TV Schoolgirl by C.C.



by c. c.


My name is Clinton Crayle, and I’m a very different kind of Private Detective. I specialize in untangling the kinky sex lives of the very rich. My fee is One Thousand Dollars a Day, and I’m seldom out of work. My clients know that my discretion is absolute, and I guarantee my results. So if you’re rich and in a jam, come to my office. Sir Peter Wimbley did….


Two months after our first meeting, I met with Sir Peter Wimbley again. We were in an office at the Les-Bryn Girls Academy. I wore a false beard and dark wig along with my conservative three-piece suit, and the name plate on my desk identified me as Doctor N. E. Marcus.


“Sir Peter,” I said reluctantly, “You and I have both gone to a lot of trouble and expense to set me up here. But it’s my sad duty to tell you that my investigation has reached a dead end. I’ll have to return my fee. ”


“Damn,” With typical class, Sir Peter tried to hide the disappointment that was etched into every line of his aged face. “Are you quite certain that there’s no way for you to continue?”


“Perhaps you can come up with something if I summarize the facts,” I said, hoping to soften the blow to this charming old gent. “You helped to found Les-Bryn as a model school for…for….”


“For wayward lasses from fine families,” He interjected, “A place where young girls of breeding, who were breaking their poor parents’ hearts, could get a taste of old fashioned Discipline. Oh, but forgive me for interrupting!”


“I couldn’t have put it better,” I said, “But a few months ago, you began to hear rumors about Marijuana at this school. Gradually, you started to suspect that someone was selling it to the girls here. Someone who had a fool-proof method of insuring that no one would report her to the School Authorities. That’s why you called me in.”


“Exactly!” The old man affirmed, “Les-Bryn could never stand for the scandal of a public investigation. But when I heard of your reputation for getting results and keeping them quiet, I knew you were the man for the job!”


“And so you helped me create the role of Dr. Marcus and installed me as a counselor here — the only male member of the staff, by the way — For my part, I’ve done every thing I could to look and act like the kind of person that the girls here could confide in. This false beard and long hair… I even put lifts in my shoes to look taller!”


“But you say you’ve reached an impasse, eh? Despite our best efforts?”


“It’s partly the fault of your Head-Mistress, Barbara Handler,” I explained, “She resented having me forced down her throat, even though she never suspected my real job here. And she’s done everything she could to thwart my effectiveness: Sticking me off in this office way up here on the third floor, limiting my contact with the girls, making me the Official Disciplinarian… It’s hard to get much information from young girls when the only way you see them is bent over with their bottoms raised for a spanking!”


“But you have learned something?” Wimbley persisted hopefully.


“I’ve narrowed the source of the Marijuana down to about three girls, all Seniors, all room-mates. But I can’t get any evidence on them, and Ms. Handler refuses to expel them without proof!”


“Damn,” Sir Peter reiterated solemnly, “And for me to overrule her would create an even greater scandal. Are you quite certain there’s nothing else you can do?”


“I just can’t get close enough to the girls to get anything,” I said, “My advice is to hire another detective. Perhaps a team of females could….”


“More time spent,” The disappointment in his craggy face was heart-breaking. “And me with so little time left. My whole life’s work was this school. And now….”


I didn’t want to say what I said next. But I just had to do something to comfort this aged peer.


“Hold on,” I said, “Perhaps I’m being too hasty. Let me think it over this weekend. If there’s a way for me to solve this one, I promise to find it!”


It was more than an hour’s drive from . the fashionable Upstate Girl’s School to my fashionable Uptown Apartment, and I was in deep thought the whole way. Me, Clinton Crayle, ace detective and master of disguise, stymied by a few schoolgirls and a stern, striking Headmistress. There had to be some way for me to get closer to those girls, get to be one of them….


Get to be one of them!


I dismissed the idea as soon as it hit me. (But it kept coming back.)


Impossible to pass as a girl!


(Maybe not, for someone with my small frame and slender build. Didn’t some of those girls, whose bottoms I had spanked, tower over me already, even in my elevated shoes?)


But I’m a man!


(But you’ve passed as a woman before, when the case required it. You know all the experts who can help you conceal your true gender and identity with latex disguises and shots!)


But I’m too old!


(Didn’t you pass as a boy of eighteen without any disguise just last year? Surely you could take it just a little further with cosmetic help!)


It might be risky.


(You could take precautions, devise some fail-safe system that would enable you to return to manhood whenever you wanted. )


It’d be kind of hard to get into the School.


(Not with Lord Wimbley’s money and influence behind you!)


Well, it sounds like an awful lot of trouble….


(Too much trouble to ease the feelings of a dying old man?)


I pressed down on the accelerator and flashed my lights to pass a truck. I had a lot of work to do in the City!


My first step was to arrange a leave of absence for myself — as Dr. Marcus — from the school. Fortunately, Headmistress Barbara Handler was delighted at my request and gladly agreed to leave my room and office undisturbed while I was gone.


Next, I called a couple of women I knew. Evelyn Traynor seemed delighted and amused by the challenge I put to her. She didn’t know if it could be done, but she was enthusiastic about giving it a try.


Cynthia Means was another story.


“Honestly, Clinton,” Just a trace of exasperation came over the wire as she spoke, “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”


“Never mind that,” I reddened at the memory, “All you need is to do your part and make an easy Five Hundred Bucks for one day’s work each week. What do you say?”


“Well, it’s rather insulting to be asked to pass myself off as your mother….”


“How about Step-Mother, would that soothe your ego?” I urged. I hadn’t seen Cynthia in some time, but I really wanted her for this part. She is a thoroughly professional Call Girl who has learned to play any scene to perfection.


“That sounds a little better,” She conceded, “Make it an even Thousand Dollars, though. I’m seriously thinking of retiring and I need a nest-egg.”


“Seven-Fifty,” I said, “And don’t give me that story about retiring. You’re younger than I am!”


“But in an older profession,” She sighed, “I swear, if I only had your money, I’d…. Oh well, Seven-Fifty it is!”


Finally, I called Lord Wimbley. When I first told him what I had planned, he sounded incredulous. But when I explained just how I was going to work it, he grew more and more convinced. His acceptance turned to positive warmth when I explained his part in the plan. When I hung up at last, Sir Peter seemed more alive and enthusiastic than he had in weeks.


Monday, I started on the program which Evelyn Traynor had specified to my needs. Evelyn Traynor is probably the most proficient feminizer of men on this coast, a woman of rare artistry, professionalism and understanding. Of course, I had to put up with her gentle teasing about how I didn’t care for being feminized, but I swallowed my pride. This would be the third time Evelyn had put me through this ordeal, and I have given up trying to convince her that I’m not really a transvestite. Instead, I decided to submit to whatever she had planned for me.


And it was quite different from my previous sessions! Of course, a major change such as I was attempting would have to call for drastic measures, but I was rather unprepared for the extent of Evelyn’s work.


First, a consultation with an Endocrinologist named Dr. VonHoppler, who specialized in hormones, their effect on the body, and the glands that secrete them. He had once been famous for his experiments, but Dr. VonHoppler was down on his luck just at present, which made him anxious to render even the bizarre services we wanted.


Over the next two weeks, the brilliant Doctor gave me more than a dozen shots, shots that radically altered my body chemistry and metabolism, plus a strict regime of diet and pills. All well paid for by Lord Wimbley.


Next, a long visit with an expensive plastic surgeon. After a lengthy explanation about how my features needed to be altered — temporarily but convincingly — he was sold on the idea and told me about implants that would alter the shape of my nose and cheeks. There were even changes he could work on my skin texture and the shape of my eyes. All completely reversible. The treatment we agreed upon was quickly performed and completely undetectable. Sir Peter’s checkbook came out and the matter was settled.


Finally, there was the early morning session with Evelyn. For more than an hour I was strapped down on her makeup table as she worked her special magic on my body. Hair styling. Creams and lotions all over my skin. Shots in my chest. Then, the work on my genitals, skillfully shrinking them with cold water and astringents. Tucking them back between my legs with special adhesives. And the unique, flesh-like rubber thing that glued over it all, covering, concealing and disguising my true sex. Completely un remove-able without the proper solvent.


At the end of the session, Evelyn wanted me to model for her, but I flatly refused. I had suffered quite enough of this beautiful woman’s quips about what she thought was my true nature, and I hurriedly dressed in my male clothing and sped back to my apartment, a hat covering my hair-do.


Once home, locked safely in my elegant apartment, I immediately stripped naked and ran into the bathroom to look at me in the angled mirrors.


It was shocking.


I, a grown man, nearly Thirty, had a Fifteen year old girl in my apartment.


And she was myself!


In two weeks, I had lost nearly thirty pounds and I looked almost two inches shorter. My masculine body hair was gone, replaced by a light, peach-fuzzy down such as many young girls have. My legs were a trifle long for a young girl, and well-shaped, suggesting that I might develop into a leggy woman. My waist had narrowed, but my hips seemed wider, and I had absolutely no muscle tone


at all in my arms and shoulders. On my chest, two firm, pert little breasts — the result of Evelyn’s shots – gave imminent promise of developing into really nice boobs someday. And between my legs, where my manly equipment had once proudly sported itself, a delicate pouting pussy now appeared, lightly covered with pubic hair, completely concealing the true genitals tucked up beneath it. I noted with satisfaction that I could still relieve my bladder through a hole between the lips of this false vulva, even though it held my genitals much too tightly to permit an erection.


But for once, the most surprising change in me was above the neck. A subtle face-lift had erased the tiny lines in my face, giving me an open, rather doe-eyed and innocent look. My cheeks were just slightly plump, my nose just slightly bobbed, and the skillful plastic surgeon had even had even put a faint spray of delicate freckles across my face, gracefully complementing my pale complexion.


Evelyn had wittily added to the effect by arranging my blonde hair in long, tight braids that ran tickling down my back, adding to my overall look of youth and innocence, with just a hint of the developing nymph.


Suddenly, the security buzzer sounded. Naked, I padded out to the intercom near the door and pressed the receiver.


“Doorman here, Mr. Crayle,” The speaker crackled, “Just thought I’d let you know that Miss Means is on the way up….”


Cynthia? Here? Now? I looked down at my naked body in sudden confusion. Sure, I’d planned on having her over today, but suddenly I felt very shy and bashful about being seen this way!


“…you left instructions she was to be admitted, Sir. Just thought I’d advise you.”


»0h—” I found my voice, somewhat higher than usual, I thought. “Uh-yes. Yes. Well, er- Listen, Miss Means is an interior decorator. She’s to have free access and run of the apartment while I’m, uh, gone.”


It might be handy, I thought, to be able to have Cynthia fetch me things from here.


The doorman’s unctuous reply was covered by a soft knock on my door. Cynthia had arrived! I quickly pulled a robe over myself and opened the door.


“Well hello, Miss,” Cynthia raised a knowing eyebrow as she looked down at me and took in my costume. “I always thought Clint went in for the mature type, but I guess—”


She stopped suddenly. I had been about to speak, but her intent look silenced me. I stood absolutely still as she pulled the robe open and looked me up and down.


“You aren’t…” She started.


“You couldn’t be…” She tried.


Then she broke out into peals of gay laughter.


“Oh but you are! You did! Hee-heehee! Oh, it’s priceless! Just look at you! Oh! Ha ha! I could eat you up, Little Girl!”


This was even worse than Evelyn! I blushed and pulled my robe closed angrily.


“That’s enough!” I snapped. “This whole thing is just for business, you know. Now if you can’t be serious and business-like, I’ll find someone else!”


I stamped a bare foot for emphasis, and Cynthia managed to suppress her laughter.


“You mean you’d ditch your Dear Old Mom?” She smiled, and quickly went on, “Sorry Hon; I just couldn’t resist it, you look so sweet!”


Cynthia was looking rather good herself, in a smart, skillfully-tailored dress that showed off her figure without advertising it – too much. She is about my age, with long, wavy brown hair and sparkling eyes. Now, of course, I looked much younger than she, especially since her heels brought her up at least a head taller than I stood in my bare feet.


“I brought the clothes, as we arranged,” She said, “But we simply must go out and shop for more!” She handed me a large package. “Now hurry and get dressed, Dear. Don’t dawdle!”


Being addressed this way by a high-priced hooker set me to blushing again. It was as if Cynthia really thought I was a little girl! But as I quickly retired to my bedroom and dressed in the clothes she had brought, I reflected: Cynthia was, after all, used to acting out the fantasies of her clients. In her time, she had played scenes in which she treated men as slaves, babies, even as women! So it was probably just training on her part that made her treat me in this mockingly motherly fashion. And if I could put up with it, it would help immeasurably tomorrow. When she enrolled me in Les-Bryn.


If I could put up with it, I thought as I dressed. The clothes Cynthia had brought were the proper size, but just a bit too young for my pretended age of Fifteen.


Puffy cotton panties with little teddy bears on them. Instead of a training bra, a lacey sleeveless undershirt. White knee socks and white, one-strap sandals. A short dark skirt, very pleated, and a wide-collared white blouse completed the outfit.


I looked in the mirror, more convincingly than ever, a young pig-tailed school girl. Hesitantly, I stepped out to show Cynthia.


Who, it happened, was using my phone at the moment. She seemed to be quite absorbed in some discussion about a party, and completely ignored me when I cleared my throat. Finally, I said,


“Um- Excuse me, ‘Mother’.”


“Not now, Dear,” Cynthia turned absently toward me, scarcely interrupting her train of thought. “Go watch Television until Mother is ready for you, Dear.”


And she went right on with her conversation. Feeling very frustrated, I walked into the living room and sat down, carefully arranging my short skirt. It was very inconsiderate of Cynthia to treat me this way, particularly since I was paying for her services, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. I quietly watched Saturday Cartoons until Cynthia announced that she was ready to go shopping.


But once out at the shopping malls, I found I was in for more of the same treatment. And this time not just from Cynthia! Nervous as I was about appearing in public like this, I quickly found that my teen-age disguise was almost too successful. All at once, I was just a small girl taken shopping by her mother, and very much a second-class citizen in the eyes of sales clerks and other shoppers. Time and again, Cynthia had me model various items of apparel as we went from shop to shop. I always had to wait in the dressing rooms, in just my underwear, while she looked around at various things. Cynthia and the salesladies would discuss me blandly as I stepped about in whatever had been chosen, and any opinions I wished to voice were either blithely ignored or rudely interrupted.


By late afternoon, we had finally bought all the accessories I would need to complement my school-furnished wardrobe. We had missed lunch, and Cynthia decided to treat me to an early dinner at a nice restaurant.


It was no treat for me, though. Cynthia insisted on playing the wicked stepmother to the hilt, and I had to bite back my anger as she imperiously ordered Hamburger, Pries, and a Milkshake for me while she savored an elegant Lobster dinner and lingered over an expensive bottle of wine.


It was nearly Eight PM by the time we got back to my apartment. I was tired, angry, and very frustrated as I carried in the packages we had bought. And I was somewhat surprised when Cynthia locked the door, kicked off her shoes, and settled into my easy chair.


“Umm, comfy!” She sighed, “I think I’m really going to like sleeping in your bed tonight, Clinton!”


“What do you mean by that?” I flared. Now that we were in the privacy of my dwellings, I really meant to give this slut a bawling-out. “We’ve got all the clothes I need, and I might add that you were a lot more trouble and less help than I thought you’d be. I have no use for you — as long as I’m fixed up like this, anyway — so as far as I’m concerned, you can get out now and pick me up in the morning, when I’ll need you again.”


I thought Cynthia would get mad, but she merely smiled, looking at me through hooded eyes.


“Is that so?” She asked, “And what will you do if I don’t show up tomorrow to enroll you in your precious Girls School?”


This was a bit disconcerting, but I tried to cover up my surprise.


“I’ll-er- I’ll get someone else to play my Mother,” I said.


“Hmmm,” Cynthia considered, “I doubt that you could do it, on such short notice, but I guess you might. Then, of course, I’d have to call the Headmistress and let her in on your little deception. That would be such a bother to us both!”


“Cyn!” I gasped, “You wouldn’t!”


“Wouldn’t I?” She smiled. Then her look


got just a little harder. “Let me tell you something, Clinton Darling,” She said evenly% “Even a highly-paid girl like me gets tired of this profession. Tired of being used for other people’s pleasure all the time. So when a chance like this comes along — a chance to do a little using of my own to a man who isn’t a masochist — well, I find the temptation irresistible. And you had better find it that way too, Little Girl, unless you want to kiss your expensive plan Good-bye!”


I was silent for a minute, surprised at the position of power that this prostitute had levered herself into. I briefly considered stopping right there, kicking her out and going back to being a man again. Then, I reflected on all the work I’d done so far, the grim prospects of starting all over again. And the thought of telling Lord Wimbley that I had failed once more.


“All right, Cyn,” I said, looking down at the floor as my girlish cheeks Reddened, “You’re the boss, for now anyway. What do you want?”


Half an hour later, I was sitting mortified in the bath tub as Cynthia calmly removed her makeup. She had already bathed, and was wearing a very alluring nightie of diaphanous deep blue silk, with matching high-heel slippers. The only thing I had around me was her used bath water, liberally filled with bubble bath, and a rubber bath toy!


“Wash your face carefully, Clinton, and be sure to use the sponge that I used on my ass,” Cynthia instructed, “Then, when you’re spanking clean, you can get out and dry yourself off with the hand towel I used on my privates!”


Somehow, I got myself washed and dried in this way, and padded out nude to the. living room, where Cynthia was carefully arranging a couple of mirrors. She smiled at the silly sight of me this way, a naked teenager in pigtails. Me, a grown man!


“I noticed that you get a very expensive cable TV service here,” She said, “And they’ showing a comedy film tonight that I want to see. Unfortunately, there’s a great deal of nudity and explicit sex in it, and I’m afraid it will be much too adult for an innocent little girl like you. So I’ve arranged for you to entertain yourself!”


So saying, she ordered me to stand in front of one of the full-length mirrors. Then she angled the other one behind me so that we both could see my naked rear, Cynthia from her easy chair and me from where I stood with my back to the TV set.


Next, she brought out a huge all-day sucker and a roll of pink cellophane tape. I wondered about this briefly, but not for long! Cynthia made me hold the lollipop stick while she taped my hands firmly shut around it. Then she ran the tape down and around my knees, forcing me to keep my legs firmly together with my wrists pressed tightly down on top of my thighs, still holding the sucker.


I looked up at Cynthia questioningly from this nude, half-crouch position as she explained:


“You may eat your Candy while Mommy watches TV, Little Girl,” She suppressed a giggle, “You’ll be able to see Mommy enjoying herself, and you’ll be able to see your own reflection, front and back. But you won’t be able to see the TV. You may lick at your sucker all you want, and hold it in your mouth if you wish. But I expressly forbid you to bite it; too much noise might bother Mommy, and you wouldn’t want that. I will release you from that bondage when the movie is over, All right?”


I looked miserably up at her, aching in my bent-over pose and burning with shame at the sight of my bare boobs and naked tush, gaily reflected in the mirrors. Cynthia’s smile widened.


“I’ll tell you what, Little Girl: Mommy will make this interesting! If your Sucker is all gone before the movie is over, I’ll let you lie across my lap until I’m finished watching. Of course, I’ll spank you, but that won’t be too bad. Because if there’s any of that giant lollipop left after the movie, Mommy will put it someplace where you’ll have all night to think about it. Do you understand me, Little Girl?”


I cringed at this cruel hooker’s fiendish imagination.


“Y-yes I do, M-mommy,” I bleated.


“Good! Now just one more thing!”


And Cynthia casually put a pair of radio headphones over my ears, thoughtfully turning on Classical Music just loud enough so that I couldn’t hear outside noises.


And she eagerly curled up in my easy chair to be entertained.


Those next Ninety Minutes were simply horrible! I lapped furiously at the giant sucker, afraid of the consequences of not finishing soon enough. I worked at the huge sticky thing for what seemed like an eternity, until my jaws ached from the effort and my teeth hurt from the excess of sugar. Still I tongued it, legs and back straining in my enforced bent-over pose. Anything would be better, I thought, than what Cynthia planned to do with any left-overs!


And as I worked, there was always the picture of me, reflected in the mirrors. I cringed at the sight, and at the enormity of the predicament I had gotten myself into. A few days ago, I had been a real man, virile, mature and handsome. Now there was no sign of masculinity anywhere about me. I was a freckled, budding breasts and pert little ass shamefully exposed as I crouched there barefoot, mouthing the sucker. I looked away in humiliation.


Over at Cynthia, who was sprawled comfortably in my easy chair, legs up, with her enticing nightie curled about her. She shook her long brown hair as she laughed, and I wondered which was the object of her amusement: me or the television? She held one hand in her lap, the fingers hidden between her rounded thighs. Sometimes she would stop laughing. Her eyelids would lower, and her magnificent breasts would rise and fall rhythmically. They must be showing some of those explicit sex scenes, I thought. She raised a hand to her breast and kneaded it softly. Somehow, despite my shame, I felt myself getting aroused by her actions. Wait a minute! Was she looking at the movie, or at me? I couldn’t be sure. Could it be that seeing me this way turned Cynthia on, as well as amusing her? To quiet my turmoil I turned my attention back to the sucker.


Somehow, I endured the shame of that night. The knowledge that on the next day, I would be out of Cynthia’s clutches and back on the case helped me get through it. Get through the spanking, and the long face-sitting session on my bed. And the awful teasing hands all over my feminized body as I lay there, bound and nude. But it was a long, long night.


To take my mind off that miserable interlude, I thought I should tell you something about Les-Bryn Girls Academy. Built in the 1920’s by Lord Wimbley and a few like-minded disciplinarians, it’s a huge, rambling structure, designed — like many buildings of that time — to resemble a Medieval Castle. It’s set on a large private estate, several miles off the beaten path. The seclusion thus combines with the fortress-like aspect of the place to create an atmosphere of total security. And captivity.


Inside, however, things are much nicer, with fully-equipped classrooms, gymnasium and cafeteria. In the Dormitory Wing, girls sleep four to a room, and each room has a private bath Uniforms and underwear — all clothing, in fact — is supplied by the Academy. The library is well-stocked, with subscriptions to the latest news papers and women’s magazines, but there are no radios or television sets, except in the Teachers Quarters.


Educational standards at Les-Bryn are high, but the main emphasis, as Lord Peter said, is on Discipline. Some real problem girls have been sent here, and never has the staff failed in breaking their spirit and making meek, docile little ladies out of them. Parent and Student both must sign a waiver on admission, stating that the School Administration may use any form of correction whatsoever — including the severely physical — without fear of legal consequence. Most parents are only too glad to have someone else dish out the punishment they have failed to deliver, and most of the students involved are admitted under threat of the Reformatory or even Jail, and so they cooperate willingly.


I said that Les-Bryn had never failed, but it was apparently failing now. For I knew that one of three girls was regularly smuggling marijuana into the school and selling it to the other students. Nearly a dozen girls had been caught with the tiny hand-rolled cigarette, but all had refused — even under the most severe punishment — to name their source.


But gradually, by a process of elimination, I had arrived at my three suspects. All seniors, all with hard-won weekend leave privileges, all room-mates.


There was Vanessa Trent, a tall, red-haired lass of imperious bearing. She seemed to like bossing the other students about, and supplying them with drugs would be the perfect lever to do so.


There was also Marcie Bleek a short, muscular girl who w as also an Athletics and Figure Training enthusiast. She had once been very much into the Drug Scene, but was now apparently sublimating her need for kicks with a passion for vigorous physical training and exercise. Or was she?


Finally, there was Opal Browne, one of the Academy’s few Black students. From her past record, I strongly suspected that she had latent homosexual tendencies. Could she be using Drugs to seduce other girls?


And over all, there was Barbara Handler, Les-Bryn*s stern, beautiful Headmistress. She was a woman one dared not cross, for she never forgot an enemy. In my role as Dr. Marcus, I had unwittingly incurred her wrath, and she had managed to subtly thwart my efforts to solve this case, sometimes with fiendish ingenuity.


And it was into her unknowing, care that I, Clinton Crayle, masquerading as school girl Agnes Means, was consigned that grey Sunday Afternoon.


After a rather unpleasant morning, Cynthia drove me to Les-Bryn and we signed the necessary papers. The way had been soothed by some influential friends of Lord Wimbley’s, and by plenty of money. In a remarkably short time, I was issued my uniforms, bedding and textbooks, and assigned to a room with three girls a year younger than my presumed age of Fifteen. Cynthia bade me farewell and promised to visit next Sunday.


And so I was alone, now. A young girl surrounded by other girls and subject to the rules of stern women.


I was not as isolated as you might think however. My work has gotten me into some difficult scrapes in the past, but I have learned from them. Here at Les-Bryn, I had triply guaranteed my safety.


First, there was Cynthia. She was to visit me once a week, and we had agreed that she would withdraw me from Les-Bryn should anything go wrong.


Second, there was Sir Peter Wimbley. I had committed his phone number to memory and we had arranged that if I called him, he would have me taken out of Les-Bryn immediately and changed back into my normal male self.


Finally, there was my alter-ego, Dr. Marcus. I had a spare key to my room in the Teachers1 Quarters hidden in my regulation shoes. I also had an inside knowledge of Les-Bryn1s security system, and the schedule used to patrol the halls. If things ever got really tough, I could sneak out of my Dorm room after Lights Out, and into my room in the Teachers1 Quarters. There, I had hidden some solvent to remove the false pussy that covered my male organs. I also had masculine clothing, elevated shoes, and false wig and beard. Everything I’d need to make Agnes Means disappear and reappear as Dr. Marcus.


So it was with a good amount of confidence that I chatted idly with my roomies, studied the Academy regulations, generally prepared for the first day of the new semester, and went to sleep dreaming up schemes to make Cynthia pay for her treatmerit of me, once this thing was all over.


Les-Bryn was quite a different way of life for me, but I have done time in the Military, so I knew how to adjust to a regimented life-style. My roomies and I showered together, their young bodies causing me just the slightest stir of desire (Cynthia was right; I prefer more mature women.) although I thought that they looked at my development rather enviously. We all quickly dressed in the school uniform of slip., white blouse and blue jumper, plus knee socks, plain shoes and cotton undies. Then we breakfasted and went to our separate classes.


That morning, I learned that my German was rustier than I thought, and that I had almost completely forgotten my High School Algebra. Although I didn’t plan on staying long at Les-Bryn, I knew I would have to work hard to keep up with the homework.


Fortunately, Physical Education came next, and I would get a chance to relax and let my natural stamina carry me through.


Or so I thought! Those pills and hormones had changed me a lot more than I had counted on! I had almost no muscle tone at all in my arms or legs, and thus found myself rather awkward and uncoordinated in my new body. Like an awkward teenage girl! I noted with interest that the athletic Marcie Bleek was in my Gym Class. She, in turn, noticed my lack of ability and looked on me with disdain. I was completely useless in Volleyball*, and ran dead last in the Track exercise, which meant that I had to stay and help put away the equipment, then hustle back to the locker room to shower and change clothes as best I could before the next class.


I must confess .to a certain guilty erotic thrill in that locker room. Like a lot of men my age, I remember my High School and College days, and the forbidden, exotic appeal of the Girls1 Shower Room, where — we boys imagined — those feminine creatures of mystery sported about in the nude. I felt my cock start to swell inside its tiny prison as I took off my gym clothes while all about me, high-school-age girls dried off their ripe bodies, chatting and giggling. It was like living an adolescent dream just to be there! I felt my nipples stiffen as I self-consciously locked away my clothes and strolled naked into the showers, hanging my towel outside.


The roar of running water drowned out; the noise of the dressing school girls, and I took a few moments to compose myself. As you can imagine, the false pussy-wig I wore was designed for concealment, not comfort, and any real sexual arousal could be quite painful, causing my cock to swell up and push against my balls in the tight confinement. So I spent a few minutes thinking of something else while I showered, being careful to keep my braided pigtails dry. Finally, calmed down at last, I stepped out of the shower.


How odd, I thought; The locker room was deserted! I knew I had been running a bit behind the others, but I never imagined they’d all be gone so soon. Must be later than I’d supposed, I thought as I toweled off and opened my locker. It was empty.


Too late, I remembered and realized: I was the butt of one of the jokes traditionally played on new girls at Les-Bryn. Wait until she takes her first shower, then steal all her clothes!


How many times had I -heard of this trick worked on others, and chuckled with amusement. Now, though, the shoe was on the other foot — or off it — and I realized what an embarrassing predicament this was!


For the only way to get any clothing was to walk clear down the hall to the nearest office — that of Ms. Barbara Handler, Headmistress!


I realized, of course, that I would


feel the humiliation of this fix much more keenly than the average student. Although no one realized it, I was a man, after all, and I certainly didn’t relish having to make my way as a small girl — completely naked — down to the office of my old nemesis. She wouldn’t know it was me, Clinton Crayle, of course, but that wouldn’t lessen the awful shame I must feel as I begged bare-assed for help from her.


But there was no way around it. I tried to wrap my towel around under my arms, like a sarong, but it was just too small, so I compromised, tying it around my waist like a skirt — a very slit skirt — and folding my arms across my round, naked breasts.


Timidly, I peeked out into the hall. Deserted. Everyone must be in class by now,


I thought. Quickly, I darted out and scampered down the hall to Ms. Handler’s office, ducking under windows where anyone might see me.


But once I reached her office, I found the door was locked. Taped to the window was a neatly-printed note:


“Gone to Room 310 — H”


Clear up on the Third Floor, I thought angrily! Well, there was nothing else to do. Burning with embarrassment and frustration, quivering with fear lest anyone see me, I ran over to the stairwell and padded up the long flights of steps.


By the time I reached the Third Floor, I was completely winded, gasping for air, legs weak beneath me. Those hormones had certainly wrecked my physical condition! I leaned against the top rail over the stairwell, feeling the cool, polished wood against my bare bum as I fought to catch my breath.


Finally, I felt I could go on. I pushed myself up from the rail.


And felt my towel fall off and flutter mockingly down the stairwell.


Damn! I thought, Damn the luck! I felt tears of frustration well up in my eyes as the white cloth wafted down out of view. All that trouble and now this! I just couldn’t make myself walk all the way down and back up again. I just couldn’t!


So the only thing to do was to try to make it to room 310 this way, completely nude. I arranged my hands and arms over me as best I could, peeked fearfully out into the hall from the stairwell, and started scampering.


Another surprise was in store for me. When I reached room 310 I remembered: This was the office I used as Dr. Marcus. Just what was Barbara Handler doing here? I quickly opened the door and ducked in.


Standing behind my old desk, Barbara Handler abruptly slammed a drawer shut and looked at me angrily.


“Young Lady,” She snapped, “Did no one ever teach you to knock?”


Barbara Handler was always a rather imposing woman, and now she seemed more so than ever. Tall and built to proportion, she seemed even larger with her mannish pant-suit, whit blouse with tie, and raven-black hair piled up on her head in an old-fashioned style. I cowered before her, a moment, feeling smaller, more girlish, and more naked than ever under her steely glare.


Then I reflected that this was my office, in a way, and I had caught her going through it. Also, I was now cast in the role of a new student who had been victimized by some of the hellions she was supposed to be disciplining here! I felt righteous indignation boil up within me as I moved up behind a high-backed armchair that partly covered me.


“Knock?” I snapped back, “I should think we could skip the formalities just now, seeing as I’ve been robbed by some of your students and had to come clear up here in this uncomfortable condition just to find you going through — Mr. Marcus’ office!”


I really don’t know how she accomplished what she did next. One minute I was standing behind the armchair and Ms. Handler was striding towards me. A second later, I was off my feet, bent painfully forward over the back of the chair, ass high, as the stern Headmistress twisted my arm cruelly behind me and gripped my hair savagely by the roots, pulling my head back.


As if to emphasize her easy mastery, Barbara Handler gracefully tightened her hold on my arm and hair, twisting a deliberate, aching,, extra half-notch before she spoke:


“Young Lady,” She said, quite calmly, “You will soon learn that one of the reasons for your presence here is Discipline. That being the case, you can hardly expect extra consideration from the staff for any discomfort you may suffer. Particularly not for being so stupid as to lose your clothing. As for your impertinent remark, we shall discuss that shortly. First, however, you will apologize for intruding here without knocking. Proceed!”


And she twisted a notch tighter.


Oh! How to describe the mixture of pain and humiliation I felt at being handled this way? The twisting of my arm and hair were bad enough, but the awful embarrassment of being up-ended before this woman, naked and feminized, treated like a lowly school girl, was more than I could bear. I felt the tears rise again,


“P-Please, Ms. Handler,” I gasped, “I-I’m terribly sorry I was so rude! It will n-not happen again!”


Without realizing how, I was set back on my bare feet, my arms released. I tried to rub my aching wrist and cover myself at the same time,. as I cowered before the Headmistress1 cruel leer;


“Modest, eh?” Ms. Handler raised an appraising eyebrow. “That’s very good. You’ll find we encourage modesty here, by various means. Now, what can I do for you?”


The question seemed outrageous! There I was, standing totally unappareled before her, and Ms. Handler wanted to know what she could do for me! I felt myself burn with anger.


But I must remember my place here, I thought. Meekly, I replied,


“M-Ms. Handler, some of the girls stole my clothing whilst I was showering. Please, won’t you give me something to wear back to the dorm so I cam dress again?”


“That won’t be necessary,” She said, matter-of-factly, “I think you will find that your clothes were pitched out the locker room window. That’s what it looked like from up here, at any rate. I suggest you make your way back downstairs before the end of this hour’s class, crawl through the window and get them.”


“Make my wa—” I started, blushing furiously. “But Ms. Handler, aren’t you going to give me anything to wear?”


“Don’t be impertinent, Girl,” The Headmistress said, adding meaningfully, “You know better. Now I suggest that to avoid further embarrassment, you leave just as soon as I have finished with you.”


“Finish—” I bit back my anger again. “Please, what do you mean, Ma’am?”


“We have the little matter of your insolent attitude to discuss. I think, in your present condition, three swats with this ruler should settle the matter nicely. Now ask me to give them to you.”


I couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman! The idea of asking to be punished for discovering her at work, pilfering my desk, was simply preposterous!


“Ms. Handler,” I tried to keep my voice calm, “I simply don’t think it’s right in this instance to ask you for three swats !”


“Very well,” She said, with a trace of a smile, “Shall we add one more?”


“F-four swats?” I exclaimed.


“You can count, can’t you Agnes?” It was the first time she had used my new name, and I found it somehow unnerving. Particularly when she continued, “Of course, if you dally around much longer, the count will increase. And then too, the longer you wait, the more chance you’ll take of having Class let out while you’re sneaking down to the locker room, and of having all those fully dressed older and younger girls glimpse you in the buff as you try to run from them. Hardly a pleasant prospect for a modest girl like yourself! No, I’d suggest that you hurry and ask me for your four swats!” .


Her point was all too clear. And I had also just thought of something else: My secret key to my room in the Teachers Quarters was in my shoe. Which was now lying outside the locker room window! If I didn’t hurry and get it back, someone else might find it and steal it, which would could bitch up a valuable part of may Game Plan here!


With a mighty effort, I swallowed my pride and blinked back the wetness in my eyes.


“Please, Ms. Handler, may I have four swats with the ruler?”


The look in her eyes was such as I have seen in some women at the height of sexual pleasure.


“Of course I will, Agnes Darling! Now bend over and grab your ankles like a good girl!”


Minutes later, I was awkwardly crawling out the locker room window toward my school uniform, which was strewn gaily over the grass outside. I knew that if anyone was looking, she would see the four red stripes across my naked buns, but I had no time to worry about it. I had to get that key!


Desperately, I ignored all my other clothing and scrambled over to my shoes. On hands and knees, I seized them eagerly and checked inside.


No key. It had either fallen out or someone had taken it! In a tizzy, I scanned the nearby grass, running my fingers through the deeper patches.


And found it at last, lying just outside the window.


Too relieved to wonder how it had fallen there, I quickly retrieved it and began thankfully dressing. My plan was back on course!


Except for some pointing and giggling from a few of the other students, and some difficulty in sitting still, I got through the rest of the day with little trouble. Lunch was good, I was proficient in English and History, and the course in Home Economics, taught by a Mrs. Adwill, was really rather basic. After dinner, I marked time by brushing up on my Algebra and German.


I also talked a bit with my roomies, and casually brought up the subject of Marijuana. They fell awkwardly silent at the mere mention of the word, but when I let it drop that I’d used Grass on the Outside, and hoped to get some more here at Les-Bryn, they finally opened up a bit. Yes, they said, they had heard that some of the other girls knew how to get it, but it was very difficult, and you had to please some very demanding upper-classmen.


I decided not to press the matter, and we talked of other things until Lights Out.


I had plans for the night.


In the darkened room, I lay in the long cotton nightie that was my only clothing and waited. By Ten 0fClock,my room-mates were breathing deep and steady, a sign of sound


slumber. At Ten-Thirty, I heard the Night-Watch pass in the hallway. All should be clear for another hour.


The perfect chance to sneak up to my room in the teachers quarters and see if Ms Handler had been in there as well!


Quietly, I slipped a pair of thick white knee socks onto my feet, got the key from my shoe, and crept out the door. The hallway was deserted, as I’d expected.


I took the stairway slowly this time. Quietly, heart pounding. I knew that if the woman on Night Watch discovered me, I would be in for some severe punishment, if not expulsion. I couldn’t stand the thought of being expelled after going through all this. I simply had to avoid detection!


Stealthily, I crept to my room — my room as Dr. Marcus, that is — eased the key in the lock and slowly entered, closing the door softly. I reached out for the light switch.


And felt soft fingers close tightly over my hand!


“Lookin’ for this, Honey Lamb?”


As the gentle voice spoke, the lights suddenly flashed on! Gasping with surprise, . I spun about.


Opal Browne, her dark skin shining in the light, was holding firmly onto my outstretched hand.


Marcie bleek was leaning her well-muscled body against the door.


And Vanessa Trent was seated on my bed, toying idly with the false beard and wig that I had hidden in my dresser. On a night stand at her elbow was the solvent for removing my false pussy and freeing my manly genitals.


“Or could this be what you came for?” She asked mockingly.


I wanted to break free, to run, anything! But as I started to move, Opal squeezed my hand ever so slightly and put a finger to her lips with a knowing look.


“You don’t want all the folks here to discover your little secret, do you Dr. Marcus?”


“Especially not if we told them all that you lured us up here disguised as a school girl and tried to rape us!” Vanessa said, “We three witnesses could put a pervert like you in jail for a long time, so think about it!”


“In the locker room today, I’d have sworn you were just another girl,” Marcie sneered, “Especially when we made you run around naked! But when we pitched your clothes out and I saw the key with this room number on it, I knew something was up!”


Opal easily pulled me over to the bed and the three girls surrounded me on the mattress as Marcie continued,


“So I ran up here and fixed the lock, then threw the key out with your little girlie clothes, Dr. Marcus.”


“we thought at first that it was an affair between a student here and a teacher,”


Vanessa went on, “So you can imagine our surprise when we started going through this place and discovered that the girl student and the grown man teacher where really the same person: You!”


Opal mischievously tugged up the skirt of my nightie, smiling, as she said, “I wonder what would make a guy go to so much trouble just to become a little girl?”


“Why don’t you tell us?” Marcie asked, adding darkly, “And save yourself some grief!”


This was starting to look pretty grim. I thought of a lie I could tell, but I wasn’t quite sure how to make it sound convincing. Maybe if I acted reluctant….


“L-Listen, Girls,” I tried unsuccessfully to make my voice sound deeper. “This is -era secret plan that no one must know about. It has to do with Government Secrets and—”


“Shee-it!” Opal snorted, “”What kind of shuckin’ jive is that? Now you going to tell us what you’re doing with a pussy and breasts or do we have to beat it out of you?”


“Or just cry Rape?” Vanessa put in.


“You can’t beat me here,” I insisted, “There’d be too much noise. And as for your Sex Charges, my government contacts will—”


I was interrupted a second time, but not with words. Three shapely female bodies suddenly piled onto me in a perfectly coordinated attack. They stripped off my nightie, smothering my weak protests with strong hands over my mouth. Then they bound me with neckties from my own closet.


In a few minutes, I was up off the bed and walking down the hall again, but I didn’t like it a bit!


My only clothing was the white knee socks that muffled my steps. That is, those were the only clothes I wore in the normal way!


Neckties bound my knees tightly together so that the only steps I could take were with my calves splayed wide apart, painfully awkward. My elbows had been bound together behind me, then pulled cruelly upwards and tied with ribbon to my pigtails, forcing me to bend my arms and arch my neck w-a-a-y back.


The sleeves of my nightie had been tied painfully tight about my middle, and the body of the gown had been twisted into a thick leash, with which the girls were pulling me, unprotesting. Unprotesting? Certainly, with two pairs of panties stuffed into my mouth as a gag, and the third pair cleverly over my head ( my pigtails stuck through the leg holes) as a blindfold.


I hobbled blindly forward as Opal tugged on the leash and Marcie followed behind, encouraging me with savage pinches on my bare bottom. My arms ached terribly in the raised-up elbow-bound bondage, but if I tried to relax them, the resulting pain in my neck and braids was simply too much to bear. Each hobbling step swung my forearms agonizingly about behind me, even as it jiggled my nude bosom. Meanwhile, Vanessa walked beside me, her fingers fluttering busily over my lewdly exposed feminine charms , as she whispered in my ear,


“Once we get you where we1re going, you can make all the noise you want! And you’ll make plenty, believe me! You’ll tell us all about this thing over your male equipment and how you got to look so young and girlish. And why you did it! I have a really keen idea about a curling iron enema that—”


The girls suddenly stopped dead still and fell silent. I wondered what was happening. Then I felt myself being picked bodily up and pushed quietly against a wall.


“The Night Watch!” One of them whispered, “We’ll never get past her with this,” I squirmed as a hand roughly squeezed my ass. “What’11 we do?”


“Only one thing we can do,” Another whisper, “Leave her here. She’ll be found, but we can’t help that. And we can sneak away while she’s being discovered.”


“Think she’ll keep her mouth shut?”


“She’d better!”


Suddenly a hand kneaded my breast painfully.


“Listen, you would-be bitch,” Vanessa hissed, “We’re going to trade secrets with you. For right now, we’re not going to tell anyone that you’re really Dr. Marcus. But in return, you don’t say a word about us three! We’ll settle the rest later, but for now you keep quiet about us. Understand, She-Male?”


I nodded eagerly.


And all at once, I was alone. Hobbling blindly, fearfully out. To be discovered by the Night Watch.


Mrs. Adwill rubbed my knees in a loving, motherly way as I sat on the couch in her office, drinking warm milk. I remembered her from the Home Ec. class, and was glad that this had been her turn for Night Watch.


“You poor baby,” She cooed, “Lucky I found you when I did! So they gagged and blindfolded you before you could get a look at them?”


She was a big-boned but attractive woman of perhaps Thirty-Five. Her dark blonde hair, long and straight, somehow increased her maternal look. I found myself thinking about her large breasts as I answered,


“Yes Ma’am. They whispered something about Initiation. I-I had no idea where they were taking me.”


“Well Little One, it’s all over now, so why don’t you get back to beddie,” She stroked my hair tenderly and put an arm about my waist as we started back to my dormitory room. Walking along, she simply towered over me. “This will just be our little secret,” She smiled.


Just before I finally fell asleep that night, I reflected that I certainly was sharing secrets with a lot of women lately!


The next day brought a surprising mixture of events. It was Tuesday, and to my relief, I had no Gym Class. Algebra and German seemed harder than ever, though, and my teachers spoke to me quite sternly once or twice. The most important event, however, happened just after Lunch, when I was summoned from Study Hall to the Headmistress1 Office and found Vanessa Trent there, sitting demurely next to Ms. Handler.


“Remain standing, Agnes,” Barbara Handler said when I entered, “This won’t take long.”


I swallowed nervously. What had Vanessa been telling her?


“Certain of your shortcomings have been brought to my attention, Agnes,” The raven-haired beauty continued, “And I believe that for the sake of the other girls — particularly your young roommates — I shall have to take some rather radical steps!”


Oh dear, I thought, she knows! They must have told her that I’m really Dr. Marcus! I felt myself redden, nearly swooning with fear, as I wondered what this forceful, dominant woman would do with a hated male foe, now feminized at her mercy.


“Yes Agnes,” Ms. Handler continued, with just a trace of a smile, “Your work in Mathematics and Languages is simply too poor to go without some sort of remedy, and I’m afraid that if I were to let it continue without taking some action, the other students might think they could lower their standards as well. I particularly worry that the young girls with whom you room will suffer from your poor example.”



I almost fainted with relief at her words. But then I noticed that Vanessa’s smile was wider than ever!


“Er- what were you considering, Ma’am?” I asked, truly bewildered.


“I am considering nothing, Agnes,” Ms. Handler corrected, “The matter is decided. From now on, you shall room with Vanessa here, and with her friends, Opal and Marcie!”


If I was in suspense before, I was really tingling with anxiety now! My head spun at the thought of sharing a room with those three minxes, and what they could do with me in their clutches! Over the pounding in my ears, I could barely make out Ms. Handler’s voice as she continued,


“…all of them are quite proficient in those subjects in which you show such need. And I am sure you will profit from their fine example and gentle discipline. You may not know it, but Vanessa here happens to be a cousin of mine, and I think it was very kind of her to offer her time and effort toward your improvement.”


A thousand things rushed through my head. Fears, suspicions, protests. But all I said was,


“I-I’m sure it’s very generous of her, Ma’am.”


“It certainly is,” Ms. Handler affirmed. “But aren’t you going to thank her personally?”


Cheeks burning, I tried to meet the amused gaze of Vanessa Trent as she surveyed me triumphantly, her captive, feminized male! I couldn’t do it. My eyes lowered involuntarily as I stammered, “Thank you ever so much for your kindness Vanessa.”


“Not at all,” She smiled, rising. “It’ll be great fun having a hand in your education! And I know Marcie and Opal will be just as eager as I am!”


“Well,” Said Ms. Handler, with an air of dismissal, “You girls have Forty minutes before the start of next Class. You may begin moving Agnes in now, and finish up after Dinner. Good Day, Girls!”


Vanessa and I packed and moved my clothing in silence. She smiling constantly, and myself tied up in nervous knots. It seemed an eternity before I could get away from her gloating presence and into the relative peace of English Class. I was glad for the chance to rest.


Because I had quite a lot to think about.


Despite my first emotions, I soon realized that this change of rooms might prove to be a real stroke of luck. If I could work it properly, that is! I was going to be plopped right in among my three suspects, closer to their base of operation than I had ever dared hope. All I had to do was survive the experience!


Throughout the next three classes, I quietly pondered the situation, only half-listening as the teachers droned on about Chopin and some fellow named George Sand. I was going to have to come to some terms


with my new roommates, some arrangement that would enable me to live among them. Perhaps not as their equal, but certainly not as their enemy. All three of them knew that I — Dr. Marcus, that is — had some dark secret to hide. And being teenage girls, they were probably convinced that it had something to do with sex….


That was it! If I could convince them that I was masquerading as a schoolgirl for some private sex reason, they would look no further. And if I could keep them preoccupied with my sexual uses, they might never suspect that I was searching out the Grass-Peddler among them. Perhaps if I pretended they had me trapped. Maybe even agreed to act as their slave….


By the time classes were over, I had convinced myself it would work. I went to the Cafeteria for Dinner with renewed hope. But, I reflected, I would have to move into this thing slowly, carefully. Not let them get the upper hand all at once. Then I could really start to crack this case!


“So,” Vanessa sneered, “You’re one of those guys who gets it off by having young girls as his playthings!”


The four of us were alone in our Dorm room. Vanessa, lounging on one of the beds, ran the interrogation with cruel frankness as Marcie and Opal looked on in amusement.


“Th-that’s right, Vanessa,” I hung my head. “That is, I used to be!”


“But you say some Call Girl found out about you? And about your job here?” Vanessa went on.


“Her name is Cynthia,” I admitted, trying not to show my excitement that they . were buying my story, “And I- made a play for her little sister. I became -er- rather insistent, and when Cynthia found out, she insisted that I be punished.”


“Like this?” Vanessa persisted skeptically.


“No,” I tried to look scared, and found it easy. “Cynthia has a very vivid imagination and quite a few friends, but this wasn’t her plan. For the last few weeks, she has made me dress and act as a girl. She even made me go to a specialist and have my body temporarily changed this way. It was either obey her, or face exposure, disgrace and jail! But yesterday was supposed to be the end of my punishment.”


They were looking at me intently, silently urging me to continue my story. And I knew I had them now!


“Cynthia thought it would be the crowning touch to enroll me in my own school and make me spend a day here as a school girl. I was supposed to sneak back to my room — that is, my room as Dr. Marcus — last night and become a man again. My punishment was supposed to end, but— you girls caught me, and you know what happened. Now, unless you give me the key, I can’t get out of this until Cynthia comes for me on Sunday!”


“Fascinating!” Vanessa mused, “So you’re stuck here, stuck in that school girl body, surrounded by young girls who turn you on, and you can’t do a thing about it!”


“And there’s no way you can get your


peter out to fuck anyone or even jerk off,” Marcie considered.


“And you can’t change one thing about I ’cause you don’t dare tell anybody!” Opal reflected, “My, my! I just couldn’t sta-and passing up a chance like this!”


“Ch-chance?” I asked.


“That’s right, you wimp,” Opal leered, “A chance to punish you in your own way for all the times you’ve had us and other aber auch girls over your lap for a spanking! And you getting your jollies the whole time! Humph! Well, Miss Agnes, I think we just going to turn the tables on you ’til Sunday!”


“Just think!” The athletic Marcie put in, “This is just Tuesday night, and you can’t leave until Sunday afternoon. That gives us five days to use you any way we se fit! To put you through any–”


“Four days,” Vanessa interrupted, “Remember our -uh- plans for Saturday?”


She shot a meaningful look at the other two.


“Oh yes,” Marcie corrected herself, “That gives me an idea! Since tonight is partly over anyway, we can make the rest of the evening into a sort of ‘get acquainted’ session. Then we can spend Wednesday, Thursday and Friday taking turns with you. You’ll have one of us as a differ ent Mistress each night!”


“As Mistresses?” I stammered, “I- I don’t understand! You mean I have to act as a slave to you? All of you? All week?”


“You really don’t have any choice,” Opal said, “Unless you think you’d enjoy Twenty years in Jail more than four nights with us!”


“Enough small talk,” Vanessa looked at me sharply. “I’m tired of your shillyshallying ! S trip!”


Knowing that I was letting myself in for some unpleasantness, but seeing no way around it, I reluctantly removed my blouse, jumper and slip as Vanessa pulled a camera from her closet.


“W-What’s that for?” I quivered.


“We’re going to capture these moments on film, Dearie,” Marcie teased, “So we can treasure them in the years to come! It’s a way we have of keeping other girls quiet, and I think it’ll be particularly effective in your case. But I thought we told you to strip!”


Hating every second of it, I pulled off my shoes, stockings, training bra and cotton panties. Vanessa ordered me to smile as I did so, and she recorded my strip act carefully on the camera. It was the kind where pictures pop out instantly, and the girls made sure each shot came out perfectly before going on to the next.


And then Opal handed me the dildo.


It was a fourteen-inch rod of carefully molded rubber, like a dog’s toy bone, only shaped much differently, like a narrow, hard, horny penis. I gasped as the Black Girl shoved it into my hand.


“Suck on it, Honey,” She urged, smiling.


“Suck it like candy! “Cause you’re gonna want it nice and slippery when you put it in!”


“And keep smiling!” Vanessa said as she snapped another picture.


All through the next horrible few minutes, I kept telling myself that I was making progress in solving this case. It helped ease the discomfort.


Tv School Girl



And in fact, I was making progress. In the last few minutes, I had learned that the girls were working as a team, and that they had some important deal set for Saturday. Now what could be more important to these sadistic teenagers than torturing me, their feminized captive?


It was probably drugs, I thought, as I tongued the dildo and smiled lovingly on command. They must be making some pretty vital arrangements Saturday. Maybe even picking up a load of the stuff! Now that was valuable information!


Moreover, I had an idea now about why no one had informed on the Grass-selling trio. Vanessa’s camera! Suppose she required each of her customers to pose for an incriminating picture before she’d sell to them! Oogh! Like the pose she was forcing me to assume now! And then hid the pictures away. Such blackmail would be perfect insurance against informers. What girl would dare to report Opal, Marcie or Vanessa to the Authorities, knowing that she could be totally disgraced in return?


I had one additional bit of comfort as well — and ooo! how I needed comfort now!


Vanessa was taking the pictures with one of those “One Touch” Instant Cameras. That meant that there would be no incriminating negatives to search out. Now if I could just discover where she hid the prints….


At last, Vanessa had snapped her final picture, and I was allowed to rest, rubbing my aching bottom as I tried to hide my girlish tears. I hoped desperately that the girls would allow me to dress again, but I had no such luck.


“We said this was going to be a Get-Acquainted session,” Vanessa stated, “And you might as well know that I rather enjoy seeing certain people go through a bit of discomfort for my pleasure. Therefore, you are to spend the rest of the evening on your knees. Is that understood, Agnes?”


I got on my knees, thankful that the


floor was carpeted. Modestly, I put my arms over my vulva and breasts as I answered.


“Yes, Vanessa.”


“For myself,” Marcie announced, “I simply can’t bear to see a girl display poor posture, as you are doing now. But I think I can improve upon you with… the proper inducements!


Over my weak protests, Marcie stepped behind me, carrying three of the regulation neckties that we girls were required to wear on formal occasions. Formal indeed! Marcie skillfully bound my wrists to the backs of my knees, artfully wrapping the ties around, both above and below the knee joint, then securing my wrists in the loose ends. I could still get about on my knees this way, but it arched my back quite painfully, and I had to gawk my head forward just to see in front of me.


“That will never do,” Marcie’s instructive tone could not cover the pleasure in her voice as she lectured, “You stoop you head most unbecomingly! We must put a stop to that!”


And the third necktie came into play, knotting my pigtails together, then running down my arms. Marcie tugged my head back savagely, until I thought my neck would break, then tied my elbows together with the loose ends, securing them to my braids. Now she lifted a full-length mirror from the closet and angled it downward so I could see myself.


“There! See what a pretty sight you are with the proper posture?” She teased.


I didn’t want to look, but my eyes were drawn irresistibly to the awful sight of me, hobbling about on my knees, elbows lashed together, back arched, head bent painfully backward. Of course, this bondage permitted me no maidenly modesty whatsoever, and I blushed to see — in the carefully placed mirror — how I had to flaunt my pussy openly with each awful knee-step, and how my ripening little breasts jiggled temptingly as I moved about.


Too temptingly, I’m afraid. Dark-skinned Opal suddenly loomed above me, her eyes warm with passion at the sight of my girlish charms, so enticingly displayed.


“Mmm, mmm! ” She smiled as I cringed inwardly, “Honey, you look just yummy!”


The other two giggled knowingly and Opal went on, “I been trying to tell these two how . nice a little girl-loving is, once in a while. They think it’s silly of me, but I really like it!” She looked up from me, at the other two. “Suppose I show you how good it can be with little Agnes here? Then maybe you could try it out with her! After all, it wouldn’t really be wrong to do it with a man, hunh? Even a little girl-man like this?”


To my absolute horror, both girls sounded interested. With their encouragement, Opal slowly began to disrobe, leering down at me.


“Just look at these jugs of mine, Little Girl,” She breathed, “So big and firm! You just gonna love sucking at them! And dig these legs I got! They’ll feel real smooth and warm, wrapped around that pretty face of yours!”


Then something happened that surprised me. I began to get excited!


Oh, the embarrassment I felt as my nipples stiffened in response to Opal’s sexy talk! All the girls giggled at my shame as Opal went on,


“Ooo, you gonna love this, Honey! Look here!”


And she slowly lowered her panties, exposing her lush pubis and ripe ass to me. Teasingly, she scooped the tiny undies off the floor and held them up to my face, still warm from and fragrant from her loins.


“Smell,” She breathed, bending down to rub the cloth gently across my face, “Lovely, isn’t it! Now feel,” She caressed my breasts with the damp warmth of her panties until my nipples ached. Inside my pussy-cover, my cock throbbed with desire and my balls ached and tingled in a bizarre mixture of pain and pleasure.


“Oh, oh, Opal,” I panted, nearly out of my mind with the strangeness of all this, “I want— I want—”


“Yeah,” Opal grinned, “You’d like to stick that tiny dick of yours into me, wouldn’t you, Lover? Only you can’t get it out! It’s put away where you can’t use it! So you’ll just have to use your mouth, won’t you Baby? Come on. Come to Momma, Baby!”


Dizzy with sexual desire, I hobbled painfully forward on my knees, arms bound tightly behind me, head arched way back, totally naked before my three delighted captresses. My bondage forced my girlish mouth upwards as I moved haltingly forward.


Right up to Opal’s waiting pussy.


Aside from the intense sexual excitement and burning humiliation I was feeling in that strange moment, I also knew in the back of my mind that I had to please this perverted black teenager. If I could really do a job on her, bring her to undreamed-of heights of sexual pleasure, I reasoned, then she might be inclined to go easy on me. She could make the next three days a little more bearable if I gave her good service.


Who knows? She might even help me against the other two.


And so I tongued the warm, pink pussy with all the skill I knew. Every trick I’ve picked up in a long and adventurous sex life came into play as I sucked, nibbled, nuzzled and gently probed the warm womanhood of this young-but-streetwise girl. Her thighs clamped tightly around my head and she buckled her knees, pressing her bare ankles against my bound arms, drawing me closer. I felt her grab a pillow to smother her moans of pleasure. Then, with a final, passionate wrench, she tugged my face deeply into her damp warmth and writhed sensuously. Once, twice. Then a long, slow, third time.


With a gasp, Opal sank back onto her bed and released me. From my enforced kneeling position, I couldn’t see the look of ecstasy on her face, but I could hear her soft murmurs of pleasure and almost feel the tingling afterglow around her.


For my part, I almost tippled sideways onto the carpet. A performance like that doesn’t come easily! My lips ached, my jaw was numb, and I gasped for air. Add my painful bondage to all that, and you can understand how completely exhausted I was! The pain, effort, and sexual frustration had left me completely fatigued, unable to move.


I felt a pair of hands grip my ears. Before I knew what was happening, I was pulled about to face Marcie. She was completely nude! I looked in confusion at her muscular body, erect breasts and pouting crotch.


“My turn now,” She breathed, her eyes hooded with passion. “If it’s that good


and it better be — then I’m going to want a lot of it! Only not so fast for me as you did for Opal!”


More? I thought dazedly. But I couldn’t possibly do that again, could I?


“Make it real nice, Agnes. Unless you want another taste of that dildo, Sweetie!”


Despite my incredible pain and mind-numbing tiredness, I felt my frustrated cock surge as Marcie pulled my face into her. How awful it was to be made so horny, used this way, and denied sexual relief!


Dimly, from between Marcie’s thighs, I heard Vanessa say,


“Me next!”


And Opal, “Then me again!”


And that was how I spent Tuesday night.


But if I had expected those three little sadists to go any easier on me as a reward for their pleasure, I was cruelly disappointed. Very cruelly.


My daytime hours passed all too quickly it seemed. I still had a lot of trouble with Algebra, German and Physical Education, but I could coast fairly easily in English and History. In Home Economics, Mrs. Adwill seemed particularly fond of me, and I found myself almost looking forward to her class.


But then there were the nights.


Taken with the success of Opal’s idea on Tuesday night, the girls let her have first charge of me Wednesday evening. And oh! the things we showed them! Opal gleefully had me demonstrate various methods of cunnilingus, ass-licking, clitoral stimulation, and erotic caresses. And she, in return, showed me how to really soul-kiss, pulling my white face to her black one as her tongue invaded my mouth. She would breath hotly on my nipples, stroke my round, smooth ass, dart her tongue over my ears and eyelids, and nuzzle at my neck until I thought I must faint from sexual desire. But my obvious need only amused the girls even more as Opal cooled me down showing off her sophisticated face-sitting techniques.


Thursday night it was Marcie’s turn. With a sure knowledge of just how much the female body can be made to do, she put me through dozens of exercises, all “aided” by some sort of bondage. I had to do deep waist-bends while my wrists were tied to my pigtails until I thought my arms were going to fall out at the shoulders. She laced me into a corset and had me duck walk around the room for nearly an hour. And she thoughtfully helped me through a painful, high-stepping march, nude in tall heels, by whacking me on the ass with a paddle whenever my raised shapely knees failed to meet my feminine chest!


But Vanessa was the cruellest of all. That Friday night, she shrewdly combined the worst elements of physical, psychological, and sexual torture for their full fiendish effect. I had to smile constantly, ask politely for every punishment she


devised, and thank her sweetly for imposing it! At her smiling, cruel command, I had to ask to be laced, naked, into the tiniest corset they could find, then thank them for strapping the narrowest high heels imaginable onto my feet. In this state, bare of breast and bottom, I had to mince up to each girl, curtsey foolishly, and ask to be spanked on the butt!


And that was just the beginning! As Vanessa warmed to her task, I was forced to act out the part of a naughty Ladies’ Maid, caught masturbating (Oh! How my balls and breasts ached and tingled with each self-administered caress!) and made to orally service her bitchy Mistress — Opal! Then, I had to play an aspiring ballerina, complete with tu-tu, going through rigorous drills at Marcie’s command, drills that somehow always ended with my face beneath her bare ass, tonguing dutifully, then thanking her for the pleasure!


My last role was as a dog, smilingly scampering about totally nude, my ankles bound to my thighs so that I literally could walk only on my hands and knees. Vanessa, dressed only in heels, snapped a leash to my neck and imperiously lead me through such basic training as heel, sit, beg, suck toes, kiss pussy, etc.


With such a bizarre mixture of humdrum days and torrid nights, perhaps it was natural that I became a bit confused. I seemed almost to lose contact with my basic masculinity, retreating further and further into my school-girl identity. My male genitals were completely lost — I almost said cut off — from my sight and feel. The only reminder I had of them was the awful pain I felt when sexual arousal caused my cock to swell in its confinement, crushing my balls. On the other hand, I seemed to be constantly aware of my developing breasts, innocent face, smooth skin and girlish body.


So each day saw me becoming more and more the obedient, humble school-girl, just as each night I moved further into my role as a submissive female slave. My former existence as a tough, powerful male, the virile administrator of punishment to these girls, the wealthy, woman-chasing Private Eye, seemed like a distant dream.


But when I awoke that Saturday morning to find my Mistresses gone, I came partly to my senses again. This was my chance to finish this job and get out of here!


I had not completely wasted the last three days. In the few spare moments I could snatch for myself, I had been busily searching, observing, learning.


Wednesday morning, for instance, the girls left our dorm room early so that they could linger over breakfast while I straightened things and made up all four beds. It was while I was throwing our dirty laundry down the Laundry chute (Carefully bagged, with a neat list detailing every item) that I noticed the loose panel at the rear of the chute, partially sealed up with duct tape.


Such a thing seemed minor, but it was hardly in keeping with the old-style work


and craftsmanship that had gone into building Les-Bryn. I wondered about it all day.


Thursday morning, I got my chance to inspect it further. After the girls left, I quickly did my chores and hurried to the Laundry Chute. I had to stretch and strain . my short arms to the limit to peel away the duct tape, but at last I succeeded.


The loose panel slid out, as if hinged, opening onto a dark recess.


A tiny niche, absolutely full of instant photographs. Pictures of my school-mates masturbating themselves or pleasuring each other.


But I had no time to go over them. I spent the next several minutes carefully closing and re-sealing the panel. I had to make sure that no one would ever suspect that I had found the hiding place of the pictures that could blow the lid off this sedate school.


Friday morning, I was so stiff from the workout that Marcie had given me the previous evening that I could barely move. It was all I could do to make the beds and limp down to breakfast.


But, as I said, when I awoke Saturday morning to find my teenage torturers gone, off to their secret — and illicit -project, I knew the time had come to act!


Weekends at Les-Bryn are full of semi-structured activities, and I knew that I would have to at least pretend to participate in some of them, so I chose those things that would keep me closest to the building.


All morning, I participated in Indoor Swimming. It was exhausting, but at 10:15 we took a half-hour break and I managed to sneak back to the dorm room, padding about barefoot in the standard one-piece white swimming uniform,, feeling the cool air embarrassingly on my pert breasts.


Once in the room, I wasted no time in getting the snapshots from their hiding place. I carefully retrieved each one, m making sure the niche was completely emptied and………


____and hey! I must say some of those pictures were quite intriguing. I really prefer more mature women — under different circumstances, I might even have dated the attractive Mrs. Adwill — but I have to admit that these snapshots of nubile young girls, each engaged in some kind of interesting sexual activity, aroused me. The round breasts and hips, the shapely limbs, and the overall air of youthful exuberance in these Fifteen-to-Eighteen-year-olds was rather arousing, particularly since I had been without a sexual outlet for nearly two weeks now. I studied the pictures almost hungrily. Why, here was one of a smiling young nymph in pigtails using a dildo to…


It was me.


Blushing, mortified, I quit looking at the photos and started looking for a place to hide them. I hit upon the perfect spot, inside the toilet tank. Since I certainly didn’t want to preserve those awful things, I didn’t care if the water hurt them as I threw them unceremoniously into the white porcelain tank and replaced the cover.


Back in the swimming pool until Lunch, I found that my eyes were starting to smart from the chlorine in the water. That gave me another idea.


Shortly after Lunch, I managed to sneak into the cleaning pantry and filch a full two-gallon jug of bleach. I scampered back up to the dorm room with it, unseen, and poured the entire contents slowly into the toilet tank. That should take care of those pornographic snapshots!


Feeling rather good about my success, I got a pass to go to the Library, where I spent a few minutes typing.


Then, a quick trip to Ms. Handler’s office. I furtively snuck the anonymous note under her door and ran off, skirts flying.


Finally, back to the room. In the toilet tank, the bleach had worked well. But I took no chances. Carefully, I cut the remains of the pictures into tiny bits and flushed them down the toilet.


Now, at last, I was all set.


When Ms. Handler got my note, stating simply that Vanessa, Opal and Marcie would be smuggling Pot into the school this evening, she should feel obliged to search their bags. The three girls should be easily caught.


And if Ms. Handler took no action, I could simply leave the school and denounce her to Lord Wimbley as an accomplice.


Either way, my work here was at an end, and for a moment I considered calling Sir Peter and having him remove me from this place at once. Then, I started thinking for a moment about Helen Adwill, the big-boned, good-looking Home Ec. teacher who had befriended me. It would be nice to see her again, I reflected, but I didn’t know enough about her to meet her once this charade was over. Perhaps if I continued, just for tonight, and got a chance to talk to her, find out more about her. After all, Cynthia would be here to see me on the


very next day anyway, so why not keep up the masquerade just a bit longer. Especially if it meant I could get a little closer to Helen!


My chance came as I was finishing dinner in the Cafeteria. Across the room, I saw Mrs, Adwill quietly dining alone. Her large frame — not plump, merely big — and attractive face seemed even more appealing to me than usual now. I walked over and asked if I might talk with her over a cup of tea.


I don’t think I have ever felt more like a little girl than that evening with Helen Adwill. After tea, we spent several hours chatting in her room. She seemed anxious to talk, not lonely, but tired of being alone. As I sat next to her on the couch, legs primly crossed under my simple jumper, we experimented with undoing my braids and trying some simple hair styles.


Mrs. Adwill mentioned that she had a son, slightly older than me but, as she put it, very shy and backward with girls. He was to turn Eighteen in a few months, and Helen said she wished he could meet a young girl like myself….


“… under the proper conditions, of course,” She explained, “I keep my little boy under rather strict discipline, you see. He will be coming into a substantial inheritance soon and,” Helen blushed, “Well, I might as well tell you, my little boy Ronnie was -er- a youthful indiscretion on the part of myself and a wealthy young man who died a short time later.”


I looked interested and sympathetic, but said nothing as Mrs. Adwill continued.


“We had been married for less than a week when he died, and his family never really accepted me. So they arranged to settle a large income on Ronnie as soon as he became an adult, but left me with nothing at all. Circumstances forced me to take this teaching job here, but I always wanted to show…. Good heavens, what’s that going on out in the parking lot?”


We looked out the window to see a taxi, obviously called on short notice, sounding its horn impatiently in the drive outside. In a few minutes, Vanessa, Opal and Marcie trooped out, carrying hastily-packed bags. There was a rather imposing matron with them, who ordered the girls about almost like prisoners.


“My gracious,” Helen said, “It appears that your room-mates are leaving rather suddenly. And not altogether willingly, I gather!” She looked at me with a sort of secret smile. “I wonder if we shall ever know why!”


I blushed and cleared my throat nervously.


“Well, no matter,” Mrs. Adwill said,


“I’m sure you’ll get along perfectly well without them. For now, though, I think it’s bed-time, Little Girl. Kiss your Helen Goodnight!”


We kissed, me as a small child, she as a full, passionate woman. Perhaps it was my weeks without sex, but I thought I felt something sensuous pass between us. I feared for a moment that Mrs. Adwill might try to start a lesbian relationship with me — after all, I did look like a rather attractive young girl now — but when we broke off the kiss, she was more motherly than ever, stroking my hair softly as she bade me Good-Night.


Going back to my room, I felt more confident than ever about getting a date with the warm, passionate Helen Adwill, once I got back to being Clinton Crayle, masculine detective. It might be a bit difficult, I reflected as I slipped out of my jumper, blouse, footwear, knee socks and undies, but worth it.


I looked at myself for a moment, studying my nude reflection in the mirror. Long, smooth legs. Rounded bottom. Firm young breasts and the doe-eyed, youthful face that surmounted it all. And between my legs, no trace of the surging male organs that were replaced by the false pussy-cover. I turned this way and that, contemplating the cosmetic work of Evelyn Traynor and the hormone treatments Dr. VonHoppler had given me. How nice to think that in Twenty-Four hours, this budding young girl would once again become a rampant, horny male — the real me!


I went to bed rather happily, reflecting on a tough job well done and the rewards awaiting me when I returned from Little-Girl-Land to the world of Adult Malehood.


“….so you see, Cynthia,” I was explaining in the Visitors’ Lounge, “Although the job is complete, I can’t get back to my Dr. Marcus. identity. Those girls swiped the key from me. But now you’re here, you can simply withdraw me from the school and get me back to my apartment.”


“So they stole your key?” Cynthia mused. She was wearing a quiet, classy dress in deep purple, and her legs curved excitingly as she sat back and crossed them. “That’s fascinating! I guess you were smart to plan this thing carefully, so that you wouldn’t be stuck here as a little girl!”


“Well, I’ve had some exper— ”


Cynthia interrupted me casually, as one would correct a child.


“Wise beyond your years, you might say,” She said, “You see, your employer, Lord Wimbley, met with a slight accident!”


“An accident?” I started, “What do you mean? Is he all right?”


“Don’t worry, Small One,” Cynthia smiled “It was merely a mild heart attack. But it made him homesick. Anxious to see the Old Sod of England, I think he said. Anyway, he gave me a new number for you to call if you need to be taken out of here suddenly while he’s in the Old Country.”


“Well,” I said, “I won’t be needing that now. All I need is for you to go to Ms. Handler and withdraw me.”


“Just think how smart you were to prepare like this, though,” Cynthia insisted, “Even though you can’t get back to your Dr. Marcus disguise, and can’t contact Lord Wimbley, you’ve still got me to get you out of your sweet little fix and back to masculinity! Tell me, are you getting very horny with your male organs sealed away like that, Little Girl?”


“Cynthia,” I tried to lower my voice commandingly. Couldn’t. “What are you leading up to?”


“Just this,” Cynthia said casually, “The fee for withdrawing you from this school and getting you back to your former male identity will be Ten Thousand Dollars!”


“Ten Thou— ” I barely managed to keep my voice down to a whisper, “I won’t pay it, you slut! We had a deal, Damnit!”


“Yes, but things have changed,” Cynthia smiled, rising calmly. “And that’s no way to talk to your mother, Little Girl. Perhaps when I come back next week, you’ll feel a bit more reasonable.”


“Next Week!?”


“Mmmhmm,” She gathered her purse and coat. “You certainly aren’t going anywhere and I’m having a fine time in your old apartment. I must say, it was clever of you to tell the Doorman that I.’m redecorating the place. It gives me ever so much freedom! Oh yes, I wanted to give you something before I leave!”


“Leave?” I seemed to be stuck, echoing her words. “Cynthia! You can’t leave me here like this!” I suddenly felt awfully trapped in my girls-school uniform and childish braids. Not to mention my breasts and pussy!


“Can’t I?” Cynthia casually handed me an envelope. “Tell me that when I see you here again next week! Of course, you could always go to Ms. Handler and reveal your true identity, but from what I gather, she never really liked you as Dr. Marcus, and she’d probably like you even less as the Private Peeper who got her cousin kicked out of her own school! I wonder what she’d do if she found out you were really an adult male and needed her help! Probably trump up a rape charge on you, or maybe just quietly turn you over to Vanessa and her pals! Yes, it might be interesting just to see!” Grinning broadly, she patted me on the head. “Ta-ta, Stepdaughter!”


There was nothing I could do but stand there and glare at her twitching bottom as she walked away. I felt my cheeks burn with anger and frustration at the smug sight of the crafty hooker who now had me in her power. I clenched my little fists, trying to blink back tears.


The envelope crumpled in my hand. Curious, I forced myself to walk quietly back to my room and open it. Inside was a clipping from a medical journal:



VonHoppler Convicted of Malpractice

By a unanimous vote today, the Medical Board suspended the license of Dr. Leo VonHoppler and banned his controversial new synthetic hormone, Estro-Hopp.


Although Estro-Hopp was proved quite successful in restoring youth and femininity to many women, and showed great promise in treating transsexual, its use was found to have unpredictable and often undesirable side-effects.


The problem stems from the fact that excess amounts of Estro-Hopp do not pass out of the body, as most hormones do, but tend tp be stored in the glands and build up to a cumulative effect. Patients who were treated with the drug years ago still report side effects from it, including the development of exaggerated feminine characteristics and, in some cases, loss of weight or even height. In addition, the drug does not reduce the natural male sex drive, although lengthy treatments with male hormones are required to reverse its effects.


It was proven that Dr. VonHoppler knew of these side effects but continued to administer the drug as recently as a week ago.


The clipping dropped from my numbed fingers as I felt a sick feeling spread through me. I tried confusedly to sort it all out. Dr. VonHoppler had given me an extensive hormone treatment just a few weeks ago. A treatment that could have far-reaching and long-lasting effects Cynthia wanted Ten Thousand Dollars to get me out of here, and she wouldn’t be back until next week. I was stuck here like this until she returned. Stuck in this Little Girl Body with strange hormones running through me! I might grow larger breasts or curvier hips. My genitals might shrink inside their confining disguise, but I’d just keep getting hornier. I might develop all sorts of feminine traits! I might even get smaller and younger-looking! How horrible it would be to become even more like a woman or a little girl! Me, a man!


Panic-stricken, I tore off my clothes and surveyed my nude, girlish body in the mirror once again. To my fevered imagination, it seemed I was already changing. Getting somehow more woman-like and more little-girlish, at the same time. In desperation, I kneaded my breasts and stroked my forearm down across my false cunt, as if I could erase them somehow. But I remained a budding young nymphet.


Somehow, I managed to calm down. The treatment was reversible, according to that article, all I had to do was get through the next week, then pay Cynthia to get me out of this awful mess. It was a steep price, but I had no choice. That mischievous, mercenary call-girl was calling the shots. For now, anyway.


But that next week proved to be harder than I had imagined. Throughout the school, an undercurrent of resentment seemed to have arisen toward me. Girls who formerly had been friendly now ignored me rudely. I had no room-mates now, and no one volunteered to take me in. Throughout the student body, I felt distinct waves of dislike wherever I turned.


Of course, I understood the reason for this. Opal, Vanessa and Marcie had been very popular with some of the girls, and many of the others lived in fear of blackmail from them. Naturally, word would have spread through the grapevine that I had been responsible for their expulsion, and to a lot of girls, I must have seemed like a terrible kill-joy. Quite a few others would be afraid of those secret photos and must think that I had endangered them terribly by tattling on the three dope dealers. So I was almost expecting my sudden unpopularity when it came.


What I wasn’t expecting, at first, was the suddenly severe treatment I got from most of the teachers as well. That Monday morning, in German Class, I tripped for the third time over my irregular verbs and the instructress, Frau Hildren, abruptly ordered me to stand at the head of the class.


“Look at this, Girls!” She barked, towering over me imposingly in her heels, “Agnes should know these verbs by now. A child would know them! Agnes–” She suddenly gripped my chin and tilted my face up toward hers, “—what excuse do you have to offer?”


Well, of course, I had been much too busy obeying the commands of my three Mistresses and plotting to expose them to concentrate on my German, but I couldn’t possibly tell Frau Hildren that. Meekly, I replied,


“I -er- have no excuse, Ma’am,”


My reply seemed to throw the stern teacher into a cold fury.


“So it can only be laziness,” She said through clenched teeth, “And do you know that laziness is a punishable offense at Les-Bryn?15


“Y-Yes, Ma’am,” I quivered.


A titter of anticipation went through the class.


“Very good,” Frau Hildren almost smiled, “It will make your correction much easier to administer. It is always much easier when a little girl understands that she deserves to be punished!”


She moved behind me.


“Bend over, Little Girl,”


“B-bend over, Ma’am?” I certainly hadn’t expected anything like this! Another ripple of amusement passed through the class as the girls took in the shocked look on my face.


“Do not hesitate,” Frau Hildren was implacable. “Bend over.”


Stomach knotted with fear and embarrassment, I did as she ordered, trying not to look at the eager faces of the girls seated in front of me.


“Now lift your skirt.”


“Oh, must I Ma’am?” I felt my lower lip trembling.


“Raise it now,” The teacher snapped, “Or I shall have you remove it, and your panties as well!”


I needed no further encouragement!


Hastily, blushing, I raised the back of my skirt.


“Himmel, Child!” Frau Hildren’s fearsomely calm voice sounded behind me again. “Don’t hold your skirt like a tent! Take it delicately, between the tips of your fingers. Just the very edges of it. Now!”


Burning with shame at the way this harsh mistress was protracting my ordeal, I did as she ordered. The skirt hung daintily from my fingertips as I raised it behind me, still bending forward. I tried to look only at the floor.


“Raise your face, Little Girl, so that the class may really see the effect of your punishment and learn from it!”


So I was not to have even the scant comfort of hanging my head! Miserably, I raised my girlish face and looked out at the delighted girls before me through tear-blurred eyes. I felt horribly ashamed of the picture I must be making, Me, a grown man, acting out the part of a punished, naughty school-girl. And powerless to make any change


Crack! Crack! Crack!


The paddling came suddenly, mercifully brief. But nonetheless, tears were streaming as I thanked Frau Hildren, as she instructed, and gingerly made my way back to my seat.


That was only the first of three spanking I got that day. I received another the very next hour, for my clumsiness in Algebra, and a third that afternoon for inattention in History Class. By Dinner time I could barely sit still, and I could hardly keep from crying at the injustice of it all. Why this sudden, awful increase in discipline?


Then I remembered: Vanessa, the ringleader of the three expelled girls, was also the cousin of Ms. Handler, the Headmistress. It must really have rankled Barbara Handler to have her own relative shamed this way — and after she had rejected my suggestion (as Dr. Marcus) that they be expelled. How easy it would be for the


Head of the School to pass word to…..her subordinates: Agnes is a trouble-maker… she was behind the drug traffic but we can’t prove it…so come down on her, hard!


But understanding all this didn’t make it any easier to bear. All told that week, I received more than a dozen spankings. No matter what I did, nothing seemed to please my teachers, and by Friday I could hardly bear to sit still for any length of time.


But worse than my unpopularity, worse than my punishments, was the way I felt myself slipping further and further into what I called “Little-Girl-Land”. Like Alice falling helplessly through the looking glass, I felt myself becoming more and more caught up in a world that I couldn’t control. As I studied my German and Algebra at night, I caught myself thinking, Just wait ’til I’m a grown lady and don’t have to stay here any more, I’ll wear fine, sexy dresses, and blouses unbuttoned down to my navel if I feel like it, to show off my sexy breasts… I bet they’ll grow quite large, see how they’re developing already… and I’ll date tall, strong men, and they won’t treat me like a little girl… they’ll put their hands up my short skirts and….


What was I thinking? I had to shut my hands fiercely over my eyes, try to forget about my strange body, these clothes, the school around me. I must concentrate on Sunday, when Cynthia would come and free me.


The one dubious comfort I had that whole week was that wonderful Home Economics teacher, Helen Adwill, Of all the faculty, she alone refused to persecute me, treating me in a quietly fair way throughout her class. True, she treated me as a little girl, but I looked forward eagerly to the one hour a day when I could find a friendly face at Les-Bryn. And what a lovely face it seemed, too. Dark-eyed and strong. How excitingly her breasts swelled beneath her blouse as her full hips and bottom undulated inside her skirt!


I wanted this woman so bad it hurt. Wanted to make it with her as a virile man should.


And I was stuck in this nymphet body, feeling my nipples tingle and my repressed manhood ache in its confinement any time she came near.


Saturday I was confined to my room for “remedial studying” except at meal times, and to show you how far I sometimes got from reality, I actually spent the whole day studying, even though I knew Cynthia was going to come and release me on Sunday. I fell asleep that night anticipating my freedom. Dreams of dating Helen Adwill somehow mixed confusingly with visions of her adopting me as I slept fitfully in the dark.


“So you’ve decided to be reasonable, have you Little Agnes?” Cynthia smiled.


We were seated in the Visitors1 Lounge again, and the contrast between us — her the successful career girl, me the teenage Junior Miss, was demoralizing.


Cynthia wore an eye-catching dress of burgundy silk, cut cunningly to seem demure at a distance, while up close it lovingly displayed the soft curves of her body. As we were the only girls in the room, she sat quite carelessly, with her legs crossed and her skirt riding up on her thighs. Seeing her this way — after going without sex for nearly a month now — was almost more than I could bear. I squirmed in my prim girls’ uniform.


“Yes, Cynthia,” I said quietly, “You hold all the cards and you know it. I’ll pay the Ten Thousand. Just get me out of here.”


“My, what a nice change!” Cynthia smiled as she raised an interested eyebrow at me. “You used to be so macho and overbearing, and now you’re such a sweet little thing! By the way, isn’t your bust getting just a tiny bit bigger?”


I blushed for the thousandth time at her words and at the obvious amusement she was feeling at my predicament.


“Please, Cynthia,” I begged, “Just go to Ms. Handler and withdraw me!”


“Well Sweet-urns, I’m afraid the price for that little service has gone up. It’ll cost you Twenty Thousand now if you want me to put an end to your days as a school girl.”


“Twenty Thou–” I started to protest. But as I did so, I felt my skirt ride up a little on my smooth, bare legs. Felt my braids brush against the soft back of my neck. And I felt my bosom thrust against the training bra that barely contained it.


“All right,” I said meekly, eyes downcast, “Twenty Thousand it is.”


“Wonderful!” Cynthia beamed, “Now there’s just one small detail we must arrange: How can you guarantee you’ll pay me?”


“Guarantee?” The question confused me. “What do you mean?”


“Well my Darling Daughter,” Cynthia|s voice was a cool veneer of professionalism over her cruel glee. “I’ve told you before that I’m planning to retire soon. And as your Mother, I can’t be too careful about providing for my future. Now what can you do for me, Little Girl, to guarantee that you|11 pay me once I’ve got you out of this ridiculous mess you’ve put yourself into?”


“Well, I -er- I don’t know, Cynthia” I floundered for the right words, “But I’ll pay you, I promise!”


“Promises!” Cynthia smiled at me ruefully. “Sorry, Baby-urns, you’ll have to do better than that unless you want to finish out the semester here!”


“I’ll write you out a check and go with you when you cash it — how’s that?” I asked,


“Well, the check is a good idea,” She mused, “I have it: Next week when I visit, I’ll bring along your checkbook and you can


just go ahead and write out the check. Then, as soon as it’s cleared the bank, I’ll come back and withdraw you!”


Next week! The idea was horrible even just to listen to.


“But Cynthia!” I tried to protest, “That could be two whole weeks!”


Her only answer was a slight nod and a firm look in her eye.


“Oh please,” I felt tears welling up in my eyes. “Don’t make me spend another two weeks here! Please take me out now!”


“Sorry, Small One,” Cynthia calmly took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped my nose with it. “That’s the only way we can do business. Take it or leave it!”


And so it was that I braced myself for another two weeks of denying my inner masculinity and adulthood. Forced to keep acting out my part as a schoolgirl at Les-Bryn.


I thought that I could make that next week a bit easier than the previous one, as I had been hitting the books pretty hard, and I determined that I would behave so perfectly as to give the teachers no excuse to punish me.


But I hadn’t figured on the fiendish cruel cunning of the other schoolgirls.


After lunch on Monday I still had some time before my next class. As I went into a nearby restroom, I noticed Miss Griggs, the Algebra teacher, following me at a distance, but I thought nothing of it.


Then, as I entered the restroom, I saw a tall blonde girl, Peggy Harold, leaning up against a wall, smoking a cigarette. I was quite shocked, since smoking was considered one of the most serious crimes at Les-Bryn, But Peggy merely smiled, blew smoke in my face, and casually handed me the cigarette as she strolled over to a toilet.


In confusion, I turned about, looking after her, blinking and coughing as I stupidly held the cigarette.


“Young Lady, just what are you doing?”


The voice of Miss Griggs boomed at me like fearful thunder. I spun back around too late, as she pounced upon me.


“A cigarette!” She snatched the hateful thing from me and flung it away. “Agnes! How horrid! Where did you get it?”


I looked about me in confusion. Peggy was hidden behind one of the closed toilet doors. A couple of the other girls shot me subtle warning looks.


“Won’t talk, eh?” Miss Griggs said with satisfaction. “Well, Little Girl, this calls for another spanking! A bare-bottom spanking!”


“Oh Miss Griggs!” I cried, “I wasn’t… Please don’t….”


But I was trapped. Everyone in the restroom knew it, too. Under Miss Griggs’ cruel gaze, I bowed my head submissively.


“Turn around, Agnes,” She said aloofly.


I obediently turned my back to her, avoiding the stares of the other girls.


“Now lower your knickers, Girl.”


Red-faced, burning with anger at the injustice and with shame at the indignity, I reached under my skirt and turned down my cotton panties.


“All the way to your ankles, Agnes,” Miss Griggs said.


I felt a tear course down my cheek as I dropped my panties down my legs in silent obedience.


“Raise your skirt — just the back — and bend over now. As far as you can.”


Grinding my teeth in frustration, I did as the stern teacher ordered. Titters of amusement echoed around the restroom at the sight of my gaily proffered bare bottom.


Then I heard a toilet flush and the stall in front of me opened. Peggy Harold stepped out, tossing her blonde hair back and smiling down at me as




One of the paddles that these teachers seemed to have with them constantly splattered hot pain across my pratt.


Crack! Crack!


Again and again I felt the burning, shameful hurt. Then, cool silence.


“That will be enough,” Miss Griggs pronounced, “You may thank me before you straighten up, Agnes.”


Bent over, bare-assed, short of breath and gasping from the pain, I managed to bleat out,


“Th-thank you, Miss Griggs!”


“You’re quite welcome, Agnes,” She said as she turned and stalked out. “Take care of her, Girls!”


Alone with my classmates in the restroom, I straightened up and smoothed down my skirt, then crouched down to pull up my panties.


Something was wrong. A pretty heeled shoe was clamped on the floor, between my legs, pinning my underpants beneath it. I looked up in confusion.


“You needn’t bother with those, Agnes,” Paggy Harold said archly.


“But they’re mine!” I protested, “You’ve no right to do this!”


“Oh but we do!” Peggy said, “Miss Griggs said to ‘take care’ of you, remember? Well we think that for a girl as naughty as you, underpants would just be in the way! Now step out of them, before we decide to take away the rest of your clothes again, too!”


Suddenly fearful and obedient, I quickly stepped out of my panties. A girl behind me snatched them up and threw them in the trash.


“Now off to class with you!” Peggy ordered, “But remember, you must do whatever we say if you want to stay out of even deeper trouble!”


How right she was! I knew that if I did — or was framed for doing — anything to merit another spanking, I could expect my punishment to be doubled when the teacher found me un-pantied. Now I would have to be careful to avoid not only the wrath of the teachers, but also the cunning traps ste by my fellow schoolgirls.


I sat nervously through the next class, feeling intensely the cold varnished-wood •seat under my bare girlish rump. As I squirmed about, trying to get comfortable, a few of the girls who were in on the restroom scene smiled knowingly. Then, close to the end of class, one of them passed me a note:


Since we have your pants you might as well give us the rest of your underclothes. Meet in the restroom at break to hand over your bra. Do Not Fail!


That moment in the restroom when I surrendered my bra to Peggy Harold will be forever imprinted in my memory by the burning shame of it all. It was as though I were again surrendering my freedom to a band of immature schoolgirls. I tried fervently to forget that I was really an adult male as I shamefully removed my jumper and blouse so that I could get my bra off and hand it over to the snickering girls. There I stood, in nothing but white shoes and knee socks, red with embarrassment as I felt all those eyes on my down-covered pussy and developing breasts. Most of the girls looked at me with contempt, but quite a few of the stares at my bosom were frankly envious.


“Well Agnes,” Peggy sneered, “Now that we all know who’s in charge here, I guess you can get dressed and go to class. Just don’t forget who’s boss!”


I was on pins and needles the whole rest of that day. Sitting in class without any underwear was simply indescribable! I kept feeling my clothing slide over my bare breasts and thighs as I moved about carefully, afraid of showing anything. And those hard seats were just horrible on my tender bum!


Of course, I realized I should have expected this along with everything else. I knew that although Les-Bryn was run with an iron hand, the schoolgirls there would naturally have little cliques and tiny power struggles. Up until recently, the most powerful group would naturally have formed around Vanessa, Marcie and Opal. With their pornographic photos and sales of Marijuana, the three girls must have seemed an unbeatable combination.


But I had gotten them expelled.


And now it seemed there was a natural move to fill the vacant spot of Top Dog, and Peggy Harold was making it. I was probably just a step along her way. Peggy knew that the other girls had feared Vanessa and that they mistrusted me. So how better to impress them than to belittle me in front of so many of them?


Well she certainly did a proper job of it, I thought, as I made my way timidly back to my room after classes and got into some underwear again. Then I stretched out on the bed in bra and panties to reconsider my situation.


First and foremost, I was under Cynthia’s thumb. She alone could withdraw me from Les-Bryn and get me back to my apartment, where I had chemicals to remove my false pussy and free my masculine organs once again. With her help, I could change my appearance and start taking medicine that would reverse my growing feminine tendencies. But I was stuck here this way until Cynthia chose to release me.


And “here” was not a very pleasant place to be. True, I was free of the cruel dominance that Vanessa, Opal and Marcie had forced on me, but their harsh rule had been replaced by another, more subtle bondage.


The Headmistress, Barbara Handler, was intent on punishing me for any and every offense. Who knows? Perhaps her cousin Vanessa had told her that I was really a man, and they had selected this as the best way of paying me back! At any rate, the demands of Ms. Handler — enthusiastically carried out by the teachers — had forced me into becoming a very prim, proper and studious little schoolgirl.


Now it seemed I was to be dominated by some of the girls here as well! How had all this happened? I tried to retrace my steps, from manly, vigorous Private Eye to meek, submissive girl. Where had I gone wrong?


All I could do now was wait for Cynthia.


It would be a long week.


At least, I thought, I still had a friend in the bosomy Helen Adwill. The more I thought about her, the warmer I felt towards this beautiful, motherly woman. I had definitely decided now that as soon as I got out


of this role and back to manhood, I would seriously set about meeting, dating, and bedding her. Sometimes at night, I thought of her body, so round and soft-looking beneath the quiet clothes she wore. I thought of the passion that radiated out beneath her ladylike demeanor. In dreams, I saw myself tearing off her clothes and flinging her back across the bed, legs spread wide.


Only to awaken and find myself aching all over. My nipples stiff with arousal, my balls being crushed by the pressure of my cock trying to expand within the confinement of the tight pussy-cover that concealed it. I would feel my braided pigtails across my neck and writhe helplessly as I worried about growing shorter.


It was a long week.


And on Friday Afternoon, I had another stroke of bad luck. Ms. Handler decided to pull a “surprise inventory” before we girls were granted the comparative freedom of the weekend. Each of us had to set the entire collection of her school-issued clothing and equipment out for inspection, neatly arranged and stacked on the bed.


And I was found to be short one set of underwear.


“Really, Agnes,” Ms. Handler paced about my small room, the tiniest trace of amusement playing about her lips as she lectured me, “You seem to have a definite knack for losing your clothing! Perhaps your nice step-mother should have enrolled you in a nudist camp instead of a finishing school! Well girl, have you anything to say?”


“No Ma’am,” I said meekly, with lowered eyes.


“And particularly since you have no room-mates, there is no excuse for this serious loss! It seems we shall have to teach you to be more accountable for your clothing!”


“I-I beg your pardon Ma’am,” I asked, “How do you mean?”


“Quite simply–” The relish in her voice was unmistakable as she pronounced my sentence — that for Seven Days , beginning now, you will be given only one outfit per day. It will be issued before reveille and collected promptly after dinner. Do you understand, Agnes ?”


“I -oh- I’m afraid I don’t, Ms. Handler,” I expected the worst but asked anyway, “How will it work, Ma’am?”


Looking down at me, trembling there in pigtails and girl’s clothing, Ms. Handler explained:


“Each day, upon rising, you will find one outfit outside your door. You will fetch it in here and dress in it completely -every item. No matter what we select for you or how well or poorly it fits, you will wear it. Understood?”


“Yes Ma’am.”


“Each evening after dinner,” She continued, “You will come directly to your room and disrobe, hanging your things outside the door. We shall confiscate your present wardrobe forthwith to ensure your obedience. I really think that a few nights spent nude


in your room, anc a few days of simpering about the school in silly costumes should teach you the value of the uniforms we give you. Well?” She tapped her foot impatiently.


“Uh- what Ma’am?”


“Strip, Little Girl!”


With nothing else to do, I disrobed and watched in embarrassed fascination as Ms. Handler and her flunkies removed every stitch of my clothing from the room. Skirts, blouses, undies, even shoes, socks and nightwear, all carted off by the sadistic Headmistress. When she had left, I miserably wrapped myself in a sheet and sat on the bed, ready for a good cry,


Then, Helen Adwill crept in, closing the door softly behind her.


“Hello Agnes,” She said, “Feeling down?”


The sight of this lovely teacher, my one friend at Les-Bryn, stirred strange feelings within me. I felt glad to see her, but embarrassed by my lack of clothing. As always, I felt sexually aroused by her nearness, particularly in these intimate conditions. But I was terribly frustrated by my girlish state and Helen’s condescending, motherly treatment of me.


“Cheer up, Small One,” She encouraged, “I heard about your punishment, and I thought you might need a sympathetic shoulder.”


Then suddenly, despite myself, I felt my lower lip tremble. Tears flooded my eyes.


“Oh Helen!” I sobbed.


And for a short time I was a young girl; , pressing up to the bosom of my older friend, feeling her soft hands on my bare back as the sheet fell away from me and I was cradled nude in her strong arms, chastely covering myself with my hands as I cried out my sorrow.


“There, there,” Helen said after a bit, kissing my pigtails as she returned my sheet to me. “Cover yourself now. You’re much too old and well-developed to go about nude, although I do find you quite charming thus. Oh if only____”


“If only what, Helen?” I asked, pulling the sheet back up around me, embarrassed by the way my stiff nipples poked beneath it.


“I really hate to add to your grief, Agnes Darling,” Helen said, “But I must tell you: This is my last week at Les-Bryn!”


“Oh, but…Helen, why?” I fought off another attack of tears.


“I’m afraid it’s been coming for a long time,” Helen explained, “You know, my little boy Ronnie will be Eighteen soon, and coming into quite a fortune. I shall have to be with him and supervise him very closely to see that he handles it widely. I expect I shall have him set up some trust fund, with me as administrator, and perhaps some annuities paid to— but this must be boring for you, Dear. I shall be leaving Les-Bryn, and that’s that. Oh, I’ll be around for a few days next week, wrapping up some affairs and perhaps helping out in the Mail Room, but I’m afraid we probably won’t see one another again, at least for a while. Can you be brave, Darling?”


“I- I suppose so, Helen,” I sniffled.


“That’s my girl!” Helen smiled sadly and wistfully stroked my cheek. “Oh, if only things had been right for you to meet my Ronnie! You’re just the sort of girl we would have wanted to– Oh well,” She rose and moved to the door. “I mustn’t stay any


longer. Just remember Dear, I shall think of you!”


And she left.


Leaving me alone. More feminine, more childish, and more frustrated than ever.


The next day was Saturday, and I fearfully tiptoed naked to the door to discover what clothes would be given me to start my week of punishment.


It was quite a discovery.


The bathing suit was white, one-piece with shoulder straps, and modest enough, I guess. But it was rather small on me, and I had quite a bit of difficulty getting it up over my bottom and tugging it up to cover my rounded breasts. Then came white knee socks, held up by elastic tops. White tennis shoes went on next, but they were unlike any I had seen before. The soles were built up, almost like platform shoes, and the heels were at least three inches high. I looked dubiously in the mirror at the way this skimpy outfit made me jiggle my bust and bottom as I put on my final item of apparel.


It was a white latex bathing cap. It clung to my head, covering my ears and even blocking off part of my peripheral vision as I snapped the chin strap closed.


I didn’t want to look in the mirror. Didn’t want to see the silly, sexy sight of me, a petite girl with jutting breasts and full ass, shamefully displayed by the tight swimsuit and high heels, with the knee socks and swimming cap as added mocking touches. I didn’t want to see how incredibly feminine I was becoming, yet younger-looking all the time. I didn’t want to think about how ridiculously I would stand out among the other girls, who wore blue jeans, jumpers and gym clothes for their weekend activities. Thinking about all that, and knowing I was really an adult male, would simply be too hard to take. I might try to rebel.


And I knew that nothing would please Barbara Handler more than another excuse to punish me.


But as I walked to breakfast, I encountered another problem. My tight swimsuit was simply incapable of stretching over my plump bottom when I walked for any length of time, particularly in those heels. The elastic material kept shrinking back, gathering in the crack of my ass, and leaving more and more of my pink round bottom cheeks exposed. I kept reaching behind me to tug at the material, and each time I did, I invariably heard a titter from some passing girl, amused at my modesty in this plight. Never have I felt so incredibly naked, exposed and vulnerable.’


Following breakfast, I found that I was to report to the Gym for “Physical Evaluation”. There, the dark-haired Ms. Popoulos took over, weighing and measuring me before she began testing.


“Hmmm,” She muttered as she checked my height, “Must have been some mistake when they admitted you. Even with those heels on, you’re nearly two inches shorter than it says on your entrance form!”


Bad news indeed, but I had been somehow expecting it. Miss Popoulos wrapped a tape measure around my hips, waist and bosom, and commented:


“So that’s where the inches went! I must say, Agnes, it’s unusual to find such well-developed breasts and hips on a girl your age! You shall have to be careful to eat properly and exercise regularly so that you don’t become saggy. Hmmm, I wonder if a little corsetting might not be in order?”


Before I had a chance to offer an opinion I found myself gripping the top of a horizontal bar, standing on tiptoe to reach it. I was able to shift the effort of maintaining this stance back and forth between my hands and feet, so the effort was not too hard to bear for a short while.


But then Miss Popoulos began fastening on the white corset.


It hooked easily in front, if a little snugly. She began tightening the laces.


“Pull in your stomach.”


I tightened my stomach muscles and immediately felt the corset gather in, pushing inward on my compressed waist.




I exhaled. Ms. Popoulos tightened the laces again, and I felt new pressure on my diaphragm, just below my breasts, forcing


the air out of my lungs.


“Now tighten the stomach again.”


Ms. Popoulos repeated the two-stage process, gaining painful fractions of inches. I gasped for air and found myself able to take only the tiniest of breaths.


Then she brought out a curved piece of polished wood. A lacing hook!


“This should help me get the leverage to mold your figure properly,” She said softly, “Exhale!”


And somehow, incredibly, she tightened the corset even more!


“Very well Agnes,” She said at last, “Four-and-a-half inches. I think that’s enough to start. Let yourself down.”


I released my hold on the overhead bar and let my full weight down upon my feet.


And immediately felt an incredible, crushing pain around my middle!


“Uurrooh!” I cried involuntarily.


“Agnes!” Ms. Popoulos reprimanded, “That was hardly a very ladylike sound!”


“But -ooohh!- It hurts so, Ms. Popoulos!” I gasped.


“It’s meant to hurt you, Silly!” She rebuked, “Now no more protests, or I shall gag you!”


“But I feel it’s cutting me in two!” I pleaded, “Oh please, Ms. Popouluugghh!”


My words were blocked off by a damp cloth, wadded up and stuck deeply into my mouth by the forceful instructress. I reached up to pluck it out, only to have my hands smacked sharply away.


“I’ll teach you not to remove that gag!” Ms. Popoulos scolded.


Swiftly, she moved over to a nearby medical cabinet and returned with a wide roll of white surgical tape and a pair of scissors. With sure, practiced efficiency, she cut off a strip of the tape and fastened it over my mouth.


“You’ll leave that there if you know what’s good for you,” She said, “Now walk over and look at yourself in the mirror!”


Mutely (for I could no longer protest) and meekly (because I feared further punishment) I stepped over to a full-length mirror on the far wall. Even before I saw myself, I knew I wouldn’t like it. In the confining corset, each step was agonizing. I could barely breathe, and the pressure on my waist was intensely painful. Moreover, the restriction on my waist increased the swish in my bottom and the jiggle in my bust considerably as I high-heeled my way over to the mirror.


It was even worse than I’d thought.


The white corset had compressed my waist an incredible four-and-a-half inches, all the way from my hips to my rib cage. . Just as I’d feared, the confinement increased the feminine sway of my movements considerably.


But even more, my compressed waist exaggerated the shapely flair of my bosom and buttocks. Above the corset, my breasts seemed truly impressive, strutting firm and high before me. And below, my hips and ass curved delicately out like a soft, delectable cushion. I had almost a true hourglass figure, and I was forced to move about in a way that seemed calculated to show it off!


But as I looked at myself in the mirror, clad in virginal white from bathing cap to tennis shoes, fetchingly helpless in corset and gag, an odd thing happened. I got excited!


I felt the familiar ache of my confined cock trying to become erect, pressing painfully against my balls. I shifted my legs to try to relieve the pain, and saw my breasts thrust against the sheer fabric of my swimsuit. Down below, the stretchy material shrank again, uncovering more of my rounded, feminine bottom.


The ache in my hidden male genitals increased as another surge of frustration went through me at the sight.


Oh Heavens! I thought, this is awful!


I’ve been without sex so long that I’m starting to get turned on by even the sight of myself! I’m getting aroused by this jiggling, helplessly sexy girl in the mirror, and it’s me!


I felt a sudden instability, a momentary loss of contact with reality as I wondered whether I was a lustful male or a sensuous adolescent girl — or both!


And then I heard a voice behind me say,


“Oh Melina! She’ll be perfect!”


As quickly as I could, I turned at the sound. It was Lady Bardovan, the Drama teacher. Her short, curly red hair flipped delightfully out around her pretty face, and the way her shapely body moved beneath her maroon dancing leotard only added to the agony of my horny frustration.


“Thank you, Grace,” Ms. Popoulos smiled back, “I had thought I could prepare our little Agnes for the part you had in mind! I’m glad you approve!”


Grace Bardovan looked me up and down, her eyes positively devouring my obvious curves, just as I would have admired her more subtle figure.


“Yes,” She mused, “I can suit her up perfectly,” She turned to Ms. Popoulos. “You know, it’s such a chore, finding a girl for the Maid’s part in our Spring Play. I mean, it calls for a rather severe costume, and the girl playing the part has to be on stage almost the whole length of the play, yet she doesn’t speak a single line!”


“I’ve adapted Agnes perfectly for that, I think,” Ms. Popoulos smirked.


“You certainly have!” Lady Bardovan giggled, “Let’s get her into costume and see how she looks!”


Eagerly, the two teachers took me by the arms and began leading me out, down the hallway toward the Drama Wardrobe room.


Tv School Girl



That short walk was horrible! I felt simply embarrassed to death, mincing down the hall in my white regalia. Tennis shoes, knee socks, swimsuit, corset, bathing cap, — even a white gag to complete the ensemble! There were several other girls passing in the hall, and every one of them smiled at the sight of me, swishing helplessly toward them, or tittered behind my back at the sight of my nearly naked, swaying ass. I felt like crying again.


But I could say nothing. No word got past my implacable white gag as we entered the room that contained the costumes for the Drama Club.


In a flurry of activity, the two teachers gleefully removed my shoes and socks and fitted me out with daring black net hose, held up by garter straps attached to my corset. A lacey camisole, ruffled half slips, and a low-cut black dress with short puffy sleeves went on me. I was next put in to black patent-leather shoes with stiletto-thin five-inch heels, and had a frilly white apron slipped over my head and tied in a big bow in the back.


I had no sooner put on the tight, elbow length black satin gloves, than Grace Bardovan showed me to a mirror.


“Look Agnes,” She smiled cruelly over my shoulder as I took in my reflection, “You’re almost ready, and you look just darling!”


My spirits sank to a new low at the sight of me. From the neck down, I was a silly looking feminine figure decked out in a mockery of a french maid’s uniform. The black dress and gloves contrasted sharply with the .white apron, making the briefness of the dress quite apparent. Beneath the hem of my skirt, my petticoats flared out almost like a ballerina’s tu-tu. And below these, the black net hose stretched breathlessly tight up my shapely legs, now even more exaggerated in my high heels. Between my stocking tops and the hem of my petticoats, at least four inches of bare thigh peeked enticingly — more if I walked or bent over. Looking at my full bosom straining against the low-cut bodice of the dress, I saw even more clearly how cunningly this outfit was suited to my diminutive but femininely attractive figure.


And above the neck I was still confined in the tight white bathing cap and surgical tape gag.


But not for long.


“Tell me, Grace,” Ms. Popoulos asked, “How do you plan on completing our transformation of little Agnes here into a french maid, seeing as makeup is forbidden here at Les-Bryn? I mean, a cute little picture like this — ” She patted my bottom, ” — just won’t be complete without big, red, pouting lips, powdered nose, rouged cheeks, and dark, mascaraed eyes with false eyelashes!”


“I thought of that myself,” Lady Bardovan replied, “And I had the girls in the Art Department come up with the perfect solution!”


So saying, she opened a cabinet and produced — a face!


Of course, it was just a rubber latex mask, but it looked so real, it startled me for a moment. Grace approached me with it as she explained,


“It’s an over-the-head affair, made of thin, stretchy rubber. The Art girls really put some time in on it, as you can see from the results!”


For a few seconds, my vision was cut off as the rubber contraption was pulled down over my head. I felt the rubber stretching tightly over my chin and cheeks, confining my features almost as severely as the corset compressed my figure. Then, two small nose holes lined up with my nostrils and I took a thankful breath as Lady Bardovan positioned the eyes of the mask over my own, and I could see again.


“Now!” She beamed, busying herself above me, “We just fasten on the wig — like so! And you’re all set!”


“She’s charming!” Ms. Popoulos approved.


“Go look at yourself in the mirror, Agnes,” Grace ordered.


Reluctantly, I swished over to the mirror again. I felt totally helpless now, cut off from reality by my girlish masquerade and now even further disguised by these two cruel teachers, my very identity smothered under layers of feminine camouflage.


The maid in the mirror smiled back at me. Dark, playful curls — completely unlike my own blonde braids — danced around her


full-lipped face. Her rouged cheeks were nearly as red as her cupid’s-bow mouth, and against her powdered face, her mascaraed eyes looked even darker and more sensuous, set off by the delicately arched eyebrows above them.


It was a ridiculously sexy picture. And it was me.


But it’s not me! I wanted to scream. Beneath that mask I have a girlishly healthy complexion with light freckles and a turned up nose. And my hair should be blonde! I’m not this brazen soubrette, I’m not! I’m not!


But no word could escape my gagged lips, and my smiling mask mocked me with its expression of happy mischief.


My two Mistresses now set about finding chores for me to do as “rehearsal” for my part, they said. I had to practice curtseying before them until I had it just right. Then they set me to straightening up the room and dusting with a silly pink feather duster. I was totally incapable of making any protest and too afraid of punishment to disobey. So I meekly submitted as they had me scurry about the place on a thousand little errands, enduring their smiles at the sight of me bending over to pick things up from the floor, and curtseying demurely at each new order.


Lunchtime came and went, and the only notice the two women paid to it was to have me fix them tea and serve them sandwiches from a hamper. I was quite hungry, but Ms. Popoulos told me that I had to watch my delicate figure, and Lady Bardovan firmly reminded me that in my mask and gag, 1 wasn’t equipped for eating anyway.


It was Four 0’Clock in the afternoon before the two teachers released me. I sighed with relief as the mask and gag came off, followed by the dress, shoes, stockings, underwear, and — at last that dreadful corset. Nearly exhausted, I thanked the women humbly for their time and attention, tugged on my white knee socks and sneakers, and, still in my swimsuit and bathing cap, made my way to the cafeteria, acutely conscious of the smirks and giggles from the other girls as I ate my light dinner.


Back in my room, I reluctantly obeyed Ms. Handler’s standing orders and stripped nude, hanging my meager clothing outside the door before closing it for the evening.


But before I could go to bed, I felt myself irresistibly drawn to the mirror once more. Studying my unclothed reflection, I could see how this day of corsetting had affected my figure. My waist was noticeably slimmer and my hips and bust seemed to flair out more. It was a figure any woman would envy, and on me, a fifteen-year-old, it looked simply wonderful. I reflected that in any normal High School — anyplace totally unlike Les-Bryn — I would probably be a very popular girl. A cheerleader, perhaps. Maybe even Homecoming Queen. I put my hands on my hips and raised one leg in a naked hop-kick, wondering how I’d look in a sweater and short skirt.


And then awareness of my true identity flooded back to me, and I blushed furiously.


I was no girl, but a man! True, I had breasts now, and my male genitals were securely put away where no hands — not even my own — could reach them. I had also lost my masculine hair and a few inches of my height. But I was a man, and would be one again soon!


I felt suddenly very embarrassed by my girlish body and unclad condition. How awful to be stuck this way! And prancing about, yet!


Uncomfortably, I got into bed and wrapped myself securely in the blankets, trying to think about Cynthia’s visit tomorrow, which would bring me one step closer to freedom. And Manhood.


Sunday morning, I gathered in my costume from the hallway, and marveled at the range of Ms. Handler’s imagination. My Saturday outfit had been skimpy and outrageous, flaunting my silly plight before the students and teachers. But visitors came on Sundays, and it would never do to be seen thus in front of outsiders.


So Barbara Handler had provided me with an ingeniously subtle outfit for today, all the more clever since I had to put it on myself, all of it, or face punishment.


And I knew better than to try that.


Underwear first. I put on a pair of white cotton bloomers that secured at the waist and just above the knees with delicate pink ribbons. A matching camisole laced over my breasts.


My corset today was much less confining than yesterday’s and secured easily with roll-and-buckle straps. Still, it did compress my waist quite a bit, and it forced me to stand rather straight, a posture which emphasized my well-developed breasts.


I tackled my footwear next, and fervently wished that I had put off donning that corset. Somehow I managed to bend over and draw delicate white knee-stockings up my legs. With even greater effort, I managed to put on a pair of brown leather high-button shoes with four-inch heels that cramped my feet terribly. I practiced walking about in them and tried to ignore the sight of myself in the mirror, looking like a page out of a Women’s underwear catalogue of the last century.


My blouse was a puffy-sleeved white cotton affair that buttoned up the back and at the cuffs and collar. I managed to get it on, but found the collar too confining, so I left it open until later.


Finally, I got into the skirt. Not an easy task at all, this skirt! Although it was of a full cut, and would not hug my ass or thighs too much, I found that it gathered rather severely at the waist and hem. Since it was an ankle-length skirt, this meant that it forced me to keep my feet close together, permitting only very small, petite steps, and I had to restrict my waist even more just to get it on!


Dressed at last, I buttoned up the collar of my blouse. It was a secure, neck-stretching thing that forced me to hold my head up high, proudly erect. In fact, my face was now tilted up too high for me even to see myself fully in the mirror unless I bent sharply at the waist — no easy task in that corset! But I had an uncomfortably close idea of what kind of picture I would make with my old fashioned clothing over my enticing, hampered body as I minced and swished about.


Cynthia arrived shortly after lunch, and the smile on her face at the sight of me in this get-up was crushing humiliation. I awkwardly made my way to her, ass switching with each tiny step, breasts jutting forward from the confinement of my corset and collar, trying to look dignified and in control as she suppressed a giggle.


“My!” She said, “We’re getting to be quite the Little Lady, aren’t we?”


I looked up at her artfully made-up face and sophisticated hair-do. She was wearing a simple but expensive-looking pant-suit, the jacket slung casually over one shoulder. In short, Cynthia looked like the perfect “Cosmo” girl, and I felt terribly small and immature in front of her.


And then I noticed the man beside her, a plump, middle-aged man in a conservative business suit.


“Permit me to introduce my friend,” Cynthia said with mocking formality, “Agnes, this is my attorney, Evan Phillips. Evan, this charming creature is my step-daughter, Agnes Means,” She looked at me penetratingly. “Alias Clinton Crayle, Private Eye!”


Startled by her words, I looked about us, afraid someone had heard. But there was no one nearby, and as Cynthia continued I saw that the Attorney was regarding me with a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and contempt!


“…promised to sign some things for me,” Cynthia was saying, “And as a sort of insurance, I wanted you along as a witness and notary, Evan!”


“Uh- Certainly, Cyn,” Mr. Phillips snapped out of his thoughts. “However, there is something I should do first. Can we -ah- move over here?”


Bewildered, I followed the two of them to a nearby table. Once we were seated, Mr. Phillips suddenly took my left hand, put my fingers onto an ink pad, then pressed them firmly down onto a blank sheet of paper.


“It’s true!” He muttered softly, staring down at my fingerprints. “They match perfectly with the ones on your Private Detective’s License,” He looked at me oddly, and I thought his lip curled slightly as he said, “You really are Clinton Crayle, an adult male!”


“Careful,” I hissed, “Someone might hear you! Of course I am Clinton Crayle!”


“Incredible!” He said, “And you actually did all this to yourself? Came here like this of your own free will?”


I blushed as I realized what Cynthia .must have told him. This successful attorney could well be one of Cynthia’s clients, and he probably thought that I was just another of her customers — if kinkier than most. The idea that a wealthy, prestigious guy like myself would even temporarily renounce his sex and adulthood and voluntarily enter a strict Girls’ School must have surprised even an experienced man such as he. I glanced over his shoulder at Cynthia, and she shot me a warning look.


“Yes,” I said, lowering my eyes, “I wanted to come here. Like this!”


“And you’re signing of your own free will?” He continued.


I didn’t have to look up to feel Cyn’s sharp gaze upon me.


“Yes,” I said, “I want to sign.”


Cynthia said that since I had been acting and writing as a schoolgirl for so long, it might be a good idea for me to practice my old masculine signature.. I dutifully signed the name “Clinton Crayle” at the bottom of about twenty sheets of paper until it looked like my old signature again. Then, at her direction, I signed about a dozen or so blank checks.


“I’ll just fill these in later and cash them tomorrow,” Cynthia said, gathering up all the papers and rising to go. “And, with Mr. Phillips help, I should have all the cash very shortly. It might interest you to know, Agnes, that Mr. Phillips fee will be paid from one of these checks, as will my own expenses and -uh, fee for services to be rendered,” She moved closer to me and patted my cheek softly. “Well, Baby, you’ll be hearing from me again in a few days. Have a nice time here ’til then! Ta-ta!”


And, with her Lawyer in tow, she swept gracefully out.


I passed the rest of the day in my room, studying.


Nothing very remarkable happened Monday except that I had to go about the whole day dressed as a girl from ancient Greece. Aside from sandals and a garland in my hair, the only thing I wore was an abbreviated toga that slung over my left shoulder and under my right arm, leaving my right shoulder bare, along with a good portion of my breasts. It gathered at the waist, and the skirt was scandalously short. I was intensely aware of the stares and giggles of the girls behind me as it flipped up in back with every step I took, walking red-faced down the halls.


Tuesday I was permitted to wear a form of the school uniform again, but Ms. Handler or her assistants had worked their own devious tricks with it. The panties and bra were much too small for me, and I had to really strain to squeeze my plump breasts and buttocks into them. My petticoat was of regular size, but the sleeves of my blouse were much too long, falling down over my hands whenever I tried to use them.


When I put on my jumper, I found it much shorter than usual, so that the ruff of my petticoat hung down beneath it. My footwear followed this pattern, with loose, baggy knee socks that kept falling down around my ankles and tight, high-heeled shoes that made every step painful.


Feeling like a child who has not yet learned to dress herself, I made it through the morning in this uncomfortable, ill-fitting gear. But then, in the afternoon, I was called in to the Mail Room. Wondering about this unusual summons, I found my way to the cluttered, out-of-the-way office.


Where I was greeted by Helen Adwill!


“Hello Agnes,” She said, her eyes studying me oddly. “Good to see you again, Dear. I -er- see you’re bearing up under the punishment.”


“Yes Helen,” I blushed, “But I miss you terribly.”


“I should imagine,” She said, a strange, look on her face. She went on to explain. “This letter came for you, Dear. Special Delivery. I thought you should read it at once.”


Perplexed, I took the letter. It had been opened, as all mail was at Les-Bryn, but the return address was still visible.


It was from Cynthia!


Dear Clinton,


This will be a short note, as I am writing it from the Airport and my flight will be leaving so<3n. No need to tell you where to.


I had really thought about just leaving you at that Girls* School, since I now have all your money and have disposed of your possessions, your bank accounts, and all other evidence of your former identity as an Adult Male, But then at the last minute, I decided to write and tell you about how and why I did all this to you.


The “why” is simple. I’m a Working Girl trying to retire, and I knew I’d never have another chance to get close to as much money as yours again. Under the circumstances, it was really rather foolish of you to give me the rim of your apartment and office, not to mention allowing me to act as the contact between you and Lord Wimbley, but I guess you’ll know better in the future.


Anyway, Lord Wimbley’s agent paid very handsomely the day after you solved the case. I put that money with what I had made from selling your clothes, furniture, jewelry and cars. It was very helpful of you to tell the doorman that I was redecorating your apartment, since that made it easy for me to have all that stuff hauled out. I did redecorate, by the way, and if you ever get back there, you’ll find it tastefully done up in Early Bare Walls. I even sold the carpets, appliances and light fixtures!


So the next step was to get hold of all your cash and investments, and I guess you’ve figured out by now (You ape were a Detective, after all!) that I managed that with those checks and blank papers that you signed.


To sum it up, Clinton, I’ve left you with Absolutely Nothing. Your clothes, your home, and your identification papers are all gone. You’ve even lost your masculine hair and appearance! I guess you still have your Male Organs, but I imagine they’ve shrunk quite a bit — along with the rest of you and you can’t get at them anyway, so they hardly amount to anything at all! If you ever get that false pussy off, you can see.


So you’re stuck there as a Little Girl until you can get someone to help you. You could always go to that nice Barbara Handler, but I’m afraid she’s rather upset at what you did to her Cousin. Hard telling what she might do if she discovered you were really a man, and in dire need of her tender mercies!


Well, they just called my flight, so I’ll close. Sorry to leave you stuck this way, with no clothes, no sex, no money, and no way to get out of it, but I’m sure you’ll think of some-thing. I just wish I could be there to see it! Gotta Run, “Bye”


I lowered the letter, almost reeling with the shock. Cynthia had betrayed me! She’d taken everything! My sex, my belongings, my very identity, all gone! I was stuck here as a schoolgirl! Unless….


I looked up at Helen Adwill and saw that she was regarding me with just a trace of amusement.


“I think, Agnes,” She said slowly, “That you are very lucky I was on duty today. If Ms. Handler had been the one to open that letter… well?”


I shivered at the thought of what Ms. Handler might do if she discovered my secret.


“Yes, Helen,” I stammered, “I’m very grateful to you for this!”


“And so you should be, Agnes,” She said. “But now it appears you have another problem. Did I read that letter correctly? You actually are a grown man? And you assumed this -er- disguise to prove that some of the girls were selling drugs?”


“Yes Helen,” I said, “I wanted to tell you so much! And I meant to tell you, just as soon as I got back to… back to….”


“Back to being a man again?” Helen prodded. “I thought I felt a sexual attraction on your part! And I thought you might be a Lesbian!”


“But I wanted to be a man with you, Helen,” I protested, “I even thought about -er, Dating you!”


“How flattering!” She replied, “But now it appears you won’t be able to do that!”


“Oh Helen,” I quivered, “You must help me! I’ll pay you. Somehow. But you must help me get out of here and back to my own identity again. I hate being a schoolgirl. I just hate it!”


“There, there, Darling,” Helen soothed. She came around her desk and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps we can help each other!”


“What do you mean?” I asked hopefully.


“I always somehow felt that you were the perfect gir — er, person to help me with my son, Ronnie. You seemed so oddly submissive, and I told you that Ronnie will be coming into quite a bit of money soon.”


“I remember,” I said.


“And I’ve had to be away from him, earning a living, for so many of his formative years,” Helen sighed. “These next few weeks will be very important ones, since Ronnie will turn Eighteen, and must decide what to do with his fortune. I know it sounds terribly selfish of me, but I mean to have some degree of influence over that money.”


“Of course, Helen,” I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I figured I should go along with her. “After all, it was your husband’s money and—”


Helen interrupted me as you would a child.


“Of course, Jennifer’s been a great help over the years,” She mused, “She’s a friend I hired, a Black Woman, first as a Baby-Sitter, now as a live-in companion. She’s aided immensely in the task of molding Ronnie to my desires,” Helen turned to me suddenly, as if snapping out of a daydream. “But the time has come for Ronnie to marry,” She said, “And I think you could be the perfect bride!”


“Bride!” I gasped, “Me? Helen, what do you mean? I’m a man!”


“That’s what makes you so perfect,” Helen explained, “You see, Ronnie is quite docile. He’d never think of opposing my plans for him in any way. But I’ve always been afraid that some strong-willed woman might come along and try to get her hands on his money. You’d be perfect insurance against that!”


Helen saw my look of incomprehension and went on.


“You can pass for a woman,” She said, “So with a little false identification, it would be easy enough to get you two married. That would keep Ronnie safe from any fortune hunters. Yet at the same time, I could have the marriage annulled whenever I wanted, thus keeping you from any legal claim*to the money. It would be a marriage in name only, a sort of legal arrangement to help me sew things up!”


“I don’t know,” I hesitated, “It seems awfully complicated….”


“Of course, you’d be adequately rewarded for your work,” Helen persisted, “It would only take a couple of weeks to get everything worked out, and I could easily afford your going rate of a Thousand a Day. I’ll also promise to get some solvent and remove that crotch-cover from your genitals as soon as the ceremony is complete. And I can sneak you away from this school and Ms. Handler easily. Well? What do you say: is it two weeks with me as a young woman or the rest of the semester as a schoolgirl here at Les-Bryn?”


My mind was already made up.


“Whatever you say, Helen,” I said.


I got my first look at Ronnie at the Courthouse a week before the Wedding when we applied for our Marriage License. He was a fairly tall and quite good-looking lad with wavy brown hair and a smooth, fair complexion. But he seemed remarkably subdued, keeping his eyes downcast as first I, then he, filled out the form and Helen gave her signature as approval for her under-age son to marry.


Ronnie had been staying in a Hotel with his “Babysitter” Jennifer, a tall, very attractive Black Woman, ever since I had moved in with Helen at their surprisingly luxurious house. Helen had used this time we had alone together to good advantage for both of us, in dozens of ways.


With Helen’s assistance, I was provided with adult clothing and papers that identified me as Claire Clinton, a young lady of Nineteen Years. Helen had contacted Evelyn Traynor, and with her help, provided me with a series of shots that would, she promised, arrest the\process of youthening that Dr. VonHoppler’s treatment had started on my body. The shots would not make me any less feminine, since Helen still wanted to insure my compliance with her plan, but at least I was starting to look more mature. Helen even had a plastic surgeon erase the freckles from my face and remove the inserts in my nose and cheeks that had given me such a Little Girl appearance.


I truly looked like an attractive young lady now — all over, too, since I still wore that confining false pussy, while my breasts had grown out to a Thirty-six C. Those few days with Helen were immensely frustrating for me, though, being so close to that attractive woman, as she made my Wedding Plans, yet unable to express my natural masculinity. I felt like I was somehow still in bondage, locked up in a confining femininity while Helen enjoyed her mastery over my maleness. But she promised faithfully that the pussy-wig would come off right after the Wedding, and I felt I could trust her.


The Wedding Day came at last, and I was as nervous as any new bride. Helen and I drove to the Courthouse a bit early, so she could check some things, she said, and I had to wait in the hallway in my wedding finery while she looked through some records.


It was some finery indeed that I was wearing, and quite a few people passing by gave me knowing looks as I sat there feeling awkward and embarrassed. I was wearing a lovely white lace dress with a long, full skirt that slit daringly up one side. The bodice was strapless and rather low-cut, but the bridal veil that hung from my cute white hat draped over my bare shoulders and the tops of my breasts. The effect was a sexy mixture of chaste propriety and teasing peek-a-boo that drew lustful stares from several of the men passing.


Beneath this, I wore an old pair of white silk panties, a blue garter belt, white silk stockings that Helen had loaned me, and a brand new pair of white patent leather shoes with five-inch heels. The cut of my dress had precluded the use of bra or slip, so these were the only other clothes I wore, aside from a pair of shoulder-length white satin gloves that buttoned up the length of my arms.


At last Helen came out of the Records Room, looking a bit disconcerted, and escorted me to the Judge’s Chambers, where Jennifer waited with Ronnie, who looked as uncomfortable in his tuxedo as I felt in my Wedding Dress. Just before the ceremony, I saw Helen and Jennifer whispering together, but I couldn’t here what they were saying. Probably commenting on what a cute couple we made.


The Wedding was over in a matter of minutes, and the smiling judge congratulated Ronnie and kissed me for good luck. I put up with it, as I had with Ronnie’s timid Wedding Kiss since it meant I was that much closer to getting my manhood back again.


At last, we were back at Helen’s secluded house, where Jennifer ordered Ronnie down on his hands and knees to carry me across the threshold. I was rather surprised at this sudden display of stern dominance over the youth, and I must say that I felt quite odd, riding on a man’s back in my silky white feminine clothing. But I thought it best to go along with the two women. And anyway, I reflected, Ronnie had been raised as a submissive. He should be used to this by now.


Once inside, Jennifer took charge of Ronnie while Helen led me to an unusually spacious bathroom in the basement with an oversize shower-tub.


“Take off your hat, dress, and panties and sit backwards on the toilet seat, Claire,” She ordered casually.


Perplexed, I obeyed. When I was wearing only my white gloves, shoes and stockings, and the blue garter belt, I sat dutifully on the open toilet, facing the wall, my back to Helen, who was busy putting on rubber gloves and fussing about with some jars.


“What about the rest of my clothes, Helen?” I asked, “Since I’m going to become a man again, can’t I take the rest of this .stuff off?”


“My, what a shameless woman you’re getting to be, Claire!” Helen chided, “You used to be such a shy little girl, and now you can’t wait to get naked! Not that your present condition is much better!”


I blushed at her words, realizing that I was practically nude already! In the shiny porcelain toilet tank, I could see my full, flaunting breasts and false pussy reflected all too clearly. I realized that my round, smooth bottom must be sticking out behind me obscenely. I looked down at the white stockings, gloves, garter belt and heels that only accentuated my lack of clothing, and shamefully crossed my white-gloved arms in front of me for at least some protection!


“I- I’m sorry, Helen,” I said with eyes modestly lowered.


“Well ‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough, Claire,” Helen scolded, “Not for shameless behavior like yours. Put your hands behind your back, Girlie!”


I did as she ordered, and felt her fastening my gloves together with strong pins through the heavy satin, literally pinning my arms together behind me from wrist to elbow! I felt my shoulders forced back and my breasts thrust forward by the severe bondage.


“Oh Helen!” I gasped, “Must you do this? it hurts!”


“You want that Pussy off, don’t you?” She said darkly, “Well don’t argue, then. Sit still while I put this ankle-hobble on you. Don’t complain, you have almost two feet of slack! And I’ll make this tether from your ankle chain to your wrists just long enough for you to stand up straight!”


A growing alarm came over me as I felt myself becoming increasingly helpless in the bonds of this forceful woman. It was all so confusing!


“But Helen, why are you doing this to me?”


“It is very important that you understand our relationship, Young Lady,” Helen said sternly, “I’m going to free your Male Organs very soon now, and I don’t want you getting any ideas about forcing yourself on me. You agreed that in return for my help, you’d obey my orders until Ronnie inherited his estate and turned it over to me. I mean to hold you to that promise!”


But Ronnie’s Eighteenth birthday was less than a week away, I thought. Did she really imagine that I’d try to back out of such a simple commitment?


Meekly, I nodded.


“I understand, Helen,” I said.


“Very well,” She smiled, “Now let’s get started on you!”


It took about Twenty Minutes for the solvent to loosen the special bonding latex that held the false pussy over my crotch. Ordering me not to look, Helen pulled the device gently away and wiped the excess glue and solvent into the toilet. Then she massaged my male organs with soothing cream. Gradually, I felt my genitals lose their cramped numbness as full, tingling feeling returned. I felt my cock throb with arousal. Grow into erection.


“You can look now, Claire,” Helen stepped back, removing her rubber gloves.


I looked down and almost fainted. They had shrunk! The female hormones and weeks of confinement had reduced my proud male organs to laughable dimensions! Reflected in the porcelain, I could see that my balls were no bigger than two small marbles, tightly wrapped in my scrotum. And my cock, fully erect, was not even as big as a short cigarette! I strained to bend forward in my bondage and see it all directly, though my natural pubic hair almost covered the tiny things!


“Oh Helen!” I cried, “Don’t look at me! It’s dreadful!”


“Don’t go on so, Girlie,” Helen said casually. “The effect is reversible, remember? All you need is the proper male hormone. And someone to administer it!”


“Helen please,” I begged with tears in my eyes, “You’ll help me, won’t you?”


“I may,” She smiled, “If you co-operate!”


“Anything Helen!” I gushed, “I’ll do anything!”


Just then the door to the bathroom opened and Jennifer walked in, leading Ronnie by the ear. I felt worse than ever about how silly and naked I looked in my bridal scanties with my gorgeous breasts and humiliatingly small genitals, and I blushed furiously at being seen by anyone else this way. I tried to pull my bound arms in front of me, but it was no use! In a turmoil of embarrassment, I spread my gloved fingers wide behind me, to at least cover some of my bare bottom, and sat very straight on the toilet to hide my feminine as well! We were locked together, and in a horribly embarrassing way!


“Helen!” I cried, “What is this! What are you doing?”


“Just insuring your obedience, Darling,” Helen smiled, “My, you two look friendly, locked together like that!”


“And look!” Jennifer giggled, “They have just enough room to face forward together side by side, if they stand close together!”


“Yes,” Helen mused, “I think Three Feet is the perfect length for that chain! It111 put them in interesting positions when they -try to eat, sleep, shower together, shave each other’s legs, or take turns using the bathroom!”


“Not to mention acting as our Personal Maids,” Jennifer put in.


My head was spinning with the awful possibilities as we stood there with our arms pinned behind us, ankles hobbled, helplessly chained together. I looked over and saw that Ronnie was equally dismayed by our predicament.


“But Helen— Why?” I nearly sobbed.


“Well Dear, I made an interesting discovery at the Court House today,” Helen explained, as she began casually removing her dress. I noticed in confusion that Jennifer was also disrobing. “I found that Ronnie cannot legally inherit until a year after his Eighteenth Birthday!”


As I stood there dumbfounded in my feminine finery, breasts and genitals shamefully exposed, bound to a young lad in nearly the same predicament, Helen sat down on the toilet and began removing her shoes and stockings. Across the spacious bathroom, Jennifer was down to her underwear.


“I knew that you would never consent to act as a bride for a whole year, Claire Darling,” Helen went on, “But the Wedding had already been arranged, I had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense with you, and really, you were perfect for the part, Love! So I came up with this plan. We four can live quite comfortably on my savings for a while, and you two will remain locked in Marital Bliss for as long as it suits me. In a year or so, after I have Ronnie1s money, I’ll see about making you a bit more masculine,” She giggled, “If you haven1t got to liking it by then!”


Helen stripped off the last of her clothing, and at last I saw the voluptuous body that I had hungered for so long. Despite my fear and embarrassment, I felt my tiny prick grow even stiffer at the sight.


Then Jennifer, also nude, padded over and put an affectionate black arm around Helen’s waist.


“It’s been a long day, Lover,” She smiled tenderly at Helen, “Shall we take a shower and, um, relax?”


“Sounds divine, Darling,” Helen sighed passionately and kissed the Negress passionately on the lips. Then she turned smiling to us, the two humiliated, half-naked, horny she-males!


“While we1 re showering, you girls can fetch us towels from the linen pantry. You’ll have to hold them in your mouths, of course, until we’re ready for them. Then, while we dry, you can pick up powder puffs in the same manner and prepare to use them on our breasts, privates, and sexy asses. It’ll be good practice for when you start doing it for each other!”


“And if you perform well for us here,” Jennifer put in, “We’ll let you stand by the bed and watch us pleasure each other! Who knows? Maybe it’ll make you real horny, all chained together like that!”


The two women stepped sensuously into the shower, arm in arm, then turned to laugh at the silly sight that Ronnie and I made.


As the two of us, quaking with fear, strutting lewdly in our confining bondage, tried to scamper in our high heels to the linen pantry, bare bottoms jiggling together.

7 thoughts on “TV Schoolgirl by C.C.

  1. Hi Deborah,
    Thank you for tracking this one down. It’s a great read!
    Do you have a copy of The Circus, which I believe was also written by CC? It’s a similar romp but with the hero(ine) as my preferred rich arrogant man.

    1. Thank you Jezebel, I am having a lot of support from some people.

      I now realise how few of C.C.’s early stories I was even aware of but have yet to find anything called The Circus.

      Will ask Clinton Crayle and let you know.


  2. Happy new year Deborah!

    I hope things are going well for you.

    Are there any new things in the works for us?

    Best wishes!


    1. And happy new year to you too.

      Sadly I cannot see any time coming that will free me up to write anything.

      But Hoping to update the site with some classic stories by others as soon as I can.


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