infinitely sad. I lost all hope. I shed silent tears when I began sewing lace on panties again. I hoped Madison wouldn't notice, but she did, and my posterior paid the price. Everything annoyed me now. I hated wearing my sewing smock. It was hot and little-old-ladyish and frilly and demeaning. But I got dressed and made up, took Kandi's hand and headed down the stairs to the workroom. Two obedient little girls following rules designed to humiliate us. "Lisa!" Madison's voice rang out when we entered the workroom. I approached her desk and curtsied. "Yes, Miss?" "You've been a very bad girl. Your escape attempt was a boyish act. You know the rules: Act like a boy, wear another petticoat. Go back up to your room and put on another petticoat, and wear two petticoats every day from now on." "Yes, Miss." Curtsy. You fucking bitch. Find Kandi. Convince her to go back upstairs with me so I can put on another petticoat and make my dress even more frou-frou. Hurry back down so we don't miss breakfast. Oatmeal again, ugh, then back to sewing lace on panties. I wondered again why they made us do it. Was it make-work? Two dozen girls could decorate tens of thousands of panties a year. Where did they all go? It didn't matter. We had to do it, whether it made sense or not. We were being punished for being panty thieves. Now that I was back in Pink Prison, my food would be laced with hormones, my boobs and butt would be growing, and my male bits would be withering away. If I ever got out of here again, what would I do? What could I be? A maid...? My dismal thoughts were interrupted when Mrs. Orderly stepped outside her office. "Lisa! Come here." I stood, curtsied to her and walked across the room, my heels going click-click-click on the hard floor. She returned to her office, leaving the door open. I entered and curtsied to her again. "Yes, ma'am?" "Well, well, aren't you bouffant today?" she said. "You look pretty in an extra petticoat. Makes you look like you have hips." "Thank you, ma'am." Curtsy. The proper response to a compliment, even if the compliment is meant to humiliate. "So... you tried to escape from Mr. White and Ms. East?" "Yes, ma'am." Curtsy. "Even though they're important people and good friends of Sir and Madam?" Guilt. "Yes, ma'am." Curtsy. "Even though you weren't being mistreated?" "Yes, Madam." Ms. East had ravaged me with a strap-on dildo, but Mrs. Orderly probably didn't consider that mistreatment. "How far did you get when you ran away?" "Not very far, ma'am." "How long were you loose?" I teared up. "About a minute, ma'am." "And now you're back here. A high price to pay for a minute of freedom, isn't it?" Too overcome to stand, I slumped to my knees and sobbed, my face in my hands. "I'm sorry!" I wailed. "I'm so sorry! I was so stupid! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" "Yes, you are," she said. "And now for your punishment." This was the moment of truth. I expected a savage whipping at the very least, and feared an enormous fine that would keep me here forever. I sniffled and blinked back tears, expecting the worst. "For your punishment, you will become a housemaid for Sir and Madam. You will return to their house. You will serve them faithfully and will no longer have to work for their friends. And you will never, ever be foolish enough to think about running away again." What? Wait a minute - did I hear her correctly? That wasn't a punishment - it was my dearest hope! "I don't understand, ma'am," I said as calmly as I could. "I won't be punished for running away?" "Oh, yes, you will. I just told you what your punishment will be." "But... it's what I want! It's not a punishment!" "If I say it's a punishment," Mrs. Orderly said with a smile, "it's a punishment. And here are the people who will punish you." She opened the door to the office. Sir and Madam entered. I couldn't believe it. I wanted to run to them, hug them, kiss their feet, but of course I could not do that. Instead, I stood and curtsied. "Sir, Madam, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" "Did you like coming back here, Lisa?" Madam said. "Not at all, Madam!" Curtsy. "Did it teach you a lesson?" "Yes, Madam!" Curtsy. "What lesson did it teach you?" "That I will never run away or disobey you or do anything bad ever again!" Curtsy. "Would you like to come home with us and be our pretty little housemaid again, in your pretty little uniform?" Was it possible? "Oh, yes, please, Madam!" Deep curtsy. "Then you shall." She led me over to the couch in the office. "Sit." Mrs. Orderly handed her a plastic cup of water. Madam passed it to me. "Drink." "Yes, madam. Thank you, madam." I knew what would happen, and looked forward to temporary oblivion. In the moments before I lost consciousness, I dreamed of being impaled on Sir's long, slender cock again. ~ ~ ~ I woke up in my wonderful Art Nouveau bedroom at Sir and Madam's house. Nothing had changed. I'd been gone for only a day and a half, but it felt longer. I remembered the despair I felt when I woke up in Pink Prison, and the joy I'd felt when I heard that I was coming back here. My joy was mixed with dislike of their habit of lending me out to friends for housecleaning and sex - but a day and a half at Pink Prison made me realize that there were worse things than housecleaning and sex. I took a long shower, patted myself dry, moisturized and dusted myself with scented body powder before putting on my lingerie. Instead of my seamstress dress and smock, I put on one of the black cotton day uniforms in my closet, tied an apron around me and bobby-pinned a maid's cap to the top of my head. The lowest daytime heels in my closet were three inches, an inch higher than in prison. I would have to adjust to the extra inch, but it would make my legs sexier. My door was unlocked. I walked down the grand Art Nouveau staircase to the ground floor and found Sir and Madam in the breakfast room. "Coffee first, then bacon and eggs," Sir said. "I'll have the steel-cut oatmeal," Madam said. "And coffee." I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to eight. I would have to hustle to avoid being late with breakfast, which would not be a good way to start over with them. "Yes, Sir, yes, Madame." Curtsy. I hurried to the kitchen and made and served coffee, then started heating up a frying pan for the eggs and bacon and boiling water for the oatmeal. I hated the smell of oatmeal. On the other hand, I wouldn't have to eat it... I hoped. "You can make oatmeal for yourself as well," Madam said. I curtsied. "Would it be acceptable if I had toast instead, Madam?" "Don't you like oatmeal?" "Not really, Madam." "Suit yourself. What do you need to do today, Lisa?" "Whatever you want me to do, Madam." "Good answer. Tidy up the master bedroom, clean the bathrooms, then inspect the rest of the house and start cleaning whatever needs it most. I have some delicates that I'd like you to hand-wash with Woolite, and of course you need to start thinking about lunch and dinner." "Yes, Madam." Curtsy. "Oh, and another thing, Lisa. My husband and I discussed this, and we decided we made a mistake in sharing your services with our friends. You were a perfect maid before that, but the work distressed you so badly that you made an irrational decision to try to escape. We sent you back to the private facility for a day to teach you a lesson, but in hindsight, I think we share the blame for what you did. Now that you're back with us, we're not going to share you with others in that way again." "Oh, thank you, Madam!" I said. I quickly slipped back into the comforting daily routine of housework. Instead of poking a needle through fabric all day, I got to work on lots of different things and was free to move about the house. I worked out a weekly schedule of chores and reviewed it with Madam, who added a few tasks I'd overlooked. I worked diligently, hoping to rehabilitate myself in their eyes after my disastrous escape attempt. That had been a moment of madness, and I would never do it again. I was safe here. My master and mistress were kind, or at least not cruel. They said they wouldn't beat me, and hadn't yet. They admitted they made a mistake sharing me, and I wouldn't have to do that anymore. I had a lovely bedroom that I didn't have to share. I didn't even have to eat oatmeal. ~ ~ ~ I hoped to have left Pink Prison behind me forever, but about a month after I'd left, it re-entered my life - though not in the way I most feared. Sir came to me one morning with news that there had been a disorder at the facility where they found me. Not a riot, but mass misbehavior that he declined to describe. He asked me whether there were things the facility could change that would placate the girls without sacrificing production or control over them. "Yes, Sir," I told him. "Get rid of the stupidest and most annoying rules. Let girls walk alone, don't make them walk in pairs - it's not like they can go anywhere! Get rid of the punishment dress - the prefect just uses it to harass people she doesn't like. Don't make girls wear extra petticoats - find another way to deal with boyish behavior. Finally, let the girls talk in the workroom. Women chatter away whenever they knit or sew together - why can't do the same?" "Good list," Sir said. "Which would you get rid of first?" I had to think about that. "First, let girls talk in the workroom. Second, let them walk alone. Third, dump the punishment dresses. Fourth, dump the extra petticoats for boyish acts." "Thank you, Lisa. You've been very helpful. We have trouble getting this kind of information from Mrs. Orderly and Miss Madison." I wondered what kind of disturbance or misbehavior had taken place. Sir and Madam didn't say. I hoped Kandi was okay, and I hoped Madison wasn't. Two days later, Sir found me in the kitchen. I curtsied to him. "Good news, Lisa! We used your ideas and they worked. I ordered Mrs. Orderly to tell the girls they could talk at work and walk alone, and that ended the problem instantly." "Really? I'm glad it worked, Sir." "Yes, I'm told the girls are chattering away happily in the workroom and are actually getting to meals and work and Girl School earlier because they don't have to find their Bed Buddy or someone to hold their hand." "What about the punishment dresses and extra petticoats, Sir?" "There wasn't a need to bring them up. But we are grateful to you for your suggestions. Thank you." "You're welcome, Sir." Curtsy. Maybe it was just coincidence, but it was right after this that Madam told me I would no longer be cleaning their friends' houses - which, she made clear with a nudge and wink, meant I would no longer be expected to have sex with them. "We want you here, not in a strange house where you'll be tempted to run away," she said. Huzzah! Two big victories for Lisa. That night the two of them took me for the first time since my return. I gave Sir a blowjob, then gave Madam three clitoral orgasms while Sir recovered, then wiggled in pleasure as Sir thrust into me deep enough to bring me bliss. It felt good to get back into our sexual routine, and to see how relaxed they were afterwards. Not for the first time, I wondered whether Sir and Madam were having sex with each other. I don't know what they did later at night after I'd gone to bed. My bedroom was far enough away from theirs that I couldn't hear anything. I hoped they were. While I took pride in bringing them both pleasure, it didn't seem healthy for me to be their only source of it. I once hinted at this extremely indirectly to Madam, and was crisply informed that their conjugal relations were none of my business. Sir came to me again to tell me there had been problems at Pink Prison again, including a food fight at breakfast, and asked what I would do. I suggested they offer something besides oatmeal for breakfast, even if it was just hot buttered toast. Two days later, he was pleased to report that the addition of toast to the menu had worked satisfactorily, and that almost half the girls had switched from oatmeal to toast. I felt immensely proud of improving the lives of Pink Prison girls. If Sir was telling me the truth, they now could talk while they sewed, could walk from room to room unaccompanied, and could have toast for breakfast. I would have been happy if any of these wonderful things had happened while I was there. All three of them together would have been too much to hope for, yet because Sir had taken my advice, all three had happened. The girls might never know what I had done, but their lives would be less uncomfortable for it. Sir and Madam began to give dinner parties again. I cooked and served, and the guests kept their hands to themselves. It was wonderful to be able to refill a wineglass without having to worry whether I was about to be goosed. The TV anchor returned, with a different blonde on his arm. He was scrupulously polite to me, and didn't fondle my butt this time. I wondered if Sir or Madam had somehow let their guests know I was off limits now. It made me happy to think he had considered my happiness and wishes as well as his own. ~ ~ ~ I'd been their housemaid for six months now, and was thoroughly comfortable in my role. I kept the house clean, kept Sir and Madam well fed, and regularly gave them orgasms with my mouth and sissy pussy. As far as I knew, they were happy with my performance. One Friday night, instead of a dinner party, they ordered dinner for three from one of their favorite restaurants, and asked me to sit at the table with them, something they'd never done before. I plated and served the food when it arrived, and then sat down across the table from Madam, feeling very strange and slightly fearful. What was going on? We finished the meal, having only general conversation, before I found out. Sir sipped his port and said, "Lisa, we think you've been a maid here long enough." Panic. Adrenaline. "Sir?" "And that," Madam said, "is why we are offering you the position of lady's companion." "Do I get to stay here?" "Yes, of course," she said. Vast relief. "What's the difference between a housemaid and a lady's companion?" "A lady's companion is not a servant. She wears a dress of her choosing, not a uniform. She sits at the table during meals. She assists as the lady of the house desires in the lady's various duties as hostess, mistress, wife, homemaker, mother, and all the other roles she plays. She is on the same social ladder as her lady, but lower down, like a poor relation." "I've never heard of a lady's companion," I said. "It's an old-fashioned idea, but in this case I think it will work well," she said. "You will be my companion in more ways than one." She ran her tongue over her lips. "You will also assist me by keeping my husband satisfied." "Of course, Madam," I said. She smiled. "You'll be happy to hear that you'll need new dresses. Keep the maid's uniforms, just for fun and naughtiness, but you need your own look. As you know, I'm fond of vintage fashions from the Fifties and Sixties, and I'm thinking housedresses plus a few nicer frocks for you. Tailored bodices and full skirts over petticoats. You'll need accessories and jewelry and matching shoes." "Yes, Madam," I said. "I also think you need to be back on hormones," she said. "You took them at the private facility, as I hope you know - you're an A cup now - and you need to complete your breast development." Gulp. "Yes, Madam. Will I lose my ability to have an erection?" "Probably. But you no longer need it. You satisfy me with your tongue, and could use your fingers instead. You satisfy Sir with your mouth and sissy pussy. You won't be fucking anyone." Harsh! But true, alas. I would have to resume turning myself into a woman. I was halfway there now, and as long as I lived here, I would become more feminine. I liked that thought better than the thought of trying to turn back into a boy. "For time being, I'm afraid you'll need to continue doing the housework," she said. "We'll see if we can do something about that." ~ ~ ~ Months passed. My figure improved as the hormones took effect. My breasts were fully grown, a C cup. My derri?re was shapelier than before. Savage corsetry had given me a womanly waist. I'd gone shopping with Madam to get new dresses, bras and slips that fit. With his air of command, Sir helped me survive an ordeal at the DMV that, after much embarrassment, ended with me walking out the door with a new driver's license that had a halfway decent photo of me en femme, my new legal name, Lisa Wilcox, and my new gender, F. I was now Lisa in public as well in private. As Madam's lady's companion, I could attend many of the events to which they were invited, and when those terrifying excursions did not end in disaster, I began to have more confidence in the illusion I presented. It helped when Madam began to refer to me as her distant cousin, Lisa, rather than her companion, Lisa. The implied family relationship seemed to reassure people about me. My dressing as a woman rather than a maid had a greater impact on Sir and Madam than I would have expected. They began to act as though I really was their remote cousin, not their servant. They began to refer to me as Miss Lisa. I liked the sound of that. The high point for me came one rainy Sunday night when Sir, Madam and I dressed up and sat down to a dinner that I did not order, prepare or serve. From the kitchen came the sounds and smells of cooking. I heard more than one voice, though I couldn't tell whose, or what they said. I smoothed my skirts under me and sat up straight, wondering what was going on. The door from the kitchen opened. Two maids in pretty pink satin uniforms entered the dining room and began serving the first course, a spicy tortilla soup. Something about them seemed familiar... yes! They were Tina and Kandi! Both of my former Bed Buddies in prison. I almost asked out loud what they were doing here, but realized it might interrupt and embarrass them. It was Tina who served me, and I sensed we were both in a state of suppressed excitement that neither of us wanted to be the first to acknowledge. The moment passed, and Tina and Kandi returned to the kitchen. The door did not hide the giggles that erupted beyond it. I looked at Sir and Madam. "We've hired two maids to take over the housework," Madam announced. "So that you can actually be my companion and not an overworked maid in a companion's dress." "How did you find Tina?" I said. "We keep track of girls who leave the facility," Madam said. That sounded spooky to me. They - whoever they were - were probably keeping track of me, too. "Well, I always liked Tina, so thank you for finding her. I barely know Kandi, but she seems nice enough and is definitely cute." "I'd like you, as my companion, to supervise them," Madam said. "Update the chore schedule, make sure they understand their work, discipline them if necessary." "I thought you didn't believe in corporal punishment?" I said. "We don't. We believe in humiliation," she said. "You might have noticed that we didn't follow your recommendation to get rid of the punishment dresses. We believe in punishment dresses for panty thieves and maids," she said. "What about for lady's companions?" I said, batting my eyes at her. "A lady's companion would have to be extremely naughty to be put in a punishment dress. I'm sure it would be a humiliating experience." Our discussion ended when Tina opened the door to the kitchen and she and Kandi served the next course, a grilled halibut steak. I decided to speak to them. "Tina, Kandi, I'm very glad to see you," I said. They both curtsied to me. "Thank you, Miss Lisa," they said. Oh, what a lovely moment it was! They returned to the kitchen. "They called you Miss, which was correct," Madam said. "Don't let them just first-name you." "Yes, Madam." The rest of the meal - medium rare slices of beef tenderloin, a spicy jicama-mango slaw, blueberry cobbler and coffee, sherry and port - was delicious, and the service was flawless. Tina and Kandi's cooking came as a pleasant surprise. I would be happy to let them cook as often as they wanted. I would be happy to let them do all the housework they wanted! I did find it difficult to maintain a proper distance from Tina and Kandi. In our former life we'd been equals, stitching the same lace on the same panties and going to the same bedroom parties, but now I was their superior and had to tell them what to do and make sure they did it. They were both silly girls, and I had to clamp down on the silliness from time to time, even though I wanted to join in it instead. They both behaved themselves otherwise, and quickly learnt the rules and routines of the house. Like me, they were so happy to be somewhere where the walls weren't pink that they did all they could to please Sir and Madam... and me. About this time, I noticed that my master and mistress weren't having sex with me as often as they usually did. I did a little late-night spying and confirmed my initial suspicion that both Sir and Madam were using Tina and Kandi for sex. Tina, I knew, was skilled at blowjobs, and for all I knew, Kandi was, too. I doubted either of them were experienced cunnilinguists, though, and indeed Madam was using me more than Sir was. I began to flirt with Sir, hoping to attract him away from Tina and Kandi, because his cock was the only way I could have orgasms now. My clit no longer got hard enough to penetrate a partner. I asked Tina and Kandi to give me blow jobs, and they felt nice, but to reach my strongest climax I needed to be penetrated by a man, preferably Sir. Tina and Kandi were simply not big enough to bring me to bliss that way. I wondered how Sir felt having five female orifices competing for his attention: his wife's vagina, and the rear passages of Madam, Tina, Kandi and myself. I wondered if I needed to ask Madam to make Tina and Kandi's sissy pussies off limits to Sir, while leaving mine open for business. Though he'd probably cheat with them the way he cheated with me when Madam tried to make me off limits to him. ~ ~ ~ One night, Madam and I put Tina and Kandi to bed early, locking them in their bedrooms so they wouldn't get into mischief. The two of us changed into pretty cocktail dresses. She wore her tight-fitting silver-sequined minidress, while I wore a knee-length lavender chiffon frock with a petticoat. Sir put on a dress shirt and sport coat and booked a ride for the three of us to an elegant bar and grill not far away. No special occasion - we just wanted a night without giggling maids underfoot. I was still shy in public, so Sir considerately asked the hostess for the most discreet booth in the place. He ordered single-malt Scotch, I asked for a pinot grigio, and Madam ordered a vodka martini and some fried appetizers to soak up the alcohol. We nibbled and talked and laughed, and had another round of drinks, and another. None of us were feeling any pain when I finally decided to ask them the question I'd wanted to ask since the day we met. "Sir, Madam, may I ask who you are? I've been working for you for almost a year, and I still don't know your names." Their eyes met. Sir said, "Are you sure you want to know?" "Why wouldn't I want to, Sir?" He belted the rest of his Scotch. "All right. My name is John Dullard." My eyes opened wide. "The department store Dullard?" "I'm the CEO," he said. "Oh!" I said. Dullard's was the store where I'd been caught shoplifting. It was the guard at Dullard's that drugged me and sent me to Pink Prison instead of calling the cops. "You were caught stealing from me," Sir said. I lowered my eyes and felt very small. "Yes, Sir." "Well, it worked out for the best, didn't it, Lisa? I'm sure you were a repeat thief. Sissies always are. You got caught, and you were sent to a place where you could pay off your debt. If you hadn't been sent there, I wouldn't have noticed you the day we visited the place, and you never would have become our maid or lady's companion, living in a mansion with two maids reporting to you. Instead, you'd still be a broke grad student piling up loans in pursuit of a doctorate of underemployment. I saved you from that." "Yes, Mr. Dullard." "I'd rather you keep calling me Sir." "Yes, Sir. But thank you so much for telling me who you are, and please accept my apologies for stealing from your store." "Accepted." He seemed amused. "Madam? May I ask your name?" "Well, if John is baring his soul, so will I," she said. She was on her fourth vodka martini. "Susan Dullard. Born Susan Buckingham. I'm the CEO of Private Sector Protection Systems LLC." "I've never heard of it," I said. "People like you aren't meant to. We keep a low profile. We provide security for stores like Dullard's. The guard that caught you works for me. We catch shoplifters and deal with them privately, without involving the police or the courts." Ohmigod. "You mean...?" "Yes," she said. "Private Sector Protection Systems runs the facility you were sent to. It's specialized - we handle most shoplifters in other ways. It's reserved for panty thieves - boys who steal girls' clothes. I know you girls call it Pink Prison. Do you want to know what we call it? I nodded, not wanting to interrupt her while she was spilling secrets. "It's the Panty Thief Salvation Department, PTSD for short. Guess where it is." "No idea, Madam. Kansas? Oz?" "In the Pocono Mountains. Eastern Pennsylvania. Almost entirely underground. We fly in and out of Newark and drive." "And why do the girls inside have to sew three strips of lace onto panties?" "It's complicated," she said. "I think we need another round first." We took a short bio break. Madam and I went to the Ladies, where we took care of business and freshened our makeup. When we returned, Sir went to the Gents. While we waited for him, the round of drinks and plate of fried goodies that he'd ordered arrived. He took less time than we girls did, of course, and soon returned. "I'll be sorry that I told you all this, but maybe neither of us will remember any of it tomorrow," Madam said. "Have you ever been to SnyphMe.com?" "No, Madam." Sniff me? "It's a company that Sir and I own. It sells used panties on the Internet." "You mean, panties that someone else has worn?" "Oh, yes. There are a lot of men, and more than a few women, who are excited by the smell and feel of used panties, and they'll pay premium prices for them." I was faintly repelled by the idea, but who was I to quibble? I, too, was excited by panties. Just not the used kind. "There are lots of sites that sell used panties, but the panties are usually the cheapest, plainest panties they can find. We sell fancier panties and can charge more for them. Panties made of white satin, with three rows of ruffled lace across the seat." I caught my breath. That's what the panties we made were used for? To be worn once and sold online? That explained why ours were always new, collected afterwards but never laundered. They were selling our used panties. Gross. Yuck. "Can you sell panties worn by girls like me? Don't boy bodies smell wrong?" "Not when they take feminine hormones," she said. "Not when they use perfume and moisturize with scented lotions and dust themselves with scented body powder and use scented soaps and shampoo and conditioner and deodorant. Like our girls do." Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Look, here's how it works," Madam said, weaving slightly. "The materials - panty, lace, thread - cost us four dollars. We sell used panties for forty dollars. A thousand percent markup. We can sell a couple hundred a day, so that's how many we manufacture. The hand sewing is actually designed to limit production while keeping the girls busy at PTSD. If we used sewing machines, we'd have way more panties than we can sell at this point, and the girls would go crazy with boredom." "The girls in PTSD can't wear a couple hundred panties a day," I said. "That's the bottleneck," she said. "Everyone at PTSD wears them, but that's only fifty panties a day, including the servers and support staff. All the female staff, and a few of the male staff, at Private Sector Protection Systems wear them, but we just don't have enough panty wearers." "All the female employees at Dullard's wear them, too," Sir said. "That's the only way we can keep up with demand." "Why add the strips of lace?" I said. "It makes the panties much more interesting as fetish wear," Madam said. "Adding the lace makes our panties attractive to crossdressers, too - in fact, we sell quite a few of these panties new, not used. It matters that they're sewn by hand - we've tested the language we use, and that resonates. I wish we could say they're hand-sewn by sissies in dresses, but that would reveal too much about our operations. Those rows of lace are our competitive advantage." "That, and paying our workers a dollar an hour in pretend money," Sir said, chuckling. That set my teeth on edge. I remembered the hundreds of hours I had to work to reduce my debt. He realized his faux pas. "Sorry, Lisa." "That, and our secret formula," Madam said. "Secret formula?" I said. She polished off her fifth vodka martini and hiccupped. "Two drops of diluted musk and four drops of female human urine in the gusset of each panty. From real women, not the girls at PTSD." "How much money do you make doing this?" I asked. Slurring her words now, Madam said, "Two million in profit this year. Three million next year." I was reaching information overload. Being mostly sloshed didn't help, though I'd had only wine, not hard liquor. But if I had the story right... Sir ran the store that used Madam's company for security... And Madam's company caught me and sent me to its private prison... And Madam's company feminized me and fed me female hormones... And Madam's company used me and other panty thieves to make used panties... And Sir and Madam owned the company that sold the used panties... And that's how they were making millions off the forced labor of Pink Prison inmates. I had every reason to hate Sir and Madam. I was one of their victims. Their system of privatized, profit-making detention had been the direct cause and instrument of my downfall. I was caught by one of their guards. I was imprisoned without being arrested, charged, tried or convicted. They made me wear girls' clothing, curtsy a hundred times a day, do humiliating labor, go to Girl School and become a submissive housemaid. They robbed me of my academic future. For a while, they whored me out to their friends. They still were using me as their own sex toy. But... But. I now looked and behaved like a pretty young woman. I could wear beautiful women's clothes all the time. I didn't have to wear a uniform, but I could if I wanted to. I could wear petticoats, aprons and maid's caps. I now had breasts, long hair and pierced ears. I didn't have to worry about money. I lived in a beautiful mansion. I had a beautiful room to myself. I was treated well now. I didn't have to make decisions. All I had to do was obey. Obey my master and mistress. Obey my enslavers. Obey my owners. Obey... Sir broke into my reverie. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor in front of him. "Yes, Sir." I curtsied. Fell to my knees. Spread my skirts prettily. Unzipped his trousers. Pulled him out. Did my duty. Madam spoke. "Me next!" The End