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Major Makeover by Throne "Stop fidgeting, Pinky," the tall woman said in an exasperated tone. "I'm sorry, Aunt Fiona. It's just that this whole project, putting me into dresses and everything, isn't easy for me. And if you could please call me Parker, like before, it might be better." "If I called you by your boy name, it would only work against everything we're trying to accomplish." She patted the tight bun high on the back of her head, into which her long black hair had been arranged. "And after all the trouble you've gotten yourself into, it's to your benefit to follow the recommendations the court made." "But I didn't do anything wrong. I mean, not really bad." "Well, Pinky," his aunt pointed out, fussing with the lace collar of his chartreuse princess dress, "Judge Amy disagreed with that, didn't she?" "I suppose," he admitted sulkily. "Remember how she reacted when those security camera videos were shown? Of you jerking off in that lingerie shop?" "I couldn't help myself. My girlfriend Sula took me in there and made me wait for her outside the changing rooms. I mean, seeing all those girls coming and going, half undressed..." "Did you forget what the therapist said about making excuses?" He lowered his eyes. "No, Ma'am. I'm sorry." She liked it when he was apologetic, even if he had a valid point. It showed that the changes everyone was working to make had started taking effect. Fiona tugged down the short sleeves and smoothed the bodice, feeling the bra underneath, with its padded cups that gave him a modest bust. "And remember what Sula said during your hearing? About how aggressive you got with her on your last date?" "I didn't... It's just that I thought she wanted..." "Now hush. We don't have time for more of your foolishness. Imagining that you can argue your way out of this is silly. After all, you don't have the mental capacity for it, now do you?" Several people had already suggested to him that he wasn't as intelligent as he had always thought. That idea was beginning to take hold in his mind. He stuck out his lower lip, glistening with heavily applied gloss. "I guess I don't." She loved how his former confidence was wavering, on the way to a total collapse. What was more important, however, was to undermine his belief that he was at all masculine. "You have to consider," his aunt went on, "that a normal 18 your old boy doesn't rub himself through his jeans while he's in a public place, like you did." "I know," he conceded. "And if he honestly likes females, he never gets rough with them." "All I did was raise my voice." "And...?" "Grab Sula's wrist." "Why do you think you did that? Do you agree with what everyone else thought in group therapy?" They had intentionally put him into a roomful of guys in the same situation. The difference was that they were all further along the path to being turned into whimpering sissies. Based on the ideas they had all been fed, it was natural for them to say that his supposed wrongdoings with Sula were motivated by his fear of women. And that he was afraid because he secretly preferred guys. But that he couldn't face up to that fact. Having half a dozen other young men -- admittedly ones who acted swishy and had already lost contact with their own manliness -- all assert that he was most likely a fairy at heart, had undermined his self- image until he was vulnerable to whatever his aunt said to reinforce those persistent concerns. "But I don't want to be some kind of homo," he told her, sounding close to tears. "No one is trying to make you something you aren't already, down inside. But you have to go along with these exercises so a determination can be made. We're all trying to help you, Pinky. It's important to be your true self, whoever that might be." She paused for effect and then finished with, "Even if it's your inner prom queen who's is simply trying to reveal herself." That hit him hard. Fiona took him by the hand and led him to a tall, three-panel mirror like you might find in a dressing room. Parker eyed himself up and down. His collar-length, dark blonde hair had been trimmed and styled into a bob cut with a side part. It was shorter in the back and got slightly longer as it came forward. His aunt had the stylist come to her home to do it and, at that beautician's suggestion, lighter streaks had been added. He hated how girly it made him look and yet admitted that it flattered his pale oval face. He had on a hint of eye makeup, including mascara to thicken his lashes, sparingly applied blush, and the aforementioned lip gloss. It was a lot to put up with but he had to consider that the alternative was a stay in prison, where a small, delicate looking guy like himself would be the subject of lots of unwanted attention from bigger and stronger inmates. He turned slowly to check his dress. The lace collar was high and it buttoned in the back, so that he would have trouble getting out of it unless he was given help. What Parker didn't know was that it was designed to be difficult to shed. His aunt had paid for it out of his large trust fund, which was under her control by court order. He couldn't even buy anything small without her giving him the money for it, which she had decided not to do because he was living under her roof for the remainder of his three-year probation, and she would provide him with whatever he needed. The short sleeves showed off how his body hair had been removed. He had assumed that was temporary, except that in the two weeks since the laser treatments nothing had grown back. Parker had previously had the faint traces of whiskers, even if they had only been what was derisively called peach fuzz. Now even those indicators of maleness were gone. And he had recently been started on morning health shakes, to which he had seen Fiona add pills before she turned on the blender. He tried to question her about what he was being fed but she just poo-pooed his concerns, mentioning that he wasn't bright enough to understand what was involved. By then his belief in his own intellect was eroded enough that he accepted her negative judgement of his comprehension. The top of the dress was well fitted, and gave him a sense of confinement. It had a decorative sash at the waist and then flared out, supported by petticoats. He found it disturbing that he hadn't been given panties to wear underneath. His legs were encased in satiny stockings, the same color as the dress, with elastic tops to hold them up. On his small feet were high-button shoes that he was sure he couldn't take off without using the buttonhook that his aunt kept in the pocket of her long grey dress, the one that made him think of a matron in some detention center for girls. The footwear had two inch heels that were wide enough to make them easier to walk in then stilettos. He had been training with similar shoes for a while and was becoming adept at balancing on them. Still, Fiona had said he would soon be ready for three-inch heels, which would make his movements even more feminine than they had already gotten. She told him to stroll around. He automatically held his arms out a few inches from his sides and kept his wrists limp. She was delighted that he didn't have to be prompted any longer to assume the proper body language. Plus, his voice had grown higher and softer, with no more lapses in its girly sound like there had been in the beginning. Parker was becoming Pinky in so many ways, caught in his new identity more each day. "All right," Fiona said. "Go to the dayroom. I'll be right behind you, making sure you take ladylike steps." "Yes, Auntie." Even a week ago he might have objected to being told where to go, to the requirement that he maintain a girly gait, and to being expected to sometimes call her 'Auntie'. Now he accepted it all without protest. She was almost going to miss his feeble attempts at rebellion. On the other hand, Parker would soon have much more extreme lifestyle changes to try to rebel against. It would be helpful for her that his self-image was already so confused. The material of the dress hissed faintly as he moved. When they got to their destination, with it's high windows and overstuffed furniture, she motioned for him to sit in the center of the sofa. Fiona was gratified when he did it in a prim and proper way. He even crossed his hands on his lap. She put herself in a highbacked armchair across from him, calculated to reinforce the impression that she was in command. The woman let him sit there, obviously squirming inside, while she kept her chin up and gazed down her nose at him. The aristocratic pose enhanced her image of authority. Not until she estimated he was at his most uncomfortable did she speak. "Because you have responded so positively to your treatments thus far," she began, "it has been decided that you need progress further." "You mean...?" he asked uncertainly. "I mean, Pinky, that you will now become less male in a variety of ways." She had anticipated that those words would trigger some sort of pushback and was ready. He told her, "I was thinking that maybe we could... try to go... in the other direction." "Oh?" She gave him an imperious look. "But I've noticed that you're enjoying your new identity, girl." "I'm..." He pressed his lips together. "Not exactly." "But to some degree. I noticed just now that you hesitated before trying to contradict me. It certainly sounded like you didn't want to fight back. And I'm confident that you've come to enjoy the feel of girly clothes, like you have on now, against your skin. Can you deny that the touch of the petticoats is stimulating? Or that your padded bra feels pleasant against your smooth hairless chest?" "Well... you know..." She raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Please be honest with yourself, Pinky. Tell me truthfully how it is to have those materials caressing your skin." "I..." His smooth brow showed the tiniest creases between his eyes. Even though they already had blush on them, his cheeks grew pinker. "It... you know... doesn't feel bad." "And...?" she prompted. "It's kind of... nice." "So if it's nice now, isn't it logical that more of the same would be even nicer?" He opened and closed his mouth. Very softly he said, "Yes." "And I know those petticoats feel extra good on your bottom and..." She lowered her voice. "... your boy parts. Don't you like not having any panties between you and those tantalizing petticoats? Tell me the truth." "Yes." "Even though you also like it when you do were panties. Right?" "I..." He sniffled. "Yes, Ma'am. Yes, Auntie." That was what she wanted to hear. With a minimum of manipulation and just a few sly word choices, she had maneuvered him into saying that he liked the feel of girlish fashions. But there was one final confession to elicit. This was the most important of all. "And, still being honest, as if you were back in that courtroom, trying to avoid prison and what we know would take place in there, tell me if you find the caress of what you're wearing excites you... sexually." She sat back, to indicate that she wasn't pressuring him, but contradicted her body language by setting her face into a mask of serious expectation. The combination of signals she was sending put him off balance. If he denied what she was suggesting, would she just come at it again but from a different angle? He was so tired of trying to assert himself and always failing. Every time it proved what he didn't want to believe, which was that he really was a slow thinker and poor at expressing himself. Besides that, he couldn't deny absolutely that he got at least a scintilla of enjoyment from the feel of those filled bra cups against his nipples, and the soft touch of his petticoats on his backside and... especially... his genitals. Lowering his eyes in shame, he told her what she wanted so much to hear. "Yes, Auntie. It does... arouse me. I'm sorry." "No need to apologize, Pinky. All you're doing is getting closer to your true self. That's important. I'm sure Judge Amy and your therapist, Ms. Standish, will be pleased by your breakthrough." Before he had a chance to think further, she suggested, "Now let's go to the kitchen, where you can brew us some tea and make up a tray of cookies. Won't that be pleasant?" He stood and, without thinking, did a little dip suggestive of a curtsey. She hadn't planned to introduce him to that habit this soon, but didn't want to pass up such a welcome opportunity. "That was so sweet," she said as she rose. "The sort of a curtsey you just did. It shows a proper attitude. Please practice it and perform one whenever you think it's appropriate. Don't worry. I'll help you learn exactly what you're expected to offer one. After all, Pinky, I do have your best interested in mind" In the kitchen Parker puttered about, efficiently starting the tea, setting out cups on the small table in an adjoining alcove, and arranging cookies on a silver tray. Fiona could easily picture him in a maid's outfit, a skimpy one that he would be embarrassed to be seen in, performing other duties like that, along with a long list of housekeeping chores that would take up much of his time every day. It was so rewarding to control him like she was doing. The trick, however, was to take her time. She reminded herself that the journey was more important then the destination, though where he would eventually arrive would be thrilling for her in many ways as well. After they were done and Parker had cleaned up, his aunt directed him to the foyer immediately inside her home's main entrance. She had him sit on one of the antique chairs against the wall. "We're having visitors soon, dear, and I want you here to admit them and greet them. That's not too challenging for you, now is it?" He didn't like to be condescended to like that, or the suggestion that such a simple task might be beyond him, but the self doubts that she and others had conspired to inculcate within him rose to the fore and he let his narrow shoulders slump. "No, Ma'am. I can handle that." He hung his head. "I think." "Well, then, show proper posture and do remember to smile when they get here. I'll be in the library. Bring the visitors to me, please." "I will, Auntie." Whoever was coming must be acquaintances of Fiona's, no one he knew. He sat up straight, aware of the different materials touching various parts of his body. The dress felt comforting against his torso. His stockings were somehow reassuring, the way they clung to his legs. Even the shoes, how they held his feet in an enforced arch and gently compressed his toes, seemed right. He inhaled the mingled scents of perfumed bath salts and flowery shampoo that wafted off of him. Parker tried to recall the smells of sweat and dirt from when he used to be allowed to play with other guys outside, but those memories had become unnaturally distant, and receding further all the time. He sighed and licked his lips, tasting the gloss on them. Then he thought about how awkward it would be to try to undo his dress in the back and attempt to remove his shoes without the use of that buttonhook his aunt so carefully guarded. He was imprisoned not just in his new clothes, but in his blossoming personality. As he sat there trying to think his way through it all, but finding he lacked the confidence to do even that, the young man slipped into a quiet reverie. All his mind could dwell on was pretty clothes, hair and makeup, and smells sweet enough that they might attract bees. The thought of those flying insects made him flinch. Maybe it was better that he was almost never permitted to go outdoors. Parker was yanked back from his dreamy state to reality by the sound of the heavy knocker on the front door. He shook himself back to full consciousness and went to answer it. When he swung open the heavy door he gasped. Confronting him was Sula, the girl he had once seen as his heartthrob. Alongside her, with his large hand around her small fingers, was a tall, darkly handsome guy. Parker belatedly recognized him as Jarrod, who she had dated during their senior year in high school, after she gently dismissed Parker from her romantic life. His relationship with her had never advanced beyond some chaste kisses and fumbling attempts to get intimate. Then there had been a brief reuniting, during which the incident in the lingerie shop, as well as the unfortunate follow-up at her family's home, had taken place. Then came the months of shameful descent for Parker, culminating in his feminized tenure with his aunt. He definitely did not want to be seen like this by her and the guy she so obviously had feelings for. "Oh," Parker squeaked. "This is just part of my... what I have to do to..." "I understand," Sula said, as if she were dealing with a dangerous, barely controlled criminal. Jarrod put his long arm around her shoulders and held her close. "It's alright, babe. I'm with you. That sex offender can't threaten you any more." Parker wanted to say something on his own behalf but couldn't summon the words. He was totally intimidated by the powerful young man next to Sula. She drew herself up and said to the boy in a dress, "Fiona is expecting us." Sula was so lovely. She was slim but athletic, with a modest bust that rode high on her chest. Her reddish blond hair was worn efficiently but stylishly short. She had on a sleeveless top and brief skirt. As desirable as she was, Parker remembered his position, vis a vis the court, and averted his eyes. He said, "Please walk this way," and started toward the library. Jarrod snorted and said, "If I walked that way, I'd have guys following me." Sula giggled but said, "Be nice to him. Or her. To Pinky. That's what he likes to be called now. He's getting to know who he really is. I'm sure he'd prefer to be treated as who he looks like -- a demure young girl." Parker wanted to run away and hide. He hated being characterized that way. But in his current situation he didn't have any choice. And those ideas his aunt had put into his mind, that he preferred this at some level, preyed on him, ate away at his remaining maleness. He noticed that his hips were swaying even more than usual, which would be plainly visible to the pair behind him, but decided it was too late to alter his stride. Besides, he shouldn't have to pretend to be less Pinky just because they were there. He tried to figure out where that thought had come from, but then they reached the library and the chance was gone. Fiona sat on a highbacked chair, looking regal. Sula went over to clasp her hand and exchange warm greetings and affectionate smiles. Jarrod followed with his heavy, flatfooted walk, and shook the older woman's hand in a gentlemanly way. The pair sat on a couch off to one side. Fiona offered them beverages and they both said ginger ale would be fine. Parker's aunt sent him to fetch their drinks. As he departed she said, "Use the correct glasses, Pinky. And don't forget to add two ice cubes to each." "Yes, Auntie." He winced at hearing himself address her that way. And why did she have to outline that simple task as if he would get it wrong otherwise? Still, he told himself, better safe than sorry. After all, he wasn't overly bright, was he? When he returned with the glasses on a tray similar to the one he had used earlier for cookies, his aunt and her guests were deep in a discussion. As Parker entered the room they fell silent and all looked at him appraisingly. He handed out the drinks and set the tray on an end table. Jarrod got to his feet and locked eyes with Parker. "Okay, Pinky. Time to do what we've got to do. With you having your control problem, when it comes to rubbing your dick, and with the threat of you getting nasty with my girlfriend again, something has to be done." Hearing Jarrod refer to Sula as he girlfriend pulled a trigger in Parker's mind. He stalked toward her with his hands balled into fists but still at his sides. "You were my girlfriend," he sobbed. "Until we went our separate ways." "But then you came back." She sighed with regret. "I didn't want to tell you this, Pinky, but that temporary reconciliation was only because Jarrod and I had a little spat and I wanted to annoy him. You weren't that interesting the first time and I certainly didn't want a repeat performance." She glanced toward the dark-haired hunk she was with. "Let's be realistic. After having the real thing, why would I ever want to go back to... you? Sorry, pretty-stuff, but that's the way it is." "It's not fair," he bleated, his face contorted by emotions. Parker stamped his foot. The heel of his shoe struck the floor at and angle and he lost his balance. Without knowing what he was doing, he stumbled and fell onto the sofa, his arm brushing Sula's shoulder. "That's it!" Jarrod barked. "You definitely need to be controlled." He grabbed Parker by the wrist and yanked him roughly to his feet, then gave him a violent shaking. To Sula he said, "You have that little keeper thing. Right?" "It's in my bag." She made a show of rubbing the shoulder Parker had barely touched, which wasn't sore at all. Then she opened her capacious bag and took out a small box. From that she produced a metal device that Parker couldn't identify. She held it out so he could get a better look. "It's a cock cage. Or in your case, from what I've heard about Jarrod seeing you in the locker room, we should call it a pin-dick prison." "Yeah, Pinky," the bigger guy said. "I kind of slipped up and mentioned that you have a puppy prick. I'm so sorry," he added insincerely. "I guess not having much between your legs is one of the reasons you ended up being a sex freak and wearing your ball gown." "It's not a ball gown," he wimped defensively. "It's a princess dress." Sula chuckled. "Well, either way, you're wearing it. And looking like it belongs on you. I mean the hair, that face paint, your voice, the walk and..." She held out her arms, let her wrists go slack, and flapped her hands around. "... the whole drag queen attitude." She shook her head. "And now attacking me in front of everybody." "You don't understand. I'm not gay. And I never went after you. Just look at me and..." His words trailed off as he realized his appearance didn't make a good argument for him being straight. He finished weakly, "I'm not that way. Maybe a little. But not much." "Yeah," Jarrod said. "Well, in the locker room, while all the guys couldn't believe what you were packing, or not packing, they also spotted you checking their junk. Including me." "I did not," he cried petulantly. "Sure I noticed you. But only because you're so big down there. And with all that black pubic hair. Plus the way your cock swayed when you walked. And how the water ran off that big knob in the shower. It's not like I was paying special attention to your dong. Not like I wanted to touch it or anything. I was only..." Their doubting expressions told him that he was just digging himself deeper into a pit of presumed guilt. He even sounded like a cock chaser to himself. But it wasn't like that. Or was it? His certainty about his sexual preferences had already been shaken, and now it was on the verge of collapse. But he had a more immediate concern. "Up with the dress," Jarrod said. "Time to lock up the beast." Parker clapped his hands over his crotch. "You can't." He was quivering all over. "What about when Auntie let's me play with myself and..." Oops. He had just confessed to his regulated masturbation sessions. "Part of the program the court put him on," Fiona explained. "Disgusting to see him playing with his puny pecker, making faces, and huffing and puffing. Just one of the many sacrifices I've had to make to try to get Pinky through this." "I understand," Sula told her. "Whenever I went out with him he got that hungry look in his eyes. I imagine he pulled his pickle as soon as he got home." To Parker she said, "Didn't you, little dick-wringer?" "I only did it because..." He closed his eyes in embarrassment. There went another of his dwindling number of secrets. He finished lamely, "... you got me so excited." "That's the same excuse you used for fondling your dick through your pants in public, saying that I had gotten you all heated up somehow, before we went out. Didn't Judge Amy tell you not to blame others for your offenses? Or are you having trouble remembering her instructions? I know you're not very bright, but that should be simple enough even for you." Unable to think straight, Parker just looked guilty. "Let's go," Jarrod snapped with a suggestion of threat in his voice. "Get your gown out of the way." Parker started weeping like a humiliated schoolgirl as he gathered up his dress and the multiple petticoats. Everyone saw that he had nothing on underneath. "Whoa," exclaimed Jarrod. "With his pubes all bald, his dingle looks even smaller than I remember." He laughed at the sight. "Now sit on the end of the sofa," Fiona told her nephew, "and get one leg up over the arm. Even you should be able to follow such an uncomplicated instruction." Still holding up his dress, he plopped his bare bottom down. In his runaway nervousness, he tried to cross the wrong leg over the arm of the sofa. "Not like that," Jarrod said, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "You really are an idiot, Pinky," Sula marveled. "Which makes it so much harder to try to do anything for him." Fiona sighed theatrically. "Can you get that gadget on him by yourself, dear?" "I think so, if Jarrod keeps him from getting out of hand." The tall, dark and handsome guy put himself at the end of the sofa and seized Parker's elevated ankle. His other hand moved in so he could pinch the weakling's ear and give it a twist. "Yeah," Jarrod said. "I think I can keep the fashion model from acting up." He gave the ear an extra twist. Parker yelped. "Can't I, sugarplum?" "Yes. Yes, Sir. Definitely, Mr. Jarrod. Just stop hurting me." "Oh settle down, buttercup," Sula said. "He gets a lot rougher than that with me in bed. I mean, bending and turning me every which way, grabbing hold of whatever he pleases, pinching and biting. He's an animal during sex. But I don't mind because he's so good at screwing. When he slips me that monster cock," she rhapsodized, "it's incredible. And he has so much technique. Such total confidence. And staying power like you wouldn't believe." While she was unreeling all that praise for Jarrod's many assets, it was plainly getting Parker more and more upset. But the smaller guy had at last gotten his feelings under control. It was sheer torture for him to have to hear all that, from the lips of the girl he had fantasized would be his forever love, and not be able to make a peep. But he swallowed the sad remains of his pride and accepted it all. She laid out the pieces of the chastity cage. He was so stressed out that when she took hold of is tiny hairless genitals he didn't get hard. That made it easy for her to slip the ring over his penis and then pass his testicles through it one at a time. "Good thing I was able to find the super small model," she commented. Then she fitted the front over is flaccid member, tucking it into the tiny space and making sure his pee hole was lined up with the opening in the cap so he could urinate. Jarrod watched her pick up the small, heart-shaped padlock. "Have you got everything just where it needs to be?" he asked. "Because I don't guess that keeper is coming off anytime soon." "I know. The therapist says this will calm him down and make him much more manageable. If nobody uses the key." "Maybe you should let me hold onto that," he suggested. "You'd have to be extra careful not to lose it. We wouldn't want Pinky's miniature dick stuck in there permanently." "True. That would be awfully unfortunate. To leave this guy, who thinks he should be allowed to have you, with his tool in lockdown for good." Parker didn't like the words he was saying or the implications of how he was saying them. Even then the helpless young guy didn't say anything. Jarrod stood him on his feet and turned him to face Sula. "Now you ought to thank her for putting that on you, and making the world safe for women again." Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, Parker mumbled, "Thank you, Miss Sula. I know you didn't want to do that but..." She cut him with a loud, "HEY!", shouted directly into his face. "Actually, I liked doing it. You're a loser, Pinky, and deserve whatever you get." He fell into shocked silence. Jarrod clamped one strong hand onto the back of Parker's neck, tightened his grip, and declared, "You still owe my girlfriend an apology for that clumsy attack of yours." Too beaten down to do anything but obey, Parker began, "Sula, I am truly sorry if I..." Jarrod applied downward pressure. Lots of it. The chastity-locked victim went down onto his knees, his dress spread out around him. Because he was perspiring, the smell of his various perfumed scents had increased. He looked up at Sula and began tearfully to say something again but once more Jarrod silenced him. "Not like that, birdbrain. Go way down. And kiss her shoes." She wore simple slip-ons. He touched the top of one with his nose and inhaled the distinctive odor of leather, accompanied by the tang of sweat and the sourness of whatever might be between her toes. Parker adjusted his head so he could plant a series of kisses on the toe of one shoe and then the other. He didn't understand why she had an angry outburst after the cock-lock went on him. His emotions were more confused than ever. Was he gay or a threat to females or somehow both? It was deeply demeaning to be kissing her footwear and yet it felt right to be doing it. He spontaneously said, "I'm sorry. I was useless as boyfriend. You're much better off with Jarrod. I'm glad you two have each other. I'm worthless. And now my aunt has to deal with me. She's trying so hard but I don't think I'll ever get things right. I know I need to be in dresses and other girly clothes. The court and my therapist and everyone is trying to get me straightened out. It's all so difficult but I'll try. I'll keep trying. I understand now that touch of the dresses and everything gets me excited. I'm going to be the best girl that I can for all of you." "It's all right, Pinky," Sula soothed. "Just keep trying. There are going to be a lot of challenges for you, the further you go into your feminine, submissive self. It won't be easy at first, in the sex department, but your chastity will help. You'll learn to be grateful that you're locked up, because it makes it easier for you to forget your own pleasure and concentrate on everyone else's. Now don't you want to apologize to Jarrod, too?" "Yes. I need to do that." He crawled from her to him and lavished attention on his much heavier, less clean shoes. As he kissed and even licked them, the two females moved to the side of the room and stood very close to each other. They conversed in hushed voices. "We turned the corner," Fiona observed. "His willpower is gone and we can mold him into anything we want from now on." "But will he like it?" "No. His essential personality is still male. So at some level Pinky will be fighting every new step we make, hating the way he has to look and act. Especially all the sex stuff that's coming." "Mmm. I can't wait for that. Jarrod is willing to volunteer for some of the scenes we'll put Pinky into. I figure it will be much more effective to have our sissy servicing and being used by the big strong guy who got the girl he wanted." "I like that. But we'll take our time getting to that phase. There's no rush. This is going to be quite a makeover." "Yes. It will be so entertaining when we start to alter Pinky's appearance. Those court-appointed plastic surgeons are true artists. They'll be doing a fantastic makeover on him." "I agree. But the most important and effective work is what we're doing ourselves. Getting into my nephew's mind and reprogramming that, gradually turning him into a total sissy slut, who hates what he's doing but can't control his urge to do it, is the greatest transformation. That will be the major makeover." ********* (This fantasy was composed partly while under the influence of the first chapter of TRAIN WRECK by Bessie Dekker. I hope you'll read that one and leave the author a comment.)