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Transgender / Transformation stories in English
There she was.  "Come in Brenda!" Glen Simmons absently shouted. 

Brenda Porter, the freshman girl who had freaked out at at her bus stop shyly 
entered the room.  Glen wondered why he didn't remember her from the junior 
high school, then remembered this was the transfer student who had just started 
at Bentson High.  He pointed to the seat which she took, caref
ul to keep the hem of her red spandex miniskirt under her thighs.

She was a pretty ponytailed brunette, about 5' 4", with coltish slim hips and a 
small bust, which she accentuated with a midriff-baring sleeveless navy knit 
top.  She wore saucy little three inch red heels and precious white socks with 
elaborate lace trimmings, and her legs were smooth and shiny
.  Brenda was just starting to blossom into full-fledged femininity, with a 
bright pouty red lipsticked mouth,  mascara'ed hazel eyes with thin plucked 
brows and lightly highlighted cheeks.  Cute face too-- delicate bone structure 
with a longish look and a short pointy chin and a pair of dimples
 to die for.  A typical fourteen year old girl even down to the braces which 
she revealed as she gave him a respectful smile.  

Well, maybe not so typical.  She reminded him of someone but he couldn't think 
who at the moment.  And she did dress a little provocatively for fourteen-- a 
veritable Lolita in that form-fiiting top and tight spandex mini.  But Glen had 
to be honest-- he hadn't the slightest idea of what teen fa
shion held sway at present.  Maybe this was considered "in."  

"Mr. Skinner mentioned that something happened this morning.  Something that 
upset you.  Want to talk about it?"

The smile ran away from her face in an instant.  "Uh, I don't know what you 
mean, sir."  She twirled a long lock of her ponytail nervously, eyelashes 
batting rapidly.

"Well, I understand Tommy Jacobs was teasing you.  Why don't you tell me the 
rest."  He nodded, inviting her to do so at once.

The teen kept her big hazel eyes locked on her shoes.  "Uh, we were in the bus 
line and Tommy was behind me and he snapped my bra strap."

Glen nodded, noting this with gravity on his legal pad.  Inside he wanted to 
laugh.  The kid had gone hysterical because a boy had snapped her bra!  "And 
that was it?"

She shuffled her pumps.  "No.  He said I had nice little boobies and he wanted 
to touch them."  She was angry and her lips were pursed tight over her braces.  
When her lips parted again, Glen could see the pink lipstick traces on the 
steel fittings.

Glen considered quickly.  He had to be gentle but he also knew Old Man Skinner 
would go ballistic if Brenda kept having screaming fits whenever some boy 
snapped her bra.  He couldn't help but notice she did have a nice, if petite 
figure for a fourteen year old.  If he were fourteen, he might hav
e snapped her bra-- if he hadn't noticed something OFF about her.  He couldn't 
put his finger on it, but there was soemthing strange about the girl.

"You know Brenda, boys at this age often do these kinds of things to show a 
girl he likes her."  

Glen noticed the girl blush.  As if this comment reminded her of something she 
ought to do, Brenda daintily crossed her smooth legs, her small hands with 
their red polished nails smoothing down the miniskirt hem as she did. He 
continued quickly.  

"Tommy was just flirting with you.  He probably likes you.  Pretty girls get 
teased that way alot and unfortunately they just have to get used to all kinds 
of attention from boys."

The little brunette looked dully out the window.  "That's what Daddy says.  
Just what Daddy says."  Glen thought he detected a hint of bitterness in the 
soft voice.

"Well, he's right.  I'm sure your mother tells you the same thing too--doesn't 
she?"

The student nodded reluctantly.  "Do you think I'm a pretty girl, Mr. Simmons?" 
she asked plaintively.

"Yes I do, Brenda."  Has she got a crush on me?... but no-- the compliment 
caused her to frown worriedly.  Glen pressed on.  "And isn't it nice to think a 
boy your own age thinks so too and that he likes you?  Maybe you and Tommy 
could be boyfriend and girlfriend before too long.  You're at the 
age when I bet you think about those things."

Brenda's jaw dropped, eyes wide.

Good, I  must be right since she looks surprised, he thought. He plowed on in a 
similar vein, eager to finish this little interview up.  He had paperwork to 
get to.  "Sure, I bet you think about boys alot-- maybe even daydream about the 
cute ones.  It's natural for you to be a little boy-crazy, 
Brenda.  You shouldn't be ashamed of your new feelings.  Hey, I know who you 
look like now.  I've been trying to think of it an dit just came to me-- you 
look like that girl on Beverly Hills 90210, uh, Brenda.  Anyone ever tell you 
that?"

And then Glen knew he wouldn't be getting to his paperwork, because Brenda 
Porter broke in a deep sobbing fit.  Instantly he was on his feet handing her 
some kleenex.  Trying ot comfort her he put his hands on her thin shoulders.  
"It's o.k.--"

"Don't touch me, please!" she shrieked.

His hands flew off her shoulders in a second.  "Brenda, relax!  I'm just trying 
to help!  Obviously I'll have to call your parents at once.  You're in no state 
to return to class."

She looked up terrified.  "No Mr. Simmons!  Please don't call my parents!  I'm 
o.k.!  See? I'm all set!"  The theatrical grin on her tear stained face was 
offerred as proof.

He picked up the phone as she rattled off assurances she was indeed o.k.  "I 
just got silly because of what Tommy did, Mr. Simmons.  Really!  I'm o.k.  I 
guess you're right about those things you said about girls at my age going 
boy-crazy.  I, uh, do like Tommy and I got all weird inside.  But p
lease don't call my parents!  I'm enough trouble for them already!  I'll be 
punished if you call them!"  Her eyes pleaded with him not to make the call.

He put the phone down and Brenda relaxed.  "O.k. Brenda-- you can go back to 
class.  If you have anything else you want to talk about, come see me anytime-- 
I'll arrange a hall pass for you, o.k."

She smiled sweetly, brushing the last of the tears way.    "Thank you Mr. 
Simmons.  I won't be bothering you any more."  She picked up her books and 
minced shyly from the office.  

Glen immediately reached for Brenda's file.  Something was wrong-- he could 
sense it.  At twenty he wasn't so far away in age from these kids so as not to 
be able to understand them.  Old Man Skinner, the principal, had hired him out 
of community college only after he had received a copy of his 
degree in education-- he hadn't belived Glen was old enough to have been to 
college.  And his looks didn't help either-- his bright blonde hair, too-pale 
beardless complexion, his short height.  Maybe that's why he had always wanted 
to work as a guidance counselor-- at heart he felt more comfort
able with the kids than the adult world.  Only with kids did he feel like he 
commanded respect.  And he knew teens well enough to know Brenda's behavior was 
just wrong.

He flipped through the courses chosen.  Home Economics (an A), Gym Class (an 
A-), then all Cs and Ds in her required academic courses, all of which were 
general.  That indicated Brenda wasn't taking college prep course.  Not a 
future Rocket Scientist of America, he chuckled. Then he glanced in s
urprise at the IQ score-- 135!  Not a genius but she ought to be taking college 
prep for now.  He  took another look at the coursework.   It was annotated 
"General classes at request of parents."  He found the parents' names.  Maybe 
if he could talk to them, convince them Brenda needed to take h
arder courses and really apply herself.  They're probably not too bright 
themselves.

Wrong again.  "Mr. Rick Mason, attorney at law and Dr. Lesley Mason, plastic 
surgeon."  These were Brenda the Ditz'es parents?  They had requested 
non-college courses for their daughter?  It didn't make sense.  He needed more 
information.  He dialed up the number listed as the last school attend
ed and was connected to a Deanna Hill, his counterpart at the Jasper Ohio 
Junior High School guidance office.

"Yes I remember Brenda.  Cute girl, real quiet. Is there a problem?" the older 
lady inquired helpfully.

Glen didn't know what to say.  Even inferring there might be would be against 
the rules.  And if it got back to the parents, he might be held liable for 
slander.  "Not really.  I just want to help her adjust to our school and I 
thought you might have some insights," he explained.

"Well, she was only here for a year.  A good kid basically.  She never was very 
social-- no friends I can recall.  She wasn't an academic star-- never did her 
homework and never studied for tests.  She seemed embarrassed about it but 
never did anything to improve.  Just had a 'I'm just an airhea
d and I ca't help it' attitude-- not that she ever brought a book home.  Not 
that her parents cared.  They attended one teacher-parent conference and said 
if Brenda could learn to cook, clean and sew plus keep herself in shape, then 
they were happy.  God damn," the woman exclaimed, "it was as if
 all they wanted for Brenda was to be some bimbo housewife!  And her mother is 
a doctor for God's sakes!"

Glen hesitated then plunged in. "How did Brenda get along with boys?"

A pause.  "You know, it was funny.  She seemed completely preoccupied with her 
appearence, like being pretty was everything.  I thought she dressed, well-- a 
bit old for her age.  You know-- one of those girls who really gets into makeup 
and clothing.  And yet she hated it when boys touched her 
even innocently.  Never had a boyfriend either.  At one point, I suspected 
sexual abuse-- you know that's not natural for a girl to be so skittish."

"What happened?" Glen pressed.

A disgusted laugh.  "They moved before I had a chance to do anything.  That's 
why I'm glad you called.  Tell me what high school you're at so we can pursue 
legal--"

Glen hung the phone up.   Skinner was such a conservative that he'd flip if 
Glen brought in some out-of-town know-it-all.  Bentson was a small town with a 
small town mentality.  If Glen thought Brenda was being sexually abused, he'd 
have to dig up more than he had.  He searched through the files
 but the only other information was the listing for the school Brenda attended 
preceding Jasper Junior High.  He dialed the number for the Central 
Massachussetts State School and got the records office.

"I need the records for a student, please."

"Social security number?" a gruff male voice demanded rudely. 

"034-99-6669."

"That D. Porter?"  The voice didn't sound like a guidance counselor in a school 
system to Glen.

"Yes.  Can you tell me something about--"

"Look Mac, hundreds come in and go out as fast as I can book 'em here in 
Records.  I don't no no particulars, o.k.?"

"Fine, just fax it over o.k.?"  He gave him the number, got a brusque 'yeah' 
and the promise it would be there by end of day.

That has to be it for my Sam Spade routine for a while, Glen thought.  He put 
the file in his brief case, soon forgetting about Brenda Porter.  For the rest 
of the morning he buried himself in evaluation forms and talking to college 
admissions offices as he requested information for next year's 
seniors.  At noon, he heard the cries from the kid's recess.  With an effort he 
freed himself from his paperwork and looked out the window. 

The day's weather had turned out well and a beaming May sun was streaming in.  
He looked across the school grounds at the various kids-- the girls gossiping 
in groups, the boys tossing a baseball, and then... Brenda.  She was leaning 
against the main building wall, reading the latest issue of Se
venteen.  She seemed so intent on her magazine she couldn't see Tommy  Jacobs 
sneaking up behind her.  Glen could see on Tommy's face there was going to be 
trouble and with what he guessed about the girl, he knew that one of Tommy's 
pranks was the last thing needed.  He sprang to his feet.

He had just swung open the door when he and the entire freshman class of 
Benston High saw Tommy pluck up the hem of Brenda's red hip hugging spandex 
miniskirt to reveal what was underneath--  a pair of red cotton French-cut 
bikini panties that clung high on her slim hips.  The kids filled the sc
hoolyard with laughter as Tommy triumphantly cried "I knew it, I knew it!  
Brenda wears slut red panties!  Hahahahahahah!"  

He ran to Tommy, pushing him away and trying to obscure the view of the kids.  
The eighty or so kids in the yard roared with the laughter, boys looking over 
and around Glen to get a peek at Brenda's underclothes.  I turned back to her 
and she was hysterical, struggling to yank her skirt down, bu
t Tommy was holding it up, not allowing her to.  Brenda flayed at him weakly, 
her arms flying to cover her pantied crotch.

"Tommy Jacobs, leave Brenda alone--now, mister!  Or it's Detention Hall!"

The boy gave me a lame look and let go of the skirt.  As he did, his eyes 
caught a flash of Brenda's now-infamous panties.  Tommy, unwilling to risk 
further trouble had walked off and the kids had turned away as well, not 
interested in being implicated.  So Glen was the only one who saw the brig
ht reflection of sun on what looked like metal.  The glint had come from where 
Brenda's panties disappeared between her legs, as if from some metallic surface 
underneath the skimpy undergarment.  He looked quickly away.  As he did, he 
thought he caught Brenda slipping a finger under the panty cr
otch and pull it over the metal.

"Brenda, go inside and pull yourself together. I'll speak to Tommy."

Brenda looked at me, face beet red and thoroughly humiliated.  "I didn't do 
anything, Mr. Simmons!  He kept bothering me, asking me what color panties I 
was wearing!  When I told him to leave me alone, he called me a tease and he 
did this!"  She was shaking.

"Go on in, Brenda.  And I think I better give you a ride home tonight after 
school, alright?  Riding the bus with Tommy is asking for trouble."

She nodded and trotted off to the Girl's Room to compose herself.  As she did, 
Glen watched what had probaly started the trouble.  Brenda's spandex skirt was 
so tight, that her panty line underneath was as clear as day.  As she swiveled 
her slim hips, it must have seemed to Tommy that yes, she w
as being a tease.  "Good" girls just didn't sashayed around that way.  Glen 
sighed and took Tommy to Skinner's office for a "discussion."

An hour later, Glen returned to his office.  On a hunch he called the Nurse's 
office.  "Has Brenda Porter had any surgery that you know of?"

No, not that she knew of, the nurse answered as she consulted her records.  Any 
corrective surgery she'd need a metal brace for?  Was there any mention of hip 
problems?  No, none of that.  Last time she'd been seen by the nurse?

"Haven't seen her actually.  The day we did Physicals, she was out.  Then she 
came in with a note from her mother giving her a clean bill of health.  I 
wouldn't worry about Brenda's health at all, Mr. Simmons.  You see her mother 
is a doctor."

He hung the phone up.  Glen knew it was wrong to be so beguiled bythe mystery 
of what was under Brenda's panties.  It was pretty indecent actually.  But even 
though the girl was undeniably sexy in a fresh way, he told himself he was only 
interested in the answer as it fit with the rest of the pi
eces.  And yet even as he tried to distract himself with his mounds of 
paperwork, his mind kept returning to the sight of that pantied midsection, so 
taut and and trim under that panty.  the panties were cut so sheerly they 
practically disappeared up the girl's privates giving him the impression
 that the girl either hadn't grown much pubic hair or that she kept it closely 
shaved.  Or entirely shaved.  But that was crazy!  A fourteen year old girl 
shaving her sex?  He wondered how wild Miss Brenda Porter was and what exactly 
she did after school.  He stopped.  There had been a small bul
ge under there.  Yes, now that he thought about it, there had definately been a 
 mound.  All this daydreaming had brought it back.

He had only begun to ponder what the metal item was that perhaps caused the 
mound when he remembered to check the fax machine.  There it was, waiting for 
him at three-thirty on the dot.  He took the fax to his desk and began to read. 
 It seemed the Central Massachusetts State School wasn't your 
run-of-the-mill junior high.  It was a reformatory.  And a mistake had 
obviously been made in the records.  The "D. Porter" listed was a twelve year 
old boy!  He had the phone in hand to call the Records Department to ask make 
another request for the proper file when he saw the grainy head shot.
  He looked at the fax closely.  The photo was that of a twelve year old boy, 
Danny Belmont.  The familar hazel eyes, the black hair, the pointy chin-- it 
was as if Brenda had a brother!  No dimples or Adam's Apple, and Danny's lips 
were thinner than Brenda's, but other than that they might have
 been siblings.  Weird.

He looked at the notes in the file.  "Danny's birth parents unknown.  Brought 
up in a number of foster homes.  Caught shoplifting at eleven and remanded to 
the Central State School for correction.  Placed for adoption by state to Mr. 
and Dr. Mason at age eleven and a half."  So Brenda had a brot
her?  But the other information was identical. Danny Belmont's Social Security 
number was 034-99-6669.  And so was Brenda Belmont.

Glen heard the knock on the door.  It was Brenda, here for her ride home.  Glen 
gathered up Brenda's file and the fax and threw it in his briefcase.  "Ready?"

Brenda nodded, her ponytail bouncing.  "Yes, thank you Mr. Simmons."

"Say Brenda, can I reach your parents at this hour?  I'd like to see them after 
I drop you off-- about, uh, what a good job you're doing in Home Ec and Gym 
class."

Her hazel eyes widened in fear then glee as he added the reason.  "Oh would 
you, Mr. Simmons?  It means so much to them that I do well in those classes.  
They would be so pleased with me!"

"Well, fine.  I'll be happy to do that.  Just tell me where I might find them. 
At their offices?"

Brenda thought a minute then shook her head doubtfully.  "Oh no sir.  They're 
always home when I get off the bus.  They're always there after school."

And so they were.  Glen could see the matching black and silver BMW 
convertibles there at the head of the long drive, even as as he pulled in with 
his old Pontiac Firebird.  The house was practically an estate, easily two 
hundred yards off the road, hidden behind huge, immacualte hedges and a ma
son wall.  It stared down at him imposingly, three stories of white Victorian 
excess of cupolas, verandahs, and French windows.  A gorgeous house, certainly 
in the million dolar range.  He looked at Brenda again, silently contemplating 
some inner concern in her trampy little minishirt.  "General
 classes at request of parents."  Even if Brenda was adopted like her brother, 
why would the new parents who lived in such affluence restrict her to 
go-nowhere courses?  Why would they place such a premium on Home Ec and Gym 
class?  Why would they allow her to leave the house dressed this way ev
ery day?

A tall, youngish man of thirty-eight or so opened the front door, eyeing him 
suspiciously.  Brenda looked up, biting her lower lip.  "Daddy," she explained 
as they got out of the car.  "You'll tell him I'm doing well in Home Ec and 
Gym?"

Glen nodded and extended his hand.  "Mr. Mason, I'm Glen Simmons, the Guidance 
Counselor at Bentson High School."

The man's mien softened.  He reminded Glen of a tv lawyer-- slightly graying 
hair, strong, conservative presence and a self-confidence that bordered on 
arrogance.  "Nice to meet you.  To be honest, I thought my Brenda was getting a 
ride home from a high school boy.  No offense intended," he adde
d humourously.

Glen blushed.  "None taken.  I offerred to give your daughter a ride home 
because of something that happened at school today--"

"Has she gotten herself into some mischief, Glen?"  He looked critically at 
Brenda, who looked at Glen with hurt betrayl.

"No-- she hasn't done anything Mr. Mason.  It was just a schoolyard prank 
really.  Actually if your wife is home, I'd like to ask you some questions."

The attorney masterfully waved off the request.  "Come in the house first and 
let's get this cleared up.  Brenda, come here girl."

Brenda, standing frightened between the two, obeyed and with eyes downcast and 
by the older man's side, walked withthem into the house.  Inside a tall 
striking redhead of thirty-five was pulling off a lab coat.  Glen thought she 
looked like a younger Sigourney Weaver, with a hard edged, no-nonse
nse way about her.  She was introduced as Mrs. Mason.  It nettled Glen who 
liked first names not to be granted the courtesy of calling these people by 
their first names even as they called him Glen.  They had a way, Glen could 
tell right off of making one seem inferior.  Probably got that from g
iving orders to everyone all day long.

The four were in the living room, the Masons and Glen sitting and Brenda 
standing.  Mr. Mason demanded to know what had happened in the schoolyard and 
as Glen explained what had happened, Brenda cringed.  After hearing the whole 
story, Mason turned his cold blue eyes on the teen.

"So, you're teasing boys again, that it?"

Brenda shook her head, the ponytail dancing in the air. "No, Daddy!  I swear!"

The parents exchanged smug looks.  "Obviously Brenda needs to be taught another 
in a long unbroken string of lessons, Rick.  Will you do the honors or shall I?"

The husband pointed to his chest.  "You handled her last time.  I better take 
care of it this time.  We swicth off so she doesn't think she can get away with 
anything," he explained to Glen.  He stood up and took off his expensive suit 
jacket.  With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt and
 pulled it off.  Glen watched in growing unease til he understood that Brenda 
was about to be strapped with a belt for doing no more than being a pretty girl!

"Please, it wasn't her fault!  She doesn't deserve to be punished!" he pleaded.

The man smiled cruelly.  "But you said it wasn't really the boy's fault either. 
 Well, you don't know Brenda.  She needs this," he slapped the belt hard 
against his open palm," to remind her to behave herself liek a proper young 
lady.  And no more interruptions Glen.  When I've finished with thi
s, we can discuss why you're here, but not before."

Glen stood up.  "Perhaps I should leave."

"Whatever for?" Mrs. Mason asked fliply.  "Brenda is punished all the time.  
Just wait five minutes.  Taht's all it takes."

Glen sat down, mesmerized as the girl, in resignation, draped herself over the 
man's knees.  As if part of a regular ritual, she herself yanked up the 
miniskirt, revealing the incriminating panties that had caused all the trouble. 
 Mason's fingers were on the elastic band of the panties and was 
ready to pull them down, then looked at Glen and left them up.  Glen looked for 
a tell-tale glint of metal, but Brenda had either covered it up or it had never 
been there.  Of the slight bulge, Glen could see nothing from where he was 
sitting.

He watched with macabrefascination as the belt leather belt was raised high 
over the small, shapely pantied rear and fell with a harsh crack.  Brenda's 
eyes were closed, but she obediently counted out each and every stroke.  On the 
second stroke, she broke into tears, but even then, she conti***
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*****************************************************e had unconciously let her 
hand drift down to the lap of her pants.  Then, aware of
 it, pulled it back stealthily.

At last, Brenda was allowed to rise.  She was told to go to her room as the 
adults had a talk.  All three adults watched the fourteen year old prance 
painfully out of the room, the slim hips forced to swivel in an exagerrated way 
so as to avoid feeling more pain.

"Little slut," Mason whispered as his eyes followed the spandexed teen ass 
wriggle out of the room.

"Yes, little whore," agreed the doctor wife in a cold, reptillian way.  Glen 
shivered.

 Mason looked up at Glen, completely professional.  "Now, what do you have to 
tell us about Brenda?"

"Well, did you adopt Brenda?" he asked.

The two nodded.  "Yes, when she was eleven or so.  I took care of the 
legalities," answered the lawyer affably.

"And did  she have a brother named Danny?" Glen pushed.

The redhead rose.  "Drink for you Glen?" she asked suddenly.

He looked uncertainly at the two of them.  Mason answered for him.  "Yes, 
Lesley, great idea.  Get us all some lemonade-- alright for you Glen?"

He nodded.  As the tall redhead left the room, there was a moment when he 
thought their eyes met again in some secret amusement.

"You're about what, 5' 4" Glen?"

He nodded, embarrassed about wher this was going.

"Young too, huh?  What are you, eighteen?"

"Twenty, Mr. Mason."

He gave him a comical look, as if to ask who could believe that.  "I thought 
you were sixteen when I first saw you.  I'd say definately sixteen.  What do 
you say, Lesley?  Doesn't Glen look as if he's about sixteen?"

She smiled with icy concurrence.  "Oh yes, he's got the small framed body of a 
sixteen year old at most.  My apologies, Glen-- my clinical opinion, that's 
all."  She handed him a glass of lemonade.  "Here you go."

He took it and put it down.  "Thank you.  Now about this Danny Belmont."

Mason looked at him offened.  "Please, your drink first.  Then we'll tell you 
all you want to know about Danny and Brenda and the way things are in our 
household.  But please, don't be rude-- it's hot out today.  Enjoy your 
lemonade!"

Glen surrendered, picking up the full glass.  The two Masons watched as he 
drained it, leaving their own drinks alone.  He smiled.  "Very good!  What do 
you make it with?"

Dr. Mason's mouth opened wide in laughter.  "Thioridizine hydrochloride.  Also 
known as mellaril."

Glen felt woozy.  "W-what does that do?" he asked as he slumped forward.

The husband and wife laughed.  "Oh, you'll find out darling-- you'll find out 
very soon," the woman doctor promised.

************

The next day Glen woke to the color white.  All around him, just clean, 
antiseptic white.  Hospital white.  He tried to move but he was in a body cast. 
 IVs dripped liquid nourishment into his system and he felt totally numb.  He 
couldn't feel a thing.

"Good morning.  You look pretty good for a corpse!"  Mr. Mason held his strong 
chin in his hand, measuring Glen's reaction.

"W-w-ot ooo meeen?"  Talking was painful and he stopped as tears formed in his 
eyes.  

Mason held up a copy of the local newspaper.  A subhead read in bold type HIGH 
SCHOOL MOURNS AS LOCAL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.  Glen started 
to cry as he blurrily made out the text:

Glen Simmons, 20 years old of Bentson, Florida was killed Wednesday morning at 
11 pm PM when his Pontiac Firebird slammed into a restraining wall on Coast 
Highway 14 and plunged into the ocean two hundred feet below.  No body has been 
recovered, but two witnesses, Mr. and Dr. Mason of Solitude L
ane reported that there was no question Simmons was killed in the accident.  
Richard Mason, a prominent local attorney, testified to police seeing the car 
swerve erratically, then driving off the road.  His wife, Dr. Lesley Mason with 
the Private West Palm Beach Clinic was reported as telling po
lice there was no way the driver could have survived the fall and subsequent 
explosion.  The police have ruled out any foul play and closed the file.  No 
immediate relations were known at press time."

He sobbed, which was agony.  "Why dooo tis?" he tried to scream.  Why was he in 
such agony?

The redhaired woman was by his side with a syringe.  "Sleep little one," she 
whispered and the world was black again.

************

Days later.

The woman and man were standing over him, arguing.

"It's my turn!" the woman was angrily disputing.  "You made your picks the last 
time!  Besides," she cooed evilly, "I  think you'll like my choice."

Was that Brenda standing behind them, wearing the candy striper uniform?  Where 
was he anyway?  A hospital of some kind?  What were they doing to him?  What 
had they already done to him? The cast was still on his body leaving only his 
arms bare.  He felt weak and sensed that he had lost a great 
deal of weight.  Strange things were being done to him, things that scared him.

"Well, if you have something interesting in mind, Lesley.  What do look do you 
want for our new pet?"

"The Kelly look of course-- to go with our little Brenda!  Wouldn't it be 
wonderful to have them both?  I want to take advantage of that fine blonde hair 
of his.  A wonderful natural feature."  She pulled out a scapel and was using 
it as a pointer, swinging it through the air as she described ho
w she wished to alter the subject in question.  "Small breasts but bigger than 
Brenda's."  She put her arm around little Brenda and clutched a small breast 
through the striped blouse.  She found the nipple through the bra underneath 
and twisted.  Brenda cringed and kept her lips clamped, but the
 pain in her eyes called out to Glen.

"Yes, maybe a bit bigger.  Maybe a pair of nice ripe 32Bs-- cute, feminine, but 
not centerfold.  Big sensitive nipples to play with.  A smaller upturned nose.  
The chin has to go-- even if it gets a little weak, it'll still work.  I want 
to really thin out the eyebrows, but I want to lengthen an
d thicken the lashes."

Mr. Mason was nodding, in increasing agreement with his wife.  "And the lips-- 
you'll do the lips, correct?"

She nodded.  "Yes, but not as much as Brenda.  Some moderate collagen should 
plump up the lips, but let's no go Julia Roberts, alright?  There's a pretty 
bow-shape there that might get ruined.  Now, the waist needs to go down of 
course, and the hips go up-- how about tagging it at a 32-24-29?  A
 nice, huggable petite figure that's almost doll-like.  You like?"

Mr. Mason smiled.  "I like.  Sounds like you're going to  give this bitch a 
nice, tight butt.  think she'll be grateful?


Geln froze as he heard the woman's icy, shrill cackle.  "After what we do with 
it, I doubt it honey!"

"And you'll let the hair and nails grow out naturally or will you use an 
accelerater?"

The doctor looked down at Glen.  "An accelerator.  Don't you want everything 
done as quickly as possible?"

The man nodded.  "Absolutely."

Pain.  The syringe was sinking into his arm again.  

**************

Glen winced as Dr. Mason slipped the chastity belt over his male member.  The 
metal was cold and he shivered.  The doctor squeezed the microscopic snap with 
a pair of tweezers and it clicked with finality.

Dr. Mason stroked his cheek, running her hand through his long, lustrous blonde 
mane of hair.  "Cold, pretty baby?  Don't worry-- it'll get so hot down there 
you'll never believe it was so cold!  The two openings in the belt between your 
legs will allow you to relieve yourself-- sitting down of 
course!  Now, stand up."

He obeyed promptly, popping off the hospital bed in the Examination Room.  Glen 
had learned it was actually underneath the Mason's mansion-- a private medical 
wing devoted entirely to the private experiments and whimsies of Dr. Mason.  It 
was where she had turned him into a girl.  There was anot
her room too, but one he had never been in.  From the windowless, white 
hospital-style bedroom where he was locked every night, he could hear things 
though.  Brenda's cries, whippings, Mr. Mason's yells, Dr. Mason's screeching 
laugh.  They called it the "Play Room."

As Glen stood in front of the mirror, he looked at the image that stared back.  
Was that really him?  It was still difficult to believe the changes were 
permanent even after a whole month's time.   The most obvious change was the 
pair of moderate sized perky high-nippled breasts that hung from h
is chest.  He could feel the jiggle of the orange-sized spheres as he moved 
quickly, the way the cold air massaged his long nipples into small, hard 
rubies.  They weren't huge, but he could surely feel their weight as he walked. 
 

And he walked differently now too.  His legs were longer, his calves shapelier. 
 His instep had been raised, giving him a highstepping toe-first way of 
walking.  His hips were wider as well, his butt fuller.  The whole affect was 
to give him the light airy prance of a ballerina-- or a showgirl.

His hands were soft and callus free as if the heaviest object he had ever 
lifted was a hairbrush.  Even the scar he had gotten from fishing when he was 
twelve was gone.  All that was there now was milky skin as soft as velvet.  And 
having nails now was strange.  He had to be careful how he used 
his hands, how he picked things up, how he held things, otherwise he might 
break the nails.  And that was unthinkable.  His arms seemed more relaxed as he 
walked if he held them up in the air, elbows bent, with hand bent, palms down.  
It also seemed natural for him to rest his hands high on his 
hips, practically on his wispy waist.  With thumb and index finger resting palm 
down on them, he felt more relaxed than if he just kept them by his side.  Glen 
couldn't tell, but he guessed some muscles in his body had been lengthened and 
shorted to produced these deisred affectations.

Seeing his face for the first time was a frightening sensation.  He could 
barely believe that the blue eyes were his.  Permanent cosmetic contacts, the 
Doctor had explained.  His eyebrows, once as thick as caterpillars were now 
razor-thin plucked blonde arcs.  In contrast, his eyelashes were lon
g and lusciously full-bodied, and he now no longer closed his eyes and opened 
them-- he batted his lashes.   His mouth was even smaller, his thin lips now 
poutier.  When he smiled, his expression was like the one they made Barbie 
dolls with-- sexy, surprised and happy all at once.  His nose was 
half it's previous size.  He had had a deviated septum, the result of a long 
ago high school tussle, which had given his nose a slight bend to the left.  
But now it was small, upturned and delicate and perfect as  porcelain.  And 
framing his whole face was his light blonde hair, now straight and
 long enough to reach to the tops of his breasts.

As he silently inspected himself, Mr. Mason walked into the white hospital 
room.  "Well, there's the pretty lady!  How are you Kelly?"  The older man was 
leering at his new breasts and he held up his hands to shield them.  

"Uh, fine, Daddy," he answered in that new, subdued voice of his.  Mr. Mason 
was Daddy and Dr. Mason was Mother, he had been told.  Brenda was his little 
sister.  He was Kelly, a sixteen year old girl.  A pretty girl who must behave. 
 Or Daddy and Mother would punish Kelly.  Glen had already lea
rned what a hard spanking Daddy could give when his Kelly had sassed back.  
Damn!  That had hurt!

"We're about to go over the new rules, Father.  Please sit down-- no, not you 
Kelly. You just stand there in front of the examination mirror and listen 
carefully."

Glen saw Daddy's eyes on his bare butt reflected in the mirror.   It made him 
so uncomfortable.  He had been kept naked since the operations had ended a week 
ago and it was driving Kelly to the point of nervous exhaustion.  He hated 
being kept nude.  It made him so vulnerable.  All he wanted to 
do was snatch up a sheet and cover himself.  But he kept quiet and listened to 
his new parents instead.

"Your chastity belt is designed to keep that silly little thing of yours under 
complete control.  You can function naturally in every way, though it will 
prevent you from playing with yourself.  It's o.k. to blush Kelly-- that's the 
sign of healthy shame we want to instill in our girls."  She sm
iled.  "You SHOULD be ashamed of that little thing-- which is why the chastity 
belt will control it and keep it nice and flat.  We won't have it ruining your 
panty lines with big bulges!  Got it?"

Glen nodded demurely.  Fo rnow, he had decided it was easier to accept and 
obey.  Minute to minute, hour to hour, he told himself.  Just survive long 
enough to get out of this nightmare alive.

"As you know, you're a lucky little girl.  We've adopted you, just like Brenda. 
 Rick has taken care of all the legal details.  As your parents, we have 
complete responsibility for your upbringing and discipline.  As you've already 
discovered, we're very old fashioned when it comes to correcting
 improper behavior. Our opinion is that pretty girls should be seen and not 
heard."

Glen swallowed hard.  It was still strange to be think Dr. Mason was talking 
about him, uh, her.   

Mr. Mason-- Daddy-- continued where his wife had left off.  "It really is too 
bad for you that you had to meddle in our business-- and that you happened to 
be such wonderful material to work with!  Small, child-like in appearence, no 
facial hair-- hardly a male at all!  Much better suited to be 
a teenage girl-- like Brenda.  You were right about Brenda.  We took her when 
she was about twelve.  You see we've always wanted kids.  Though not for the 
usuals reasons, right Dear?"

His wife, her hands resting in her white lab coat, nodded in agreement.  She 
was pleased with her handiwork and like a true craftsman kept inspecting the 
finished product, looking for a single flaw.  But there were none, she knew.  
Kelly was perfect-- a sexy, sixteen year old girl.

"We are extremely successful and up to three years ago, thoroughly bored.  
Money after a certain point means nothing," Mr. Mason discoursed.  "You grow 
soft, begin to watch too much television.  That was how we got hooked on 
Beverly Hills 90210.  Have you seen it?  As we watched it, we grew infa
tuated with the idea of having those beautiful girls to do with as we wished.  
There's nothing as appealing as a teenage girl coming to terms with her 
sexuality.  The experiments with ever-so-subtly seductive, pretty clothing, the 
thrill of the stolen first kiss, the innocence of the embrace, th
e sweet surrender to the first lover.  It has a taste fuller than the finer 
glass of wine.  Lesley agreed.  She had steadily more aroused by the sight of 
the pretty, pampered girls on the show.  I think she even brought up the idea.  
Why not capture a runway who looked like one of them for a pet
?  I could handle the legal aspects of the capture and Lesley could do the 
necessary cosmetic surgery to turn our new possession into the toy of our 
dreams?  

You have to understand Kelly that Lesley and I are very sophisticated when it 
comes to sex.  We have certain tastes that aren't exactly mainstream.  Because 
we are both very successful, we have come to look at the world in a different 
way.  There are those who take and those who give.  Well, ins
tead of waiting for something to be offerred, we take it.  This goes for our 
tastes in lovemaking."

Glen noticed a burning glow in the man's eyes that scared him, scared him more 
than anything else had so far.

"You wouldn't understand this, but people who have power like to use it.  The 
exercise of power over those who don't have it is an intoxicating experience 
never lose a taste for.  Power to correct, power to traine and tame, power to 
bend another to your will--"

"Yessss!" Dr. Mason's hands were plunged deep in her pockets as her husband 
continued his dark discourse.

He smiled at his wife.  "Well, it is a drug.  You get hooked.  Unfortunately, 
my wife is just as strong willed as I am.  Stalemate.  So we used whores-- a 
poor substitute at best.  You never get the sense of true submission.  Thus, 
Lesley's idea.  I loved it.  Between the two of us, we had the c
apability to pull it off.  But the more Lesley thought baout it, the less 
enthusiastic she was about her own idea.  I asked her why but she refused to 
say.

Then it hit me.  She was worried.  You see, Lesley is as jealous as any spouse. 
 As am I.  She was concerned about the inevitable courseof such a plan.  What 
if I became too involved with the runaway?  If I came to actually grow 
affectionate?  So I suggested the perfect compromise-- a boy turned
 into a girl.  We would leave the male genitals, but the rest would be 
completely transformed into a pretty girl.  That way we could have our cake and 
eat it too, so to speak.   We would have our teenage temptress to train and 
play with, and temptation would be avoided because I'd never, ever le
ave my Lesley to run off with a boy.  Not that I would ever leave my darling 
wife, but this solution made her feel better and satisfied both our appetites."

He stroked his long, strong chin in smugness for the brilliant solution they 
had concocted.  He looked at Glen with wide, questioning eyes, but Glen 
remained silent.

" Since you had to be a nosy little fool, you have no one to blame except 
yourself."  She  smiled disdainfully, her white teeth bared.

"You were kind enough to bring your file regarding Brenda, which I've 
destroyed."  Mr. Mason pulled a cigarette from a small silver case and lit it 
with an obsidian lighter.  He took a lonf, slow drag on the black Dunhill and 
continued.  "And you're well aware of your tragic demise.  So all the 
loose ends are tied up, are they not?"

Glen continued to clutch his breasts.  "You'll punish me if I tell you what I 
really think of all this," he answered, his soprano voice wavering with fear.

Mason flicked an ash in an ashtry and shook his head.  His deepset eyes were 
amused.  "Go ahead, Kelly.  tell us what you REALLY think."  His wife's hard. 
cold eyes were on him too, interested in what he had to say.  

"My name isn't Kelly.  It's Glen Simmons."

The wife looked at her husband.  The two laughed.  "Your name is Kelly Mason,"  
Mr. Mason advised patiently.  "Here is your birth certificate."  He handed a 
square piece of paper to Kelly, who took it quickly so as to keep his breasts 
covered.

He scanned it.  It said that he was indeed Kelly Mason, that his parents were 
listed as unknown, that he had been born sixteen years ago.  It was notarized 
with the appropriate date, the signatures legitimate, the document completely 
legal.

"And this."  Mason passed another piece of paper to him.  It was notification 
that Kelly had been adopted by the Masons two months ago-- about the time of 
his "accident."

"And this."  Another piece of paper.  This one a death certificate for Glen 
Simmons, dated and stamped by the proper authorities.  It was signed by Dr. 
Lesley Mason, the reporting physician.

Glen looked up, tears forming.  It couldn't be!  It was impossible to make 
someone go away and to create someone else in their place!  It couldn't be 
done-- could it?  "I can find witnesses..."

But Mason cut him off.  "You can?  We did someone investigating and WE couldn't 
find family, friends, girlfriend, anyone who might miss you.  Are you telling 
me there's somone we missed?  Save your breath-- we didn't miss anything."

"No one will suspect anything out of the ordinary, Blue Eyes."  Dr. Mason shook 
her head emphatically. "No one."

"But I'm a man!  I have a cock!" Glen shrieked in frustration.  

The soprano betrayed him and the couple chuckled lightly at the incongruity of 
the statement and the dulcet tone in which it was expressed.  "Not really.  
You'll find your chastity belt quite snug, missy.  It isn't coming off any time 
soon.  As for being a man, well--- I JUST DON'T THINK SO!"  M
r. Mason boomed in scorn.

Glen looked around craftily and smiled.  "Fine.  You can't watch me all the 
time.  I'll get out of here and then--"

Dr. Mason nodded in agreement.  "Naturally you'll be out of here.  I've kept 
you here for observation, for your own good.  But it is time you were allowed 
to live in the house with the rest of us.  You have a wonderful bedroom all set 
up for you.  Any high school girl would love it."

"And I'll get out of the house then--"

Mr. Mason looked at him dumbfounded.  "Of course you will, young lady!  If you 
think you're going to laze around the house all day, you're plain wrong!  You 
will be getting out of the house-- and going to high school."

Glen was confused.  "Fine, then when I get to the high school, I'll...I'll..."  
His lips opened and slowly closed.  His blue eyes widened.  

"You'll what, Kelly?  What will you do?"  Mason puffed on his cigarette.  
"You'll do nothing, because if you do, you'll be sent home, diagnosed with 
mental problems.  And if you run away, you'll be brought back here by the 
police.  And even if you do get far enough away, what then?  How far do y
ou think a pretty blonde, blue eyed sixteen year old runaway girl would get on 
the highway or city streets?  Hummm?"

Glen clutched his breasts closer.

" So you can put those thoughts out of your pretty empty little head.  Thinking 
too much is bad-- very bad.  It's a habit you'll lose soon enough.  Your mother 
knows how to help you forget those pesky thoughts with some special medicine 
you'll be on for a while.  Pretty soon you'll be the pretty
 vapid teen you know you are-- and you can concentrate on what's really 
important-- like boys and clothes and boys and makeup and boys--"

"And lingerie and boys and jewelery and boys and so on," Dr. Mason rattled off. 
 Then she leered.  "Not that boys are EVERYTHING mind you.  There are women 
too."

Glen's hands had bunched into small, angry fists against his heaving bosom.  
"How can you make me do that?  You can't--- you can't make me into a girl if I 
was born a male!  There's no way!  You just want an act and I'm not going to 
pretend to like any of this so so you two can get off!"  He was
 furious and confused, but he knew this was right-- he wasn't gay and he 
couldn't pretend to get into this kinky stuff no matter how much they hurt him. 
He went on with more confidence.  "Oh, yeah, you can MAKE me do things, you can 
FORCE me to do things, but you'll know it isn't REAL!!!!"

He had hoped the outburst would shatter the perfect surface of their arrogance, 
their utter calmness and the everyday-way they were talking about remaking Glen 
Simmons, High School Guidance Counselor into Kelly Mason, sixteen year old 
girl.  He would have to make them see it just wouldn't work--
 but now they were laughing at him, laughing deeply and richly, as if he 
couldn't be more wrong about anything.

The redheaded bitch caressed his arm.  "Poor Kelly!  Never heard of mellaril?  
Why would you?," she reminded herself.  It's what's responsible for those plump 
boobs of yours.  But your're right-- that's just a physical change, gives you 
feminine characteristics externally.  The real magic is goi
ng on inside your metabolism right now.  Another benefit of having you as part 
of our little family is that I get to make up for an error in judgement."  

Her husband tried ot dispell criticism, but Lesley overruled him with a wagging 
finger.  "Please Rick, don't.  I made a mistake with Brenda.  I'll admit that.  
But with Kelly, I can make up for it."  She turned back to Glen.

"For the last two months, every since your untimely "accident," your system has 
been saturated with estradiol.  It's a high performance female sex hormone.  
Brenda was induced with the same treatment.  She was given the exact amount of 
sex hormones a normal girl her age would have.  Because of t
he wonder of biochemistry, I've implanted you, like I did with Brenda, with a 
device that will convert your testosterone into estradiol.  However, instead of 
giving you the natural level of hormones as we did with Brenda, you'll produce 
sex hormones at a rate fifty percent higher than the level 
found in natural-born teenage females."

Rick Mason hooked his finger in his belt, grinning wolfishly.  "You see, even 
though Brenda's system carries the hormones, since they are only average level, 
she hasn't been as, shall we say, stimulated as we'd like her to be.  When we 
decided we wanted her to have the characteristics of a young
 teenage girl, we forgot that along with curiousity about sex, there would also 
be fear and confusion.  Brenda's too prim and proper for our tastes."

"Yes, and once the metabolism has been set, you can't screw around with the 
biochemical mix," Lesley the doctor elaborated.  "Brenda behaves just like a 
normal fourteen year old girl would-- curious but scared, coy and immature.  
Not what we want when it comes time for frolics in the Play Room. 
 But with the amount os Estradiol you've been given, we're sure you'll be able 
to help us train Brenda the way we want her to behave for us."

He didn't like the sound of this.  "Estradiol?  What will it do to me?" he 
asked feebly.  Hedreaded that he might guess the answer if not the specifics.

Mr. Mason put out his cigarette, letting his wife answer.  He was so deliberate 
in all his actions, thought Glen.  As if he knew every objection I could raise 
before I said a thing.

The doctor's tongue slipped in and out of her mouth as she explained, as if 
savoring word after delicious word.  "It will make you terribly insecure, very 
vain, extremely flighty.  Your attention span will be very short and you'll 
become bored with anything that requires too much thinking.  You'
ll be overly preoccupied with your appearence at all times.  You'll be led by 
your emotions, a spoiled brat one minute, a darling angel the next.  You'll 
find yourself unable to make decisions for yourself and you'll be draw to 
strength, since you'll be so naturally dependent and submissive.  In
 other words, you'll exhibit every stereotypical female trait exagerrated by 
fifty percent.  And the estradiol will have one more dramatic affect."

"What?  Please tell me!" begged Glen.  

She licked her lips before answering.  "You'll be a very, very horny young 
lady.  Come on, Rick, let's take Kelly to her new room."

Glen was shown to the bedroom by his new 'parents.'  He gloomily looked around. 
 It was decorated entirely in pink-- pink plush carpetting; a big pink double 
bed, with two fluffy pillows and a smiling oversized teddy bear; a pink vanity 
replete with lipsticks, mascaras, perfumes, foundations, br
ushes, styling pins and rollers; a pink painted bookshelf filled with brand new 
paperbacks, all of them romance novels; a pink skirted nightstand with  a stack 
of magazines like Cosmopolitan, Teen Beat, Soap Opera Digest, and a number of 
catalogs from Talbot's, Laura Ashely, Victoria's Secret an
d more; a pink Princess phone;  a pink plastic boom box with a preselected 
music library of Madonna, Janet Jackson, Whitney Houston, and Wilson Philips 
CDs;  a pink lamp in the shape of a ballerina;  and a single windowadorned with 
pink curtains.  On the wall were two posters.  One was full of f
lowers and flowing feminine script.  It repeated a trite poem about setting 
love free and it would come back to you.  Another was a full length poster of 
Fabio, the romance novel cover model and teen heartthrob.  The requisite Barbie 
doll rested on a bookcase shelf watching over all with her emp
ty and pleasing smile.  A Minnie Mouse clock clicked away the minutes and hours 
on the wall.

"You'll be very happy here, Kelly."  Mr. Mason's -- Daddy's-- hand was on his 
bare ass and he hated it.

"And you'll finally be allowed to wear clothes.  Isn't that exciting?  Why 
don't you play dress up by yourself and get used to your new home, Kelly.  Your 
father and I will be down in the Play Room with Brenda."  She rubbed her palm 
against her thigh.  "She's been a very naughty girl and needs t
o be punished."  The door was shut, leaving him alone.

He was relieved.  Privacy.  It was the first time he had enjoyed privacy in two 
months.  And clothes!  He never realized how much you could miss clothes!  He 
opened the dresser.  Naturally-- girls' underwear.  Bras, panties, thigh high 
stockings and nighties.  He opened the next drawer.  Tops-- 
but all in bright or pastel colors.  He opened the bottom drawer-- shorts, 
exercise outfits and bathing suits.  None of it in the least boylike. 

He turnd and opened the closet.  Inside hung a number of shortskirted dresses, 
frocks and miniskirts.  There was even a little black cocktail dress.  "Is that 
when I get invited to school dances?" he thought disgustedly.  On the floor 
were a number of shoes-- many being three inch heels of varyi
ng fashion colors.  In addition, there were a pair of open-toed sandals and a 
pair of pink Reebok running shoes.

He looked out the window, down at the wide luxuriant green lawn and the hedges 
that bounded the huge estate.  They couldn't make him put these clothes on.  
And yet he wanted to cover his body.  Reluctantly he 
returned to the dresser.  He pulled out a light blue cotton bra and slipped it 
on.  It gently lifted and separated his 32B breasts, offering some girlish 
cleavage above the flowery trimming that decorated the demi-cup.  He hated the 
pleasant way it made him feel.  He had to resist.  But as he st
epped into the matching Calvin Klein blue thong panties, he couldn't help the 
wave of delight he felt as the snug garment crept between and up his legs.  He 
had to remember he was a male, a twenty year old male, not some dopey sixteen 
year old kid.  But his resistance crumbled as he slipped on t
he white cotton half-blouse that bared his trim, flat tummy, feeling the 
tightness over his breasts as he buttoned up.  He picked out the only pair of 
jeans in the closet, determined not to wear a skirt, no matter what.

But as he held up the pair of No Excuses jeans, he realized why the calves had 
zippers.  The designer jeans were so tight, he had to unzip the calves, then 
get on his back and try to jam himself into the legs.  He managed to get them 
half in and stood up carefully.  He bounced up and down as he 
forced his already small butt into the even tighter jeans.  At last he was able 
to get them in and triumphantly zipped the zipper.  With the air of a natural 
gesture, his hands found their familiar perch on his hips.  The mirror showed a 
sassy, hot to trot sixteen year old with pouty lips and sm
oldering blue eyes.  But that wasn't the reality, Glen reminded himself 
frantically.  Fishing though the shoes, he slipped on the pink running shoes.

"Very pretty, Blue Eyes."  It was the Masons.  They were back.  But they 
weren't alone.  Mr. Mason yanked a leash and Brenda came tumbling to the floor 
behind him.  "See your new big sister, missy?"

Brenda looked up, eyes swollen with tears.  The leash was attached to a pair of 
handcuffs and allowed Mr. Mason to drag the boy-girl behind him.  The fourteen 
year old wore only a pair of white bikini panties and a training bra.  The back 
of his thighs were red as if from being hit with a flat o
bject repeatedly.  

"Brenda has been a naughty little girl, Kelly.  It seems your sister isn't as 
interested as she should be in her housekeeping duties.  Naughty girl!"  Mason 
screamed at the girl.  

Brenda groveled on the floor before the two adults.  "Please!  No more!  
Please!  I won't do it again!"  She pressed her cheek against Lesley Mason's 
high heeled shoe pathetically.

Mrs. Mason rubbed her shoe across the boy-girls cheek and Brenda obediently 
began to lick it.  "This is what happens with only children," she spoke to her 
husband.  "They get spoiled like Brenda.  You know, I think having a big sister 
like Kelly around will do wonders for teaching Brenda how to 
act like a proper young lady."

Mr. Mason concurred.  "Kelly, you may do whatever girls do when they are alone. 
 Your mother and I need to continue with Brenda's discipline-- in our bedroom."

Brenda looked up.  Kelly noticed the boy-girl shaking as he struggled to his 
feet.  The door was shut and Glen was left only to wonder about the many 
shocking shouts and cries he heard from the bedroom in the following hours.

*****************************

Rick Mason heard the door shut first.  "The girls are home, Darling.  It's 
Homework Time"

Lesley Mason looked up.  She had been reading a medical journal article, which 
she carefully bookmarked and closed.  Languidly she rose to follow her husband, 
who was already downstairs ordering the girls to come to the Play Room.

She walked in to find them standing, heads down, for their next instruction.  
The Play Room was her idea.  As a creator and shaper by training, she had put 
much of her imagination in it's design.  The immediate impression was 
dungeon-like.   She preferred the dark, Gothic stony look, with the fi
replace for her and her husband's love games.  It put everyone involved in the 
proper frame of mind.  Two sets of manacles hung from the ceiling, which were 
easily controlled by a simple winch.  A stockade and sawhorse sat ready for  
use on the side of the dark, barely-lit room.  Whips, crops, a
nd canes of all sizes and thickness waited on wall brackets for hard hands to 
wield  them.  A cage waited for an insolent prisoner in the other corner.  
Lesley's favorite prop was a device they had bought commercially-- a kind of 
saddle-seat mount from which protruded a detachable dildo.  Oh she
 loved that toy!

Rick lit the fireplace and brought it to a roar with the bellows.  "Strip down, 
sluts.  You first Brenda."

The little brunette looked down and though shivering with fright, kicked off 
her heels.  Unsteadily, he pulled off his ribbed pink tank top, exposing his 
cotton bra.  At fourteen and a half, Brenda had just been allowed to graduate 
from a training bra to the real thing, even though his breasts h
adn't grown, nor would they ever grow any bigger. Gingerly he unzipped his 
denim miniskirt.  Wriggling out of it, he waited in only his pink cotton 
softcup bra with it's thin straps and the matching pink cotton bikini panties.

"Now Kelly."

With a saucy smile, the sixteen and a half year old kicked off  his red high 
heels and pulled off his midriff t-shirt.  It was tight and read "Boy Toy" on 
the front and back.  Underneath, his healthy pert bust was supported by a red 
lace half-bra, which he thrust out proudly.  Kelly loved his br
easts, the way the boys and male teachers at school looked at them, the way he 
could make them jiggle to get attention.  Sinuously, he pulled down her neon 
green spandex bike shorts to reveal the red lace thong panty.  It had been a 
gift from Daddy for being such a good girl in helping to slut-t
rain his little sister Brenda.  He loved them-- they made him feel like such a 
pampered princess!

Months ago, Kelly had hated to wear the revealing, provocative clothing he wore 
now.  He had made up his mind to resist the temptations of the feminine trap he 
was in.  He was a male, a twenty year old man.  Panties and bras couldn't 
change that and he wouldn't accept them as natural.  But slowl
y his feelings changed.  Not that he liked what had happened to him-- he missed 
the freedom being a man had given him.  Everything feminine was such a prison-- 
tight clothes, high heels, mandatory make-up, everything.  And the dull hot 
throb that emmanated from the chastity belt reminded him con
stantly that he had born born a male.  It was so frustrating never to be able 
to scratch the itch below, the itch that was a curse because the things that 
his adoptive parents did to him always kept it burning.  

But his attitude had changed.  It wasn't the result of the punishments he 
earned from time to time.  It wasn't the training either.  It was from inside.  
It was the creep in his spine that rose when he realized he was becoming very 
good at dressing up, the silent scream from knowing he blushed w
hen Daddy complimented him, the anguish that raged impotently when he began to 
pick and choose from his growing lingerie collection and get turned on, even 
against his will.

And then his escape plans began to dissolve in gauzy daydreams.  His instincts 
told him if he could talk to the right people, have them check his fingerprints 
or dental records, then...  But  a day would pass and these thoughts would be 
lost.  And in trying to rediscover them, he found that thin
king was just too hard, too exhausting, too frustrating.  Instead of taking 
firm shapes, his thoughts grew fuzzy and vague, like strands of cotton candy 
that dissolved at the merest touch.  He gave up thoughts of escape in favor of 
less complicated, simpler things like his romance novels and soa
p operas, what to wear and what color to paint his nails.

Then school had started.  It was strange being a student in the same school he 
had once been a faculty member of.  Not that he any longer remembered the 
skills or education he had once had.  Today Kelly was no more able to be a 
guidance counselor than he was a rocket scientist!  Luckily, he wasn
't encumbered with college prep courses.  Like Brenda, his parents had enrolled 
him in general overview courses that wouldn't tax his mental abilities.  The 
only courses he had to worry about grades in were Home Economics and Gym class. 
 Home Ec was important because he was responsible for house
hold cooking and cleaing, with Brenda as his helper.  Gym was important because 
it kept him in shape, though aerobics at home were also expected.  

School itself was a nervous blur for Brenda.  The young boy-girl was jumpy and 
still unable to handle the attention his ripening feminine body and teasing 
clothes attracted from boys.  But for Kelly, being a pretty high school 
sophomore was wonderful.  In the clothes he wore now and the nubile b
ody he sported, he did indeed resemble the Kelly Taylor character from the 
Beverly Hills 90210 series.  Sweet, tarty thoughts crossed his mind as he swung 
his hips in the tiny red miniskirt for the boys behind him.  He began to find 
power over boys in the smallest ways-- by bending over to revea
l some pink cleavage, to toy with a stray bra strap, to giggle cutely at their 
silly jokes, to intently listen, eyeing them dreamily as they spoke to him.  

He wasn't permitted a boyfriend by his parents.  Kelly was reserved for their 
use alone.  Whenever he was asked out on a date, Kelly had learned to answer 
that there was a boyfriend who was in the Marines, so, gosh no it wouldn't be 
possible for zkelly to cheat on him, would it?  But if Kelly wa
sn't already involved,  and if the mysterious Marine ever dumped Kelly, could 
she take a raincheck and call the boy up?  This strategy of assuaging each 
boy's ego kept them from thinking the pretty blonde was "stuck up."  

He was allowed to flirt, though, and flirt he did, with the boys he was 
beginning to think of more and more as cute and handsome.  Instead of paying 
attention to the teacher, Kelly would silently choose a boy in a classroom and 
begin to tease him, allowing the lucky boy quick peeks of the bright
 polyester or lace panties he wore as he slowly crossed his legs under the 
desk.  Such behavior earned him the reputation of a slut, which he both 
resented and accepted.  Kelly was Kelly-- he couldn't help what he had been 
turned into.    

Daddy sat in the big arm chair as Mother took over the Home Work lesson.  She 
had stripped down to her lingerie-- a black lace bra, black panties and high 
heels.  Her pale skin and her red hair made her a most striking woman.  "Well, 
my pretties, let's begin your lesson today wher we left off la
st night.  Brenda, down on your knees.  Now Kelly, you too-- but face your 
little sister."

The two boy-girls waited, eyes still downcast.  Kelly generally didn't mind 
these sessions, except the painful parts of course, but Brenda did not.  He was 
still too much of a prudish little girl for.  It was one of the reasons he erfect slut, Daddy said.  

"Now, Kelly, lean forward and kiss Brenda.  Show her how to French kiss.  Go 
on-- get to it!"  Mother had chosen a riding crop from the arsenal of 
disciplinary implements and waved it threateningly.

Everyday after school there was a predetermined Homework Lesson.  Instruction 
was always held in the Play Room by Daddy and Mother.  Sometimes others came to 
watch too, men and women who drank wine and watched.  Monday's Homework Lessons 
always started with French kissing and foreplay.  Tuesday 
was for breast and nipple play, Wednesday was dedicated to striptease pratice, 
Thursday oral and body worship, and Friday was for sextoy lessons, and the 
weekend was whatever Daddy and Mother decided.  Fridays made Kelly nervous.  
Mother and Daddy had such a varied dildo collection and some hurt
 so much.  But today was French kissing and Kelly liked French kissing a lot.  

Kelly obeyed Mother's instruction, letting his tongue sink deep into the 
fourteen year old's soft mouth.  He rolled it around, exploring it even as 
Brenda's own tongue shyly retreated before its onslaught.

SWAT!  "Brenda!  Show Big Sister you love her back!  Go on!  This is how you 
learn!"

Brenda obeyed, and the two were soon in a passionate lesbian tongue lock.  
Lesley looked up.  Rick had pulled off his shirt and was unzipping his pants.  
She watched the boy-girls as they hungrily sought each other's mouths for a 
good twenty minutes. Then she ordered them to stop.

Pettishly Kelly withdrew his tongue from Brenda's mouth.  The younger teen's 
small mouth closed in an instant.

"Now Kelly I want you to instruct Brenda how to make out with a boy.  Pretend 
you're a boy on a date with Brenda.  Brenda, you're a little slut for your man, 
so don't resist,  Kelly, as the boy, you know that Brenda is easy, so you can 
take second base.  Got it?"

Kelly licked his lips and nodded. 

"Go on, then."

Kelly wrapped his arms around Brenda and the brassiered chests of the two 
sissified boys touched electrically.  "Bren, honey, stick your titties out-- 
boys like that!  Isn't that right Mother?"

Lesley patted his long blonde hair.  "You're slut reading is going well, I can 
tell."  

Kelly's full lips were curled into a tight, smug smile.  At first, he hadn't 
liked his slut reading.  Mother had made such an embarrasing deal over 
it--marking the articles in Cosmo and New Woman for him to read.  They were all 
sex advice articles on how to make your man feel good in bed, ways t
o flirt and dress provocatively.  He hadn't paid much attention and found them 
disgusting.  But after a few "pop quizzes" and some smarting spankings, Kelly 
got the hint.  He began to devour the articles.  Then came the subscription to 
Playgirl that now came regularly in her name.  He was allowe
d to read it by himself, but Mother's questions made it clear he was expected 
to absorb the contents of every issue completely, condom ads included.  He now 
kept the stack of dogeared Playgirls by his nightstand.  Recently, Daddy had 
taken Kelly on lap and had him read letters from Penthouse alo
ud for he and Mother, especially the letters from female writers.  It always 
got Daddy in a very, very good mood when Kelly did this well.    

"Go on, Kelly.," Mother snapped.  "Brenda, follow your sister's advice-- she' s 
only trying to help you be a better slut."

Brenda stuck his tiny chest out.  Kelly's small hands unwrapped themselves and 
cupped the small offering, squeezing the nipples.  "Moan whenever I touch you 
Brenda-- that way a boy knows you like what he's doing!"  Kelly had read this 
in a number of times in the Advice Column in Playgirl.

Brenda began to moan softly as Kelly unhooked the juvenile bra.  Closing his 
eyes, he began to buck against his Big Sis as Kelly took hold of the flesh 
buds.  "Is that right Kelly?  Last time you said boys like this."

Kelly gave him a full kiss on the lips.  "Yes, Little Sister, that's good, very 
good."

Lesley grinned at Rick.  "Our daughters are a couple of lezzies, dear.  What do 
you think?"

Rick stood up abruptly.  "Get the bitches on their fours," he ordered.

Kelly and Brenda paused.   Kelly put on a counterfeit smile.   "Oh, do me 
Daddy!  Please, pretty please!?!  Do me-- you said I'm your favorite slut!"  He 
hunched down on his elbows and offered his panty-thonged backside up for anal 
rape.  

But Daddy crooked his finger at Brenda.  "Come here you little slut and get me 
wet."

Kelly turned around.  "Please Daddy!  Last time you really hurt her!  Please- I 
like it and she doesn't!  Do me!"  But all he got was a vicious slap from 
Lesley.

"I'll do you pretty baby-- don't worry.  Your hole will get filled.  Now get 
back down on your fours facing Brenda."

"Brenda, you're gong to be Daddy's little cocksucker, aren't you?  You little 
bitch-- you know how much you love the taste of my cum!  And if you so much as 
let your braces scratch my cock-- even a little-- you'll get a beating you 
won't forget!"  With that warning, Rick jammed his cock down the
 fourteen year old's throat, cruelly filling the tight orifice.  Using his 
ponytail as a ripcord, he pulled the young teen up and down to ensure equal 
devotion to the entire length of his shaft.  Finally he pulled the ponytail 
down, freeing Brenda's mouth with a pop.  The redfaced teen looked up
 in terror.

"Please Daddy!  It hurts!  It hurts so much!"  As he begged, he clutched her 
breasts, crossing his legs desperately.

Without answering, he took the ponytail again and yanked his face down to the 
floor.  "Stick your ass up in the air like a good girl or I'll whip it off of 
you!"

A whimper, then the pink bikini'ed butt was pulled up and raised for Mason's 
cruel usage.  Kelly looked at his slave sister in submission , waiting for his 
own use.  Behind him, he felt Mother's hands commanding his own hips to raise.  
Then the nails scraping around the red lace thong, yanking i
t down.  Then the cold tip of the thick plastic strap-on phallus against his 
anal rosebud.  No lubricant, no gentleness, just a mighty heave and Kelly was 
filled with the missile.  He looked at his poor little sister.  Brenda had 
dissolved into tears as Daddy rammed the helpless rag doll of a bo
y-girl from behind.  He could see the eyes open wide in fear and agony then 
close as he pulled back, then repeated their opening.

"Let the lezzies love one another, Lesley!" Daddy commanded.  Kelly could feel 
his hips being reamed and driven forward toward Brenda, his companion in rape.  
Their faces were forced forward, nose to nose.

"Go on-- make out, girlies!  Make kissy face for us! Kelly, tell your little 
sister how to be a good piece of ass for Daddy!"  Daddy ordered. 

Kelly nudged his tongue in Brenda's mouth.  Brenda limply responded when Daddy 
landed a hard slap on his bare thigh.  

"Bren, Daddy likes it when you buck your hips back in rythm to his.  Go on, do 
it!"

The fourteen year old looked at his slave sister in misery.  "Kel, it hurts so 
much!  It hurts me soooo much!"

"Just do it, Brenda!  Sluts like us buck our hips to our lovers' rythm.  Come 
on, I know you can do it!"

And Brenda gasped, and obeyed.  Slowly he ws picking up the rythm of his 
adoptive father's rape and reesponding to it.  Daddy grunted in approval.  He 
pushed Brenda forward again, satisfied.  Even as the two were being brutally 
taken from behind, they made soft lesbian kissing love, older boy-si
ster to younger boy-sister, teens in gentle heat.  Kelly knew Daddy had shot 
his hot jism into Brenda as he gasped for breath and surged forward.  Mother 
always took longer.  Kelly threw his hips into overdrive, rocking back and 
forth like a pro.  Mother responded by stepping up her thrusts til 
she had overtaken Kelly.  Then like a rider breaking in a mount, she slowly 
finished off, pulling out of an exhausted Kelly.

"Clean me off girlie," Mother oredered.  Kelly scrambled to his knees and took 
the gooey long black plastic cock, deepthroating it.  He wrapped her lips 
tightly against the side.  Dildos and strap-ons had to be cleaned flawlessly 
and there had been many lessons in doing it.  Kelly was good-- a n
atural cocksucker, Daddy called him, but Brenda was still learning.

"Owww!  Stupid little slut!"  Kelly looked over.   Brenda had been put to the 
same task as he had, but his little sister had made some mistake.  Mother 
yanked Kelly's blonde mane like a leash to his own cocksucking duties.

"Damn bitch!  You got my hair caught in your braces!  Arghhh!"  Daddy 
backhanded Brenda, wrenching his metal mouth free from his cock.  He looked up, 
quivering.

"I'm sorry Daddy!" he yelped, but it was too late.  He hauled the forteen year 
old up by his hands and locked his wrists in the mancles.  Slowly he raised the 
winch up, lifting the teen onto his tiptoes.  With relish, he picked out a 
paddle, testing it against his palm.  

"I'll teach you to be so careless, Brenda!"  He swung the paddle back and 
landed it squarely on his cupcake asscheeks.  Brenda screamed but the 
soundproofed walls retained the music of his agony within the room.  Again and 
again the paddle fell.

Kelly could feel his mistress'es interest switch to th helpless boy-girl's 
punishment.  He continued to lap the plastic dildo clean, hoping to avoid 
displeasing Mother the way Brenda had displeased Daddy.  His chin was cupped.  
Mother unbuckled the strap-on.

"I want to watch Brenda get what's coming to her.  Come with me-- on your 
fours, bitch!"  Mother walked to the arm chair Daddy had been sitting in 
earlier.  Kelly followed her, a kitten following its mistress.  She sat down, 
spreading her legs.  With easy finesse, she hooked her thumb in the ban
d of her black panty and pulled the dainty thing off.  Beneath, her bright-red 
haired cleft was wet and sparkling.

"Pleasure me, Blue Eyes.  Pleasure me well.  Or you'll get what Brenda is 
getting."  She spread her thighs wide open and reclined with a dry smile.  

Kelly carefully nuzzled his face to the older woman's sex and began to lick the 
furry edgings of Mrs. Mason's pussy.  He had been trained how to do this and 
knew precisely where and how long to lick.  As Brenda whined for mercy from 
Daddy, he reminded himself that he must teach Brenda how to be 
a cuntlapper.  It would be an important slut skill for his lil sis to know!  
Mother stroked his hair now almost appreciatively and he renewed his oral 
worship, happy to keep the woman happy.  After a good thirty minutes, 
throughout which she filled Kelly's mouth twice with her stickiness,  Dr. L
esley Mason pushed the pretty blonde away.  She looked for something on the 
floor, found it and picked it up with toes.  It was her discarded black lace 
panties.

"Clean the crotch.  A sweet treat for a good little bitch!"  She patted Kelly 
on the head and the blonde dutifully spread the panty crotch face up and began 
to give it long, loving licks-- tasting with each his adoptive mother's love 
juice.  

Brenda's manacles had been lowered so that he now crouched on his knees in 
front of Rick Mason.  He was crying hysterically, promising to be a good slut 
for Daddy.  "Please don't hit me any more!" he screeched.

Daddy looked down at the teen boy-girl.  "See what a good girl Kelly is, 
Brenda?  Why can't you be more like her?  She how she likes being a sexy bimbo 
slut now?  Remember how at first she didn't?"

"Yes, Daddy!  Please don't hurt me anymore!" he pleaded manically.

He slapped her and continued.  "Quiet, wench.  Now listen.  Kelly is going to 
be giving you more and more slut lessons and I expect you to pay close 
attention-- UNDERSTAND?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Good.  Now I want you  to kiss your Daddy's balls-- AND DON"T YOU DARE SCRATCH 
THEM WITH YOUR BRACES!"

Brenda bent his head and began the humiliating task, happy just not to be 
further punished.  He offered loving adoration to each of his Daddy's sweaty, 
hairy balls as he held Brenda's black ponytail as a rein.  

"That's my sexy little girlie!  Inside those balls I'm making cum just for my 
Brenda-girl to drink!  Wouldn't you like a nice sticky mouthful of Daddy's cum?"

Brenda nodded, his tongue too busy to answer.   His cock was rising again and 
Daddy rubbed it against the teen's pale face.  Suddenly, he drew the ponytail 
back and aimed the cock at Brenda's bare chest.  In a second, Brenda's two 
small bubbles were covered with a sheet of the spunk.  

"Is Kelly done cleaning your panties, Lesley?  I have a chore for her."

Mother snapped her fingers and Kelly looked up.  "Your Daddy has a job for 
you."  

Rick Mason pointed at Brenda's small cum coated titties.  "Clean your sister's 
little hooters off, girlie.  Milk them good."

Kelly nodded sweetly.  He wasn't about to get Daddy mad at her by sassing.  
Besides cum wasn't so bad tasting.  He lowered his lips to Brenda's nipple and 
began to tongue off the salty snack.  As he did, Brenda began to moan in his 
bondage, pushing his boobs lewdly forward, greedy for more siste
rly attention.  The parents watched as the older teen boy-girl made love to the 
other's small feminine mounds.     

"Sweet pets, aren't they Rick?" his wife asked.  Her husband nodded.  "And they 
thought they were boys.  Why they're the cutest little teenage bimbos I've ever 
seen.  Brenda-- so innocent!  And Kelly-- so horny!"

That night they were told that they would be rewarded for doing such a good job 
on their "homework" by being allowed to sleep with each other.  It was a 
wonderful treat, thought Kelly as he watched his younger sister get ready for 
bed.  The brunette had come to find Kelly his best friend, so muc
h smarter and more sophisticated.  Why, Kelly got to wear the prettiest lace 
panties and bras, which he wore on those big breasts of his!  If he had to be a 
girl and have an older sister, he was glad it was Kelly!  And he just loved 
cuddling with his pretty older sis too.  

"Kelly," he asked, "what do you want your Lil Sis in?" He knew he was teasing, 
but couldn't help it.  

Kelly had given him a "you know better than that" look.  "Don't be such a 
bitch, Bren! You know how sexy you look in your red panties.  And don't forget 
your bra!  You know Daddy and Mother want your breasts to get as much shape and 
lift as they can.  They're so small and dainty they need to be 
in a bra as much as they can.  You can't keep not wearing your bra to bed-- 
they'll find out and punish you!"

He pouted and agreed, slipping on at least a cute pink colored bra for his 
sissy sister-lover.  Then slipping on his sister's preferred red thong panties, 
he presented himself.  "Like me?"

Kelly smiled at his sis.  He had come to love the younger boy-girl and tried to 
protect him as much as he had been able.  It was so hard when Kelly also had to 
help teach him all the degrading things their adoptive parents required of 
them.  At least tonight they could find peace in each other's
 arms.  And his little lover looked just so hot in his cotton undies!

"I just can't wait to start!" he answered impishly.  

Hand in hand, they minced bare foot into Kelly's room.  Inside they found Daddy 
and Mother waiting.  Daddy held a video recorder.

"Are you both ready?" Mother demanded.

Kelly nodded his head.  "I'm not wearing anything under my robe.  If that's 
o.k."

Daddy put the camera down.  "Put on something very sexy for your sister.  
Something she's not old enough to wear but you are.  Put on one of the things I 
bought you for Valentine's Day.  That should emphasize the age difference."

Dully, Kelly opened his dresser.  He pulled out a black lace garter belt, black 
lace thong panties and a black lace push-up bra.  He held them up for approval. 
 Daddy had bought them for Kelly not longer after the Estradiol had really 
begun to kick in-- when Kelly had turned from the sullen, wit
hdrawn prisoner into the hot-blooded young sexpot.  After that Daddy and Mother 
had given him lots of pretty things to wear for them.   

"Perfect.  Put them on.  Black heels too.," he was instructed.

As he donned the lingerie, he heard Mother speak into the microphone.  "Lesbian 
Lessons For Little Sister, testing."

Brenda was told to get under the covers.  "Hug the teddy bear and pretend 
you're dreaming of a boyfriend," he was told by Daddy.  Brenda did as he was 
told as the camera began to capture the moment.

Mother snapped her fingers and Kelly quickly pranced in the heels to her side.  
"We're going to turn your make-out into a movie for our friends.  You two are 
going to be movie stars."

Kelly smiled.  He knew he was supposed to smile so he did, but he didn't feel 
it inside.  He felt dirty and excited at the same time.

"Now you're going to surprise little Brenda there in bed.  Use your imagination 
and show us what a slut you are for her."  Mother was so excited.

"Yes, do Kelly-- or I'll take you over my knee for sure.  Understand?" Daddy 
threatend from behind the video camera.    

He nodded with a bright bimbo smile .  "Oh, yes Daddy!  I'll try to do a super 
job!"  

The camera whirred on.  Kelly crept up to the bedside and gently took the teddy 
bear from the sleeping boy-girl.  Brenda looked up and he held his finger to 
his sensuous lips. 

"SSSSHHH or our parents will hear!" he whispered.  "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Brenda smiled wide and nodded.  

"Can I get into bed with you?" he asked and again Brenda nodded.

Kelly snuggled in the bed and threw off the covers.  "Like my pretty undies, 
Bren?" he purred.

Brenda nodded.  "Do you like mine?"   He thrust out her little boobed-filled 
bra.  Clearly the filming didn't matter to him.  He wanted to be with his older 
slave sister regardless.

Kelly played with the bra's little shoulder strap.  "Cute!  What's your bra 
size, Brenda?"

"Just a 32AAA, Kelly.  But I'm only fourteen and a half.  Maybe they'll grow 
out.  What size are yours?"

Kelly was getting into his role now.  "32B.  Say, do you know what a lesbian is 
Bren?"

Brends shook his head.  "No Kelly."

Kelly stroked his sister's breasts through the soft cotton cup.  "It's when a 
girl wants to be with another girl, like the way she might be with a boy."

Brenda blushed.  "I've never been with a boy, Kelly.  Just Daddy."

The blonde was now stroking his little sister's thigh.  "Want to be my 
girlfriend, Brenda?"

Brenda coyly smiled.  "Will you teach me how Kelly?"

Kelly answered by pulled down Brenda's bra straps then leaning forward to 
unhook it.  Then he leaned forward to snuggle his own black laced tits against 
his young sister's bare nipples.  Like magic the nipples snapped to attention 
under the older boy-girl's ministrations.

"You're hot for me, Bren-- see your boobies?"  Then he unhooked his own bra and 
the two began a chest-to-chest dry hump that lasted for what seemed hours.  
"See how much I love you little sister?  Your little titties?  Your pretty 
mouth?  I love you Brenda Mason!  If I could, I'd keep you as min
e, all mine!"  And with that, Daddy and Mother rose, the camera off.

"Good job girlies.  Now Brenda, off to your bed little one.  Kelly, lights out. 
 Tommorrow is a school day."  Mother and Daddy left the two to their respective 
slumber.

And as Kelly nodded off to sleep, he dreamed he was a beautiful butterfly kept 
in a jar by a man and a woman.  Would they ever let him out of the jar?  As he 
dreamed, tears like rain made his pillow wet.  In the morning he would forget, 
but for know he knew he was the pretty butterfly in a jar t
hat would never be anything other than pretty, weak and possessed.  The tears 
were shed for a long time before he finally drifted to a nocturnal peace.

THE END


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