The Stepton Slaves, Part 2

By Dani


	A short time later, Sharon led Chrissy-Poo, in her tight, 
short, white satin dress, sheer stockings, white ankle socks with 
frilly lace cuffs, and white five-inch high heels, into the beauty 
salon. They were met by Carla, who was the owner as well as leader of 
the feminizers of Stepton.
	"Well, doesn't Chrissy-Poo look precious in her satin dress?" 
Carla teased.
	<I ought to slap her one for that...>
	"Thank you, Mistress Carla. I am pleased you like the way I 
look," Chris replied. The cross-dressed slave looked around the beauty 
salon. It was obvious that all the staff--and a goodly number of the 
customers--were implant-dominated transvestites like himself. All the 
staff members wore tight pink mini-dresses, exceedingly short: The 
hems revealed their stocking tops and garters. Unlike most of 
Stepton's cross-dressed male population, they did not wear their hair 
long or have wigs on. Instead, their short male hair was laced with 
matching pink ribbons.
	<Hey--isn't that one just a boy?> Chris's gaze was locked on a 
child of 14 or 15, seated in one of the salon's chairs. He could tell 
the customer was young, despite the sophisticated way in which "she" 
was dressed--silk wraparound dress, patterned stockings, black patent 
leather pumps with six-inch heels. The boy-girl's hair was platinum 
blonde, done in flowing waves around her face, which was made up 
beautifully beyond her years. Her figure had obviously been trained 
and surgically remade as well, giving her a 37-24-35 shape. <Is that's 
what in store for Danny?>
	"Ahhh...I see you've noticed little Allison," Carla commented. 
"Allison's mother has decided that the child should earn her way in 
the world--in the only way such an unruly little thing can. Since 
Allison has no abilities at school or typical domestic work, her 
mother has turned her into a call girl. This is her day off, but 
normally Allison goes to New York each day, where she earns her keep 
as a high-priced escort for men who appreciate her looks--and her 
abilities at cock-sucking."
	Allison was not the only exotic sight in the salon. In another 
chair sat an obvious male in a tight corset, black hose and seven-inch 
heels. His arms were bound to the chair and his ankles were connected 
by a ten-inch length of chain--obviously meant to train his gait to a 
ladylike mincing step. One of the attendants was coating his nails 
with red polish while another powdered his exposed, hairless chest and 
rouged the nipples. He seemed to be totally embarrassed.
	Even Sharon spotted this one. "Why is he bound? Doesn't his 
implant work?" she asked Carla.
	"Oh, it works perfectly," Carla replied. "That's Gretchen's 
little Marsha. Her implant is designed to merely reinforce her 
submissive nature...and her aversion to femininity. That's why she's 
so humiliated by her current situation. Gretchen doesn't want just a 
feminized slave--she wants one who is completely aware of what has 
happened to him...and the humiliation he experiences as a result."
	As they spoke, the attendants completed their work on Marsha, 
unbound her wrists and helped her out of the chair. Gretchen entered 
then, and produced a bondage glove. She pulled her slave's arms behind 
her back, thrust them into the tight leather glove and tightened it 
until Marsha's elbows met in the small of her back. Next she pushed a 
ball gag into Marsha's mouth, buckling it behind her head. That was 
followed by a collar with a leash attached. Gretchen took the leash in 
hand and led the half-naked, half-feminized slave out of the salon, 
past the gaping Sharon and Chrissy-Poo. Marsha's eyes implored the 
others to understand his situation and not to laugh. Sharon couldn't 
help but smile--someday she would have to experiment with bondage on 
Chris.
	"Come along, Chrissy-Poo," Carla said, taking the new TV slave 
by the hand. "It's time to complete your transformation." The satin-
clad man-woman was seated in one of the salon's comfortable chairs and 
a lovely staff member came up to begin work on his hair.
	"Wait!" Sharon halted the process. "I want Chris to be aware 
of what's going on. Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo!" That was the 
code phrase that would permit Sharon to impose specific, unopposable 
orders upon Chris through the implant. "Until I reactivate your 
implant," she ordered, "you are Chris again. Carla, perhaps you'd best 
tie him down as you did Marsha."
	Instantly, Carla and the attendant strapped the hapless Chris 
into the chair. He pleaded with his wife. "Sharon, why are you doing 
this?"
	"When I met Carla while house-hunting," she explained, "I 
discovered that the women of Stepton had the best of everything. About 
half of them own their own very successful businesses--like Carla 
here--and have no need of a traditional 'breadwinner' as a husband. 
The others all have husbands whose jobs, like yours, do not require 
them to be seen frequently in public. Hence, it was simple for them to 
develop this feminization process."
	"Most of us are confirmed lesbians or bi, anyway," Carla 
interjected. "Certainly I can testify that Sharon is--or didn't you 
know that when you married her?"
	The women all laughed at the surprise that registered on 
Chris's face at that assertion. But now, the final steps in his 
transformation began. One of the boy-girl attendants appeared and 
introduced herself. "Hi Chrissy-Poo, my name is Francie. I'll be 
washing and setting your hair. I'm also told that your mistress has 
instructed that it be frosted."
	Chris gulped. <How far was Sharon going to go with this?> He 
felt the chair fall backward as his head was lowered into the sink. 
Francie began washing his hair.

*********

	Meanwhile, at the high school, Sharon and Chris' 15-year-old 
daughter Karen was getting her indoctrination to the joys of 
petticoating and dominating young men. She was meeting with the 
leaders of the school's "domination team," who had brought along their 
personal slaves--all boys who also attended the school in feminine 
disguise--to demonstrate their control over the male sex.
	The girls, like their mothers, favored leather clothing--while 
the boys, like their hapless fathers, were dressed in the most 
feminine of styles. The leader of the team was Melinda, Gretchen's 
daughter, who wore a clinging outfit of black leather jacket and 
jeans, with spiked-heel knee-length boots. The other two girls, Sondra 
and Kathryn, wore similar outfits. They had all lent leather clothing 
to newcomer Karen, so she would not look out of place. [blklthr.pcx]
	"C'mon, Misty, show Karen how you greet your mistress," 
Melinda ordered her slave, a mincing 17-year-old senior once named 
Michael. He was dressed in Parisian high fashion, as Melinda preferred 
him to be: silk blouse, tight slim-cut navy skirt, topped by a fitted 
jacket. Underneath, she had him dressed in what she termed "slut 
lingerie"--black lacy half-bra, black lacy crotchless panties, 
matching garter belt and black seamed stockings. He was perched on 
six-inch-heeled black patent pumps.
	Misty fell to her knees at Melinda's feet, pressing her red 
glossy lips against the gleaming leather of the teen-age dominatrix's 
boots. She ran her tongue up the length of each boot. Then Melinda 
took the cross-dressed boy's scarlet-nailed hands and drew him to her 
face, planting a passionate French kiss upon him, thrusting her tongue 
deep into the boy-girl's lipsticked mouth. She reached down and rubbed 
her hand over the growing mound beneath the navy skirt Melinda wore. 
Then she pushed him away, nearly sprawling him on the ground.
	Misty's hands strayed toward her turgid cock. "Don't you 
dare!" commanded Melinda. "Who does that little dicky thing belong 
to?" she asked.
	"To you and you alone, Mistress," Misty responded, blushing.
	"Drop your skirt, Misty," Melinda demanded. The embarrassed 
femme obeyed. "Pull out your dicky thing." Again Misty complied. "Now 
jerk off!"
	Misty began to pull and rub his cock, feeling it grow larger 
and larger in his hands. Then--just as he was about to explode--
Melinda cried, "Stop!" Immediately he dropped his hands to his sides.
	Melinda turned to her compatriots. "Janice," she cooed, "don't 
you think your little Judy would like a taste of come? I know she 
loves it."
	All eyes turned to Judy, nee Jules, a petite young slave 
dressed in little girl drag: taffeta party dress with ruffled 
petticoats, smooth bare legs with white ankle socks. The little-girl 
look was belied by the size of his breast implants and the seven-inch 
white heels he was forced to wear. He looked to his mistress, a tall 
well-built black girl.
	"Well, you heard Mistress Melinda," she told him. "Suck that 
cock," she ordered, pointing to Misty's still-swollen member. The 
little-girl TV dropped to her knees and took the cock in her mouth, 
sucking off the other cross-dressed lad until he shuddered with 
pleasure.
	Melinda turned to the stunned but smiling Karen. "You see, 
Karen, the implants make them unable to defy us. All you have to do is 
make your pick of the unattached femmes in the school."

**********

	At Carla's beauty salon, Chris was just seeing the results of 
Francie's efforts. His hair was now a coppery red, falling into gentle 
waves to his shoulders. His eyebrows had been reshaped into ladylike 
arches; even his ears had been pierced. Little gold studs now graced 
his lobes. His face had been artfully made up, with eyeshadow, 
mascara, blush, lipstick and powder. He couldn't believe his eyes. He 
actually looked like a woman--albeit a bizarre one, given the satin 
outfit he was still wearing.
	In the mirror, he saw Sharon come up from behind him. "Well, 
Chrissy-Poo, now you know that the women of Stepton mean what they 
say. You'll stay a man-woman from now on."
	He turned to face her and began to speak. She put her hand to 
his lips and whispered, "Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo." <Oh no! 
She's done it again--I'm helpless!>
	"Now, Chrissy-Poo," said Sharon, settling into one of the 
salon's chairs, "I'm horny. Satisfy me."
	"Yes, Mistress," he responded, burying his face in Sharon's 
hot pussy. <Why is this happening? Why can't I stop? Why am I so 
excited?!>

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

	Later that day, Chrissy-Poo and Sharon arrived home. Though 
the implant permitted no outward sign of it, the transformed sissy was 
shocked to find Carla, her own little boy-girl Charlotte and her maid- 
husband Deirdre waiting for them in the living room. <What are they 
doing here?>
	The answer came in a moment, as the three stepped aside to 
reveal Chris and Sharon's son Danny--looking very little like a son at 
the moment. Laid out on the couch, he was dressed in a pink taffeta 
party dress, with starched white crinolines and opaque white stockings 
underneath. He wore charming black patent leather Mary Janes with a 
two-inch heel upon his feet and white lace gloves upon his hands, 
folded neatly below his childish bosom. His face was artfully made up 
to disguise his masculinity, a disguise furthered by the curly, 
shoulder-length blonde wig he wore. <Oh no!> thought Chris, <has Danny 
already had the implant done? Is it too late for him?>
	"I thought you were going to wait for us to get home to 
transform Danny?" Sharon asked.
	"Oh, this is just a preliminary stage," Carla replied. 
"Charlotte was visiting--under my orders--and slipped a drugged juice 
drink to little Danielle here. We've found that the implant works 
particularly well on adolescents if they are already in a transformed
state."
	"Good," Sharon commented. "I want to be here to establish the 
proper pecking order among my little transformed beauties."
	<What does she mean by that? Is Sharon planning something even 
more bizarre with Danny?>
	While Chrissy-Poo pondered, Carla prepared the implant 
injector. She pressed the "muzzle" of the air-gun against the back of 
the cross-dressed Danny and pulled the "trigger." There was a brief 
hiss and she withdrew the device. "It's done," she announced.
	"Get the little dear to his feet," Sharon requested, "and wake 
him up." Charlotte and Deirdre hauled the still-sleeping boy-girl off 
the couch and shook him to rouse him.
	"Huh--what's goin' on...Mom? What is all this...." he mumbled, 
blearily.
	His mother turned to Carla. "What's his activation phrase?" 
Carla whispered in Sharon's ear. "Oh, that's good." She turned back to 
Danny, who was starting to notice how he was dressed--and how his 
erstwhile father was dressed as well.
	"Dad? Why are you in those clothes? What's happening?"
	"Danielle, blow me a kiss!" Sharon announced.
	Danny stopped speaking in mid-sentence, pursed his lips and 
blew a kiss to his domineering mother. "May I do anything else for 
you, Mother?" he asked, in feminine tones.
	<Oh God!> Chris thought. <She's done it--now we're both 
helpless. We're just boy-girl sex slaves...just like every other male in Stepton!>
	"Danielle, Carla informs me that her friend Michelle needs a 
model for her children's clothing store in New York," Sharon informed 
her transformed son. "I have told her you would be happy to take the 
job. Naturally, all your salary will be turned over to me."
	"Oh, Mother, that's wonderful! I so love to wear pretty 
clothes!" Danielle enthused.
	<I hate hearing him talk like that--but partly because I want 
to be the one wearing those clothes,> Chris realized. <What else does 
Sharon have planned for us?>
	Sharon turned to her husband-slave. "As for you, Chrissy-Poo, 
Michelle also has a section of the store that sells exotic and bizarre 
clothing for transformed males like yourself. I have told her you 
would be pleased to act as a sales girl--and model--for her."
	"Oh, I can't wait, Mistress Sharon," Chrissy-Poo exclaimed. 
And the horrible thing was that he couldn't.


The Stepton Slaves, Part 3

	The next day, Sharon drove Chrissy-Poo and Danielle to the 
city. Chrissy-Poo was dressed in her most elegantly bizarre clothes. 
On the outside, it seemed as though her skintight jump suit was 
shining red satin; but the satin covered only the outer surface. 
Beneath it was a form-hugging rubber suit. Under that outre outfit, 
Chrissy-Poo wore her usual corset, laced to a breath-tightening 19 
inches, 37C false boobs, and rubber panties. Her shoes were red patent 
leather pumps with seven-inch heels; they were secured to her feet 
with tiny padlocks--"so you don't kick them off when you get 
uncomfortable," Sharon advised her. In order to prepare her for the 
bondage she might sometimes have to display in her new position at 
Michelle's shop, Sharon had also laced Chrissy-Poo into a single 
glove, her elbows tightly bound in the small of her back.
	Danielle, on the other hand, appeared to be the epitome of 
youthful femininity. The transformed boy wore a white cotton dress 
with lots of lace on its Buster-Brown collar, cuffs and hem. The skirt 
of the dress stopped six inches above her knees and was thrust out at 
nearly right angles by the three layers of white taffeta petticoats 
that rustled beneath it. Despite her youth, her bust had also been 
padded out--though not to the same extreme as her erst-while father's. 
Beneath the dress she was all in satin--satin camisole, satin garter 
belt, satin panties. Her sheer white nylons made her legs look both 
sleek and childlike--especially with the pink-trimmed ankle socks and 
white patent Mary Janes she wore on her feet.
	Both boy-girls had been artfully made up. Chrissy-Poo's face 
looked adult and sensuous--but innocent as well, with her cheeks 
rouged to imitate the embarrassed blush of a woman ashamed of her 
flaunted femininity. Danielle's make up, though, was subtle and 
gentle, making the 12-year-old boy look the picture of shy youth. 
Still, she was beautiful, certain to attract the eye of any young 
lad--and be the envy of the customers for whom she would model in 
Michelle's store. [brooke.pcx]
	Sharon parked the car near Broadway and 79th on Manhattan's 
fashionable West Side and directed the two "girls" to follow her. They 
were greeted at the shop door by Michelle, who clapped her hands in 
delight at the sight of her two new employees.
	"Sharon, honey, they're wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I just 
love what you've done with Chrissy-Poo's bondage. And Danielle--her 
dress is just darling!" The shop owner reached down and took the skirt 
of the youthful boy-girl's dress in her hands, rustling the petticoats 
across Danielle's legs. Beneath her panties, Danielle could feel her 
cock grow from the stimulation.
	"Now, you just leave them to me," she continued. "I close the 
shop at six. You can come and pick them up then. Enjoy your day in the 
city."

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

	Two hours later,  both boy-girls were well into  their 
respective jobs. Danielle was modeling for one of Michelle's exclusive 
customers, a young matron who had petticoated her own little boy.
	She was outfitted in a red velvet party dress with white lace 
collar and cuffs. Her hands were tightly encased in white cotton 
gloves. Like the dress in which she had come to the store, the skirt 
was buoyed by the three starched petticoats beneath it. Her legs were 
bare, with just white ankle socks with a red satin ribbon through the 
cuff and red patent leather strapless pumps upon her feet. This 
customer preferred to keep her charge in mild bondage, so Michelle had 
demonstrated how this pretty party outfit could be accessorized with 
white satin ribbon wrapped tightly around Danielle's wrists tied in a 
big bow, keeping her hands locked tightly together, while the ribbons 
in her socks had been tied together as well, restricting her step to a 
scant eight inches.
	The young matron looked thoughtfully at the bound vision 
Danielle made--and then glanced at her own "daughter," sitting beside 
her, with her neck immobilized by a punishment collar so that she had 
no choice but to look at her counterpart, despite her deep desire to 
avoid knowing her fate.
	Chrissy-Poo, on the other hand, was modeling even more bizarre 
clothing for a professional mistress who frequently ordered her cross- 
dressed clients to accompany her to Michelle's shop. The dominatrix 
had one such slave with her today. He was dressed in tight-fitting 
green sheath which set off his red wig beautifully. The extremely 
tight corset he wore was perfectly obvious beneath the sheath, as were 
his garters and stocking tops below the short tight skirt. He wore 
eight-inch heels, in which he couldn't really walk. He was completely 
at his mistress' mercy.
	Chrissy-Poo, perched on a pedestal in the center of the shop, 
was equally at Michelle's mercy. She was still in her corset, but now 
her clothing consisted of a black leather miniskirt and white satin 
halter. Her hands were chained in front of her, locked to the belt of 
the skirt. She could move them perhaps three inches in any direction. 
Her legs were tightly encased in white patent leather, thigh-high 
boots with six-inch heels. They had been carefully posed in a feminine 
gesture--one foot slightly in front of the other, toe pointed, knee 
slightly bent. To ensure that she could not change her position, 
Chrissy-Poo's feet were chained to the pedestal.
	Michelle stood next to her, demonstrating the various bondage 
gear sold in the shop. Finally, when she wished to prove how helpless 
a cross-dressed slave could be in this outfit, she began to massage 
Chrissy-Poo's breasts, hips and crotch, stroking the transformed man's 
body through the sensuous leather and lace. Chrissy-Poo's growing 
excitement was obvious.
	<Oh God!> Chris thought. <Even under this skirt, my cock must 
be visible! It feels so big! Please, Michelle, don't make me come! Not 
here, not now!>
     Michelle leaned over and whispered in Chrissy-Poo's ear, "Now 
come for me, little Chrissy-Poo."
	She shuddered and came, unable to resist the power of the 
implant that turned Chris Martin into one of the Stepton slaves.

THE END