Shoplifter (complete Story) free porn video

SHOPLIFTER (Complete story) By Lisa Lovelace ~ ~ ~ PART 1 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," Mrs. Orderly 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 someone to walk me to 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, too!" 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. "You've done well, child. I hope to see you again." "I don't want to go back," I said. "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 over my panties and bra. 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 bed. 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. She wanted to know no more. Breakfast. Sewing lace onto panties. Lunch. Sewing lace onto panties. Girl School: Shoes, Eyeshadow, 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. Flabbergasted. "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. ~ ~ ~ PART 2 When I awoke, I was lying on a bed in my new maid's uniform. I was in a bedroom decorated in feminine shades of lavender, pink and cream, with lace-trimmed curtains and bedclothes. I recognized the d?cor. I was in Sir and Madam's house again. I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I'd escaped! I was no longer in the place its victims called Pink Prison. I'd been taken there months ago after being caught trying to shoplift ladies' lingerie and a dress from a department store. Security didn't call the cops. Instead, they sedated me. I woke up in a big windowless room with pink walls where two dozen male panty thieves like me, dressed as girls, were forced to work off the price of the clothes we tried to steal. We didn't know where we were or who held us captive. They even changed our names. I used to be Lance Wilcox. Now I was Lisa. Just Lisa. The work was idiotic. Wearing smocks over our dresses and petticoats, we spent six hours a day silently hand-stitching strips of ruffled lace onto the seats of white satin panties. Three strips per panty. Sewing machines would have been vastly faster, but being forced to sew by hand was more humiliating. Each panty we finished was a dollar off our debt to the store. Every mistake we made added a fine to our debt. We spent another three hours a day in Girl School, where we were drilled in feminine deportment, manners and behavior. The longer we took to pay off our debt, the girlier we became. Not just mentally, but physically. I was sure we were being fed hormones. One day, a powerful couple, known to us only as Sir and Madam, toured Pink Prison and inspected all of us girls. They showed interest in me and left. Later, I was taken to Sir and Madam's house, a fabulous Art Nouveau mansion, where I gave Sir a blowjob, let him fuck me in the ass, and then gave Madam multiple orgasms with my tongue. I must have pleased them, because they offered me a job as a maid in their house. I eagerly accepted. I would have agreed to do almost anything to escape from Pink Prison. ~ ~ ~ So now I was here, in the remarkable Art Nouveau house that I hoped would become my new home. I still didn't know where I was, and had no idea who Sir and Madam were - but at least I wasn't stitching panties in silence, and look, I had a window! I got up and looked outside. I guessed it was sometime in the afternoon. It was a dormer window high in the house, and looked out over a huge yard, an acre or more, filled with manicured lawns and gardens and surrounded by a high brick wall. I assumed there was a gate in the wall, probably on the side of the house I couldn't see. I wondered if Sir and Madam would let me go outside. I hadn't been outside in months. I wanted to feel sunlight on my skin. First things first. I was awake. I was dressed in my new uniform. Now what? I tried the door of the room. It was locked. I sat on the bed and took stock of my new surroundings. Could this be my new room? It seemed too fancy for a maid. The bed was a double - I hoped I wouldn't have to share it. There was a sizable chest of drawers and a vanity with a lighted mirror and an upholstered stool. Doors led to an en-suite bathroom in pink and white tile with a shower enclosure and standalone tub - luxury! - and a walk-in closet. I turned on the light in the closet. Hanging from a rack were two more maid's dresses like the one I was wearing, and two more dresses with shorter skirts, one in black satin and one in pink satin. A fairly standard fantasy maid's wardrobe, I thought. The closet also held the other trappings of a maid. Several white cotton aprons, some with bibs and some without, and a white satin hostess apron. Little maid's caps decorated with ruffles, ribbons and lace. Three pairs of shoes on the floor: black patent Mary Janes with two-inch heels, black patent stilettos with four-inch heels, and a pair of pretty white boudoir slippers. There was a garment bag at the back of the closet. I opened it. It was a little girl's dress in my size. It was made of lemon-yellow organdy, with a Peter Pan collar, embroidered flowers on the bodice, a poufy skirt and a sash that tied in back in a big bow. The skirt was very short - barely long enough to cover my panties. The bag also contained a petticoat that matched the dress, a pair of anklets decorated with yellow lace, and some lengths of yellow ribbon. What was this outfit for? Did she want to make me look like a little girl? Why? Was it a punishment dress, like the one I'd had to wear in prison? Someone unlocked the door from the outside. Madam entered and closed the door behind her. "Stand and curtsy when I enter the room," she said. "Yes, Madam." I hurriedly did so. I needed to make and keep this woman happy with me. She sat at my vanity. I remained standing. "Welcome to Dullard House, Lisa," she said. "I will explain your duties and a few rules." "Yes, Madam." Wait a minute. Dullard? Like the store where I was caught? "You will be our housemaid and will do all the household chores. Cooking, cleaning, dusting, the laundry and anything else that needs to be done." "Yes, Madam." "You will obey all orders from Sir or myself. If you get conflicting orders, come to me." "Yes, Madam." "To be clear, these may include engaging in intimate activities, as you did on your first visit, with us or our guests." Guests? I didn't like the sound of that! Still, it beat sewing lace on panties. "Yes, Madam." "You will curtsy when you enter a room where either of us is present. You will curtsy if you speak to us. You will curtsy to us before leaving the room." "Yes, Madam." I curtsied. Evidently I would be doing a lot of curtsying. I didn't mind. It shamed but excited me to curtsy to a superior. "If you disobey an order or execute it improperly, you may be punished. We will not beat you. We use humiliation instead." No spankies? "Yes, Madam." Curtsy. She rose and walked up to me. She fussed with my maid's cap and hair, and retied my apron strings, tighter. "You'll learn to dress more smartly, but he won't notice. Come with me and meet Sir." She led me down the hallway and descended two flights of the magnificent staircase to the ground floor, where a short hallway led to what she told me was Sir's office. She knocked on the door, opened it and led me inside. Sir sat behind a large desk opposite the door. There was a graceful armchair to the side of the desk. Madam sat, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the space before Sir's desk. "Sir." I curtsied. "Lisa," he said. "Welcome to our house. Be a good girl, do as we say, and you will get along very well." "Yes, Sir." Curtsy. "Very well. Madam will instruct you in your duties and our rules. Dismissed." "Sir." I curtsied. Madam led me into the kitchen, and my life as their housemaid began. ~ ~ ~ I was pleased to discover that I didn't need to keep up the whole house. The entire servants' wing, including the 1900 kitchen, had been closed up in a good state of preservation. That explained my luxurious room - it was a guest bedroom, not maid's quarters. We lived in a part of the house that had been carefully modernized without destroying its character, and that was all I needed to keep clean - a couple thousand square feet at most. Which was good, because my new master and mistress - I still didn't know their names - began using me for sex almost immediately. I got used to it. It definitely beat sewing lace onto panties for six hours a day. I was not fond of sucking cock, but I could usually bring Sir to climax quickly, unless he perversely slowed me down to prolong his pleasure. One thing I appreciated about him is that he rarely grabbed my head or hair to face-fuck me. He let me bring him to climax instead, in a way that was less frantic until the very end. I enjoyed the feeling of Sir's penis up my sissy pussy, because he was exactly the right size for me: long enough to reach my love button, slender enough not to hurt too badly going in. He could make me come even with neither of us touching my cock, and my orgasms felt deeper, more profound, and longer-lasting - more like what I imagined a woman's orgasm was like. Cunnilingus with Madam was more of an acquired taste. I didn't mind licking and sucking her clit until she exploded. It was cleaning up the messy aftermath that lessened my enjoyment. Still, it beat sewing ruffled lace onto panties for six hours a day. I would much rather lick Madam once or even twice a day. I expected Madam would ask me to clean her up after Sir sowed his seed inside her, but she didn't. I wondered if Sir was sleeping with her at all. He was making me suck and be fucked daily now, so if he wasn't taking care of his wife, I could see jealousy and trouble ahead. I was powerless to prevent it - or was I? Perhaps my tongue was an adequate substitute for my master's manhood. He could rub the walls of Madam's vagina better than I could, but my tongue owned her clit, and that seemed to be what she preferred. If I could keep them both happy without sex with each other... was that so bad? It certainly made them both more dependent on me. If I could keep them both happy. I heard Madam shouting at Sir behind a closed door one night. "I'll let her suck you off, but I don't want you fucking her - the only person you get to fuck is me!" Madam shouted. "Why is this all of a sudden a problem now?" Sir said. "You were okay with it when..." I couldn't hear the rest. I backed away from the door. This was terrible. The last thing I wanted was to cause discord in their home or have either of them upset with me. They'd taken me away from Pink Prison - presumably they could send me back. The thought made me shudder. I quietly returned to the kitchen and tidied the already tidy counters. That was the last I heard of their argument. They were polite to each other over breakfast. Sir left for wherever he went during the day - an office? - and I was alone with Madam, who worked from home. If I'd been her friend, I would have made her tell me what was wrong, but I was her maid and couldn't think of taking such a liberty. I did my chores as usual, made her lunch, did more chores and, after checking to make sure they would be eating at home, planned a nice dinner. Grilled salmon, saffron rice and haricots saut?ed in olive oil, minced garlic and spices, with a chilled pinot gris. I had my usual salad for dinner, but they let me eat their leftovers, so I usually got to taste whatever I cooked for them. I found that I liked cooking. It was an outlet for my creativity, a way to show them I was more than a mopper of floors, a cleaner of toilets and a provider of orgasms. I still gave Sir a blowjob every morning on our usual schedule, but I noticed he was fucking me only when Madam was out of the house, like a little boy hiding a naughty secret from his mother. Even when he did use me, it was often a quickie that didn't give me enough time to climax. I bitterly reflected that this, in a way, gave me something in common with real women who had inconsiderate or incapable husbands. To my dismay, I found myself resenting both of them - Sir for denying me most of what pleasure I could take from sex, and Madam for making Sir do the denying. I chided myself for it. I was utterly dependent on them now. I needed to serve them as perfectly as possible, with a smile on my pretty face and a bounce in my girly step, and I could not afford to have negative thoughts that might affect my performance as their maid. I tried to stop keeping track of how many days it had been since my last climax. At least Sir and Madam seemed to be getting along better. I heard no more harsh words, and they seemed to be spending more time together. They had long closed-door sessions in their home offices, and I frequently heard Madam's high-pitched laughter. Not long after that, Sir and Madam called me into Madam's office for a talk. "Lisa," Madam said, "we are so happy with you as our maid that we want you to start meeting our friends. We're going to have a dinner party for some of them." "Yes, Madam," I said with a curtsy. "You'll serve, of course. I want you to wear the pink satin uniform in your closet. You'll look so cute in it! This Friday night. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight." "Yes, Madam. Will they think I'm a real girl?" "I certainly hope so! I'll send you to the salon. Your hair's longer now, and we'll see what they can do with it. You don't need to keep it in pigtails any more. You'll get a massage, makeup and a manicure, too. I want you relaxed, happy and proud of yourself that night. You're going to look so pretty!" "What if they ask me questions about who I am?" "Don't mention the private facility. If you do, I'll send you back there. Tell them the truth: You're a grad student with too much student debt, so you're working for us and just loving it. You do love it here, don't you?" "Yes, Madam." We talked about a menu, and she settled on gazpacho, thick cut pork chops, grilled asparagus, a strawberry, bacon and spinach salad, and chocolate gelato. She said I could buy the gelato instead of making it from scratch. I curtsied and left Madam's office feeling apprehensive. Would their friends accept me as a female, or would they be able to tell I was male? They'd be seeing me up close. The potential for humiliation was high, especially in that silly dress she'd told me to wear. I was afraid of making a stupid mistake, humiliating Sir and Madam in front of their friends, and losing their trust. I was, as always, afraid of being sent back to Pink Prison. Madam took me shopping for ingredients on Thursday, and drove me to the salon on Friday morning. I wore my uniform, but took off my apron and cap. It felt strange to leave the house and do normal things. She reminded me that they could track my rhinestone GPS bracelet on their phones and computers, and that I would be quickly recaptured if I tried to run away. At the salon, an old lady complimented me on my dress and petticoat, saying it was nice to see a young lady so nicely dressed. I blushed and thanked her and curtsied without thinking, which tickled her pink. I ended up with a chic medium bob with bangs. It was undeniably cute and unambiguously feminine. My makeup was perfect, and my glossy red nails matched my lipstick. Back home, I stepped into the pink dress just to see how it all went together. Yuck! All wrong. I was a hot babe masquerading as her little sister. I took off the dress, went into the closet and grabbed the black satin uniform. When I stepped into it, I could tell at once that this was the look. My makeup was perfect against the black. But Madam told me to wear the pink. I decided this was a good opportunity to see how flexible or inflexible Madam was about orders she'd given. I put on the pink dress, adding the shorter petticoat that went with the satin uniforms, picked up the black dress, and found Madam in her office. "Yes, Lisa?" she said. "Here is the pink maid's dress, Madam. It's so lovely, but I'm wondering if my makeup and nails go with it." "Hmm," she said. "I see what you mean. You brought the black satin? Try it on." "Yes, Madam," I said, and hurried to obey the order I'd intended her to give me. She looked me up and down. "Better," she said. "Wear that tonight." "Yes, Madam." Curtsy. Elation. Madam tapped her foot. "The problem is, I told you to wear the pink, and you obviously preferred black. So you decided to challenge me and see if you could make me change my mind. I'm not sure I like that. What decision of mine will you challenge next? Does my maid feel free to challenge any decision I make?" "No, Madam." Deep curtsy. "Then what made you think you could challenge this one, maid?" "When I looked at the pink, Madam, I was afraid I would not represent you as attractively as you deserve to be represented. I was afraid you might have overlooked the black satin in my closet." "You were afraid. Well, I must say that's not a terrible thing for a humble little maid like you to be. I'm tempted to make you wear the pink just to teach you a lesson - but I won't, because the black satin really does look better." "Thank you, Madam." Deep curtsy. Vast relief. "Well, run along and stop wasting time getting dressed. You have chores to do, a table to set, a meal to prepare." "Yes, Madam." Curtsy. Flee to kitchen. Start to breathe again. That was close. I won! But I wasn't about to try it again. I would have to be super-obedient for a while. I kept the black satin dress on and went upstairs to finish getting dressed. I wore my fanciest maid's cap and my satin hostess apron, the smallest, laciest apron I had. With some trepidation, I stepped into my four-inch patent stilettos, the most dangerous shoes I had, and went downstairs to present myself to Madam for inspection. "Oh, my," she said. "Lisa cleans up nicely, doesn't she? Hmm. I wonder." "Yes, madam?" "I'm worried the gentlemen may get frisky with you later in the evening, when their inhibitions are lowered. You are very attractive, and I fear we won't be able to keep their hands off you." I did not reply. "I would like to request, Lisa - request, not order - that you allow them to touch you, as long as they follow these rules. They may not cause you pain. They may touch you through your dress, but they may not touch you under your dress, including your panties. If they try to touch you under your dress, you have my permission to slap their hands away." I thought about this. "What if they try to kiss me, Madam?" "Only on your lips, nowhere else. Don't let them slobber all over you." I wondered how touchy-feely their guests would be. They, too, would probably be powerful people, used to being served and obeyed. I had no idea what they might do to me, nor did I know what Sir and Madam would allow them to do. It would probably be smart for me to go along with whatever they wanted me to do, as long as it wasn't disgusting or dangerous. I hoped they limited themselves to the things Sir and Madam had already done with me. "Yes, Madam," I said. I returned to the kitchen and, to protect my satin uniform from spatters, covered it with a voluminous cooking apron that covered my entire front. I made the gazpacho and salad and put them in the refrigerator. I could pan-cook the chops and asparagus in butter and herbs at the last minute, so I took time to dust the dining room before setting the table as beautifully as I could. When I was done, I put six bottles of the pinot gris in the second refrigerator - of course they had more than one! - to chill. That should be plenty. The doorbell started ringing a minute later, and for a time I was kept busy welcoming guests to Madam's party. I curtsied to all of them, and I think they all accepted me as female. I recognized a few of them from before I was sent to Pink Prison, but I won't mention names here - they have lawyers, and I don't. The first guests to arrive were a well-known TV news anchor, tall and handsome in a bespoke suit, with perfect hair and a blonde clinging to his arm. He gave me the once-over and said "Ooh la la!" The blonde, who wore a gorgeous LBD but not a wedding ring, shot him a dirty look. The next guests were a massively popular female singer, who was my size, and a well-known athlete, who was a foot taller than me. She wore a sequined gold miniskirt, while he wore a crisp white dress shirt with no tie under a charcoal gray suit. They ogled me and exchanged a smile with each other. I didn't recognize the last couple. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt under a perfectly tailored sports jacket, so I guessed he might be a tech executive. His wife wore black leather pants and a black satin corset under a lipstick-red bolero jacket. "Well, look at you!" she said. While Sir and Madam greeted their guests in the living room, I hurried into the kitchen to pour wine for the guests. I'd already set up a tray with eight glasses. I poured an Oregon pinot noir in four of them, and a Yakima Valley sauvignon blanc in the other four. I made myself a bet that the men would all take red wine and the women would all take white wine, and that is exactly what happened. I smiled inside and made a mental note to pay myself the million dollars I'd won. I remained in the kitchen for the bulk of the cocktail hour, briefly circulating twice more to refill empty glasses. I served the gazpacho, to give guests a colorful sight when they entered the dining room, and began heating up a cast-iron pan to saut? the thick pork chops and asparagus in butter and spices. I had no problems while serving those courses or the strawberry, bacon and spinach salad and the chocolate gelato that followed. The guests were going through the wine at a rapid rate. They probably all had drivers sitting in their cars eating fast food. I would have liked to cook for the drivers instead of the rich people around the table, but the world was the way it was, and I was still grateful not to be silently sewing strips of lace onto white satin panties. I cleared the table. As I did, the TV anchor ran his hand over my butt, and the athlete toyed with one of my breasts. Neither of them put a hand under my clothes, so, remembering Madam's rules, I didn't try to stop them. In fact, I found myself halfway enjoying their touch, and wriggled slightly in response. It took me several trips to remove all the china and silver and crystal. On my second trip, the tech guy's wife grabbed my crotch through my skirt. I jumped in surprise, but then let her feel me up. As I retreated into the kitchen, I wondered what made them think they could grope me that way, especially in someone else's house. Was I so delectable that they couldn't help themselves? I didn't think so. Did they treat all their servants and staff this way? Not a smart way to run a business. Or had Sir or Madam told them that I was fair game, or hinted as much? I made coffee and took two trays into the living room, where Sir, Madam and their guests adjourned after dinner. One tray held a coffee service, and the other held bottles of port and sherry and the appropriate glasses. Curtsying to the group, I said, "Will there be anything else, Madam?" "Yes, Lisa," Madam said. "Come with me." She took me to her office. "Here is what will happen next. You are going to show off your talents for our guests by giving orgasms to my husband and me." "What?" I said. "Sex with you in the living room, in front of strangers? Please, no!" "They're not strangers, they're our friends," she said. "They're very liberal and open-minded, and won't think any less of you for giving us pleasure. We told them they would see something that might interest them tonight, and this is it." "Do I have to have sex with them, too?" I said. I felt overwhelmed. It was too much. My lip trembled. "Not tonight," she said. "Maybe later, if they like you." "Is there any way I can avoid this, Madam? I'm willing to serve you and Sir, that's my job, but six other people? Some of them are famous! I don't want to get caught up in -" "All of them are famous in their fields," she said. "If you give them what they want, they might give you what you want. What do you want, Lisa?" "Not to have to do this!" I said. "I'll feel like a whore." "You are not a whore!" she said. "You are our beautiful maid. So beautiful that you are in demand as a courtesan. Bend over. I'll lube you so Sir doesn't hurt you going in." I bent over, holding on to her desk as she inserted a plastic bottle in my anus and squeezed. I could feel the lube inside. "What's going to happen?" "You'll give Sir a blowjob. Then, while he recovers, which won't take long, you'll lick me to an orgasm or three. When he's ready, he'll fuck your sissy pussy until he comes, and hopefully you'll come, too." "Oh, my! Do I need to take my clothes off?" "Only your panties." I pulled them down to my ankles and stepped out of them. She dragged me into the living room. The sofas had been pulled back to face a recliner set in front of the fireplace. "Ah, here they are," said Sir, standing by the recliner. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Lisa, whom we discovered working in one of our facilities. She is an experienced housemaid and, as you just saw, an excellent cook." "Hear, hear," said the TV anchor, to mild applause for me. I blushed and curtsied. "Lisa is talented in other ways that we will demonstrate now," Sir said. He sat in the recliner and drew it up to normal height. He caught my eye and pointed at the floor in front of him. I decided I might as well do a good job of it. I stood in front of him. "Sir," I said, and dropped into a curtsy, and kept going down until I was on my knees in front of him. I reached for his trousers and pulled out his genitalia. I kissed it and licked it and stroked it and sucked it, and in short order received my usual reward. I swallowed, stood, and curtsied again. "Thank you, Sir." The guests applauded. I stepped back so Sir could rise from the chair. He tucked away his tool, and Madam took his place. She leaned back in the chair. I hadn't noticed earlier, but was grateful to see the skirt of her chiffon dress was full enough to allow easy access. "Madam." I curtsied to her and knelt between her thighs. She slowly raised her skirt until I could see her labia. She wasn't wearing panties, either. I leaned forward and gave her clitoris a gentle lick. "Ooh," she said, and wiggled. I leaned closer and started licking and sucking on her clit. Her excitement mounted, and it wasn't long until she shrieked and came for the first time. I waited a few moments for her to recover. While I waited, I heard Sir unzip his trousers and step up behind me. I rose from my knees, staying bent over to service Madam's clit, and wiggled my butt at him. I felt a trickle of lube drip from my hole. My master lifted my skirts and began to enter me. He seemed fully erect. I wondered if any of the other men in the room could recover as quickly as he did. He slid inside, and I was grateful once again that his cock was long and slender, able to reach my pleasure spot without tearing me apart. Oh! Ahh! There - yes! There! I resumed licking and sucking Madam's joy button. She quickly mounted to her second orgasm, moaning with pleasure and finally shaking like a leaf in the breeze. I stopped to let her recover. Sir pounded away behind me, and my excitement rose, as did the unfeminine organ between my legs. I started working on Madam's third orgasm. We were all panting now, with Sir's shaft rubbing against my special spot, and me sucking and slurping on Madam's even more special spot, until finally we all climaxed at the same moment. Sir shot his load deep inside me. I screamed and came without touching my cock. Madam bucked and ground against my mouth. The guests whooped and whistled and applauded as we subsided. We separated ourselves and stood. Sir tucked himself back into his trousers. Madam and I lowered our skirts. "Ladies and gentlemen," Sir said, "I give you Lisa." Another round of applause. I made a low curtsy, staying down until they stopped clapping. "Is it possible to arrange to have Lisa give my house a good cleaning?" said the TV anchor. Sir looked to Madam. "Yes," she said. "Of course I need her here, but I could part with her for one day a week - shall we say Monday? - so that she can clean house for each of you in turn." "In that uniform?" he said. "No, she'll wear her regular day uniform," Madam said. I could have kissed her for that, but it would have been a liberty. "It's more practical. After all, I expect she will spend most of her time actually cleaning." "Will she be prepared to do... uh... very deep cleaning?" said the famous athlete, whose name you would know in a second. "As deep as you can go," Madam said, and everyone but me laughed. "And she'll tend to your lady, too." The tech dude's wife - wedding ring! - spoke up for the first time. "Are there other activities we can engage in with Miss Lisa? Does she like being spanked?" Madam turned to me. "Do you?" I was on the spot. This was so embarrassing. "I don't mind a spank or two, ma'am," I said. "Not too hard, but not too soft. I don't like being spanked hard enough to make me cry." "Do you like being tied up, Lisa?" she asked. "I've never been," I said. "I don't think I'd like it." "You're plain vanilla," she said. I don't know how I remained outwardly calm. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted out. I didn't ask for this! With no warning, my life had just changed. I would now be a whore one day a week. I didn't know if people would actually pay for my services, but my master and mistress would be making me available to other people for sex. I stood in front of them, feeling Sir's semen leaking out of my sissy pussy, tasting their intimate juices in my mouth, keenly aware I had no panties on. I felt a wet spot on my slip. I was completely abased, utterly humiliated, worthless. I could take some small pride in performing well as a maid, but how could I possibly take pride in being fucked in front of strangers? Even if they applauded me. I had hoped I might become - well, not their friend, since I was a nobody, but someone they cared about, someone whose feelings mattered to them. A beloved servant, not a sex toy they would hand out like party favors. I knew I owed them my gratitude, but my feelings were hurt. Madam told me I could go and put on my panties. As I fled to her office, I heard the guests start to talk about me. When I returned, they were getting up to go. As they filed out the door, I curtsied to each of them. The tech dude reached out and toyed with my left breast, smiling, but didn't touch my nipple. Some of the others praised me for the dinner or the exhibition afterwards or both. The last person out, the tech wife, kissed me on the lips. The door closed. I was upset. I was struggling to control my voice. "Madam, couldn't you have warned me about this earlier?" Madam gave me a look and said, "Why? You didn't need to know." "But, Madam, I'm not comfortable being lent to other people for sex!" "Don't give me that attitude, Miss Maid! When you came here, I specifically told you that you would be expected to engage in intimate activities with us or our guests." I tried to remember. Yes, she did say that. Abashed, I fell silent. "After all, you may find the duty pleasant," Madam said. "A different house to clean, and they'll all be nice houses. You don't seem to mind having sex with us, which frankly surprises me a little, and I doubt they'll want more than what we showed them." "Except for Ms. Leather Pants," Sir said. "Yes," said Madam. "Lisa, you control how much pain is OK. You like a sharp spank or two, that's fine. You don't like being beaten. If anyone hurts you more than you want to be hurt, tell them to stop, and if they don't, tell them you're going to report them to me. If it happens twice, you'll never see them again." "Thank you, Madam," I said. I wanted to cry in gratitude, but I was not allowing myself to cry. I was actually feeling numb. Too much had happened today. "Could I please just go to bed?" "Beauty regimen first," Madam said. ~ ~ ~ So I did it. The next Monday, I cleaned house for the famous athlete and his equally famous wife. He was quite generously endowed, and I could not take in as much of him as he wanted. He climaxed satisfactorily, but I was not proud of my performance. I apologized abjectly and promised him I would practice and be better next time. He smiled, ruffled my hair and said I did good. I took pains to please his wife as well as I could. I ached pretty badly afterwards, but there was no blood, so Madam declared it a success. The following Monday, I cleaned house for Mr. TV. He lived in a downtown condo in which his blonde did not appear to be in residence. The place was a typical bachelor pigsty. The bathroom and kitchen were particularly appalling. I excavated a burial mound's worth of dirty clothes and started the laundry. He got dressed in this mess and then appeared on the news? Eww. Making his place fit for habitation would be a multi-week project. A week later, I cleaned the tech couple's house. It was already clean. I reported to the wife, who smiled, took my hand and drew me into her bedroom. I spent much of the day pleasing her in every way I could. We played one game where she gave me a swat every time we passed in a hallway. I would shriek and try to run away in my heels, and she would catch me and swat me again. In the afternoon, she lubed me up and handed me over to Mr. T-Shirt Dude. Like all the other men, he had me blow him first, and then he plunged into my rear passage. His dick was not unlike Sir's, and I came just before he did. Ms. Tech came up behind me in the kitchen later and ran her hands over my body, from shoulders to crotch. I stiffened at first, then relaxed. It felt good. "You've never been tied up?" she said. "No," I said, suddenly afraid. "Would you like to try it? Would you let me?" "No, thank you, ma'am," I said. "If I'm tied up, I won't be able to clean your house. What if I just licked you again?" "Go for it, girl!" I did. Like all the other women I'd served, her clitoris was her most sensitive part, and licking and sucking on it produced the usual effect, except that she went berserk when she had an orgasm. She hooked her feet behind me, scratched my back with her enameled talons, howled in whatever her native language was, and nearly crushed my head between her thighs. I was able to give her the usual three orgasms, after which she uttered a huge sigh and fell asleep. I found her husband downstairs and reported to him. He was pleasantly surprised to hear she was sleeping - apparently she'd been having insomnia. He took me in hand and emptied himself down my throat, then drove me home. This three-week rotation continued for a month, and then things changed again. Sir and Madam offered my services to more of their friends, and now I was working outside the home for two days a week. And then three days a week. For people I didn't know. Why were my master and mistress doing this? Were they being paid? I couldn't imagine they needed the cash. If money was involved, I certainly wasn't getting any. It expanded to four days a week, and at this point I began to lose it. I couldn't stand it any longer. I couldn't keep up with everything I needed to do. I hated, hated, hated being lent out to people I barely knew or didn't know at all. Not all of them were as nice as the first three couples I served. I assumed money was changing hands, because otherwise why would Sir and Madam do this? I was a whore now. The only good thing about it was that I didn't have to walk the streets to get customers. Which was worse: being pimped out to strangers, or sewing strips of lace on panties? I wasn't sure. I started thinking about how I could escape. Could I climb the wall that surrounded the estate? Probably not in my dress, petticoats and heels. I couldn't steal Sir's clothes, as they were far too large for me. I could steal Madam's clothes, but her trousers would be too long, her dresses were mostly tight and would be more confining than my uniform, and her shoes were just as impractical as mine. Dig a tunnel under the wall? Not in my maid's dress and heels - I'd get filthy, my nails would be ruined, and Madam would notice. I doubted I could finish it in one night, even if I could get my hands on a shovel. I just wasn't built for manual labor. Could I escape while cleaning at a customer's house? Why not? I wasn't fettered or restrained. Just slip out the front door and disappear. Of course, I would be walking the streets in a maid's uniform and heels, which might draw unwanted attention, but I just needed to find someone who was willing to help me. Crap! I forgot about my rhinestone GPS bracelet. I wondered if I could cut it off my wrist. I would have to try, or give up. One day while both of them were out, I snuck into the garage and found a small pair of tin snips that would do, unless the bracelet was made of titanium or something similar. I hid the tin snips under my mattress. I made my plan. Tin snips in my purse when I work at someone's house. If a good opportunity presented itself, try to cut off my GPS bracelet. If I succeed, walk out without being noticed. Quickly get out of sight from the house. Head for the most developed area nearby and tell people I'd escaped from kidnappers and needed help - which was true. I'd probably end up in the hands of the police. I just had to hope I was somewhere where the cops were reasonably well-behaved. Two nights later, I was taken to the house of the tech couple, whom I now knew as Mr. White and Ms. East. They liked having sex at the beginning of my shift, so I accommodated them before starting a load of laundry and doing the breakfast dishes. They both headed upstairs, where I imagined they would spend most of the day staring at screens. This might be the perfect time to make my break. I knew by now that while their property was fenced and gated, there was a button outside the garage that opened the gate, so that the staff could take out the trash and recycling, or fetch the mail. I got the tin snips out of my purse and tried to cut off my GPS bracelet. It snapped, and I removed it. I stripped off my maid's cap and apron and stuffed them in the clothes hamper, so that I'd look like a normal woman instead of a maid. I tossed in the bracelet and tin snips, too. I opened the front door, afraid that it would trigger an alarm, but if it did, it was silent. They had a high-tech doorbell that was probably shooting video of me, but I couldn't help that. I pressed the button outside the garage, walked quickly down the driveway while the gate opened, and stepped onto the sidewalk. I was free! I was in a neighborhood of big homes on big lots. Rich people. Some but not all were gated. If I knocked on a front door, would I get help or be told to get lost? Choosing a direction at random, I turned right, hurrying as fast as I could in my heels. I passed the first house to the right, which had a gated driveway that was closed, when I heard a car squeal around a corner and a familiar hum coming down the street behind me. I looked over my shoulder and, to my horror, saw Mr. White's Tesla heading straight toward me. Opening the front door must have triggered some sort of alarm or alert. The doorbell video would show them what had happened. They were coming for me. I started to run. Realized I couldn't, not in these heels. Kicked them off. Ran down the sidewalk in my stockings, flashing my petticoat - I should have taken it off, too, but I was so used to wearing petticoats that I forgot I had it on. Turned into the first driveway that wasn't gated. Hoped to reach the front door, hoped someone was home, hoped they would let me inside before the White-Easts recaptured me. The driveway was long and uphill. Damn! The Tesla turned into the driveway, zoomed past me and braked to a stop, cutting me off from the front door and almost pinning me against a stone wall. I circled around the back of the car. The driver's side door opened. Mr. White hopped out and grabbed me by the wrist as I tried to get past him and reach the front door. "Stop!" he shouted. My body betrayed me by automatically obeying him. I stopped and tried to break free of his grip, but it was useless. He was taller, bigger and stronger than me and was in excellent shape. "Let me go!" I cried. He twisted my arm behind me. I was helpless. "Help! Help!" I shouted. By now Ms. East was out of the car. She had a pair of handcuffs, and quickly pinioned my wrists behind me. "Silence!" she hissed in my ear. Mr. White opened the rear door on the driver's side. His wife shoved me inside and slammed the door. I sprawled on the seat. With my hands bound, I couldn't sit up, let alone open the door. I was afraid to shout for help now. It would just make them angrier. The two of them hopped back into the car. Mr. White backed down the driveway, saw that the street was clear, pulled out into it, spun the steering wheel and headed back to their house. He pushed a button, the gate closed behind us and a garage door opened. He pulled inside. The door rattled down. My freedom had lasted a minute or less. I was trapped in their handcuffs, inside their car, inside their garage, inside their steel gate. I was their helpless captive, and I was shaking with fear of what would happen next. Mr. White turned in his seat and glared at me. "That was very foolish, Lisa, and you will be very sorry you did it." He opened the rear door, pulled me up and helped me out of the car. I hobbled inside in my tattered stockings. My shoes were out on the sidewalk somewhere. I was doomed. I was in such trouble. I had broken so many rules. Attempted escape. Refusal to obey orders. Loss of shoes. Destruction of stockings. Out of uniform while on duty. For starters. "Go to your room, Lisa," Ms. East said. "You can stay cuffed for now." I went upstairs, and immediately faced the problem of how to pee in a dress and petticoat with my hands handcuffed behind my back. I managed, but it took twice as long as usual, and I couldn't wipe afterwards. That was the least of my problems at the moment. I wondered how they would punish me. A heavy spanking for sure. I waited. I looked out my window and cried. My door opened. "Come with me," Mr. White said. I took the stairs carefully, knowing I was helpless to stop myself if I tripped. In the foyer, Mr. White blindfolded me and put a hood over my head, the way I usually traveled to and from customers' houses. He led me into the garage and pushed me headlong onto the back seat of the car. He took a length of rope and tied my ankles together, then got into the driver's seat. I felt the car back out, head down the driveway and turn left. Taking the usual circuitous route, he drove me back to Sir and Madam's house, where he untied my ankles and, without a word to me, handed me over to Madam. He spoke to Sir in his office. Madam removed my hood and blindfold and sent me to my room with my hands still cuffed behind my back. I sat on my bed and cried tears of bitter regret. I was so stupid! A stupid bimbo. Stupid enough to find myself in this humiliating situation. An hour later, Madam returned. She grabbed me by the arm and walked me downstairs. I almost tripped and fell. Sir was waiting in the foyer, holding a plastic cup of water. "Sit," Sir said, pointing to the loveseat in the foyer. He held the cup to my lips. "Drink." Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no. When Sir and Madam's friends took me to their houses, they blindfolded and hooded and handcuffed me and made me lay down on the back seat or in the trunk of the car. They didn't sedate me. The cup of water meant only one thing. I was being sent back to Pink Prison. "No! No, please!" I turned my head away from the cup. I futilely struggled with the handcuffs. "Be still!" Madam grabbed my head and held it tight. I refused to open my mouth. Sir pinched my nose, cutting off my air supply. When I opened my mouth to breathe, he poured in the liquid, and she forced my head back so that I had to swallow. Before passing out, I had a vision of the face of Miss Madison, the mean girl prefect who made my life hell the last time I was in Pink Prison. She was laughing at me. ~ ~ ~ PART 3 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 the girls 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. 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 female 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