Not That Bad

March 1, 2011

Sampson shook his head. “First of all, do girls wear jockey shorts, Jill?”

The boy looked down, shell-shocked. “No.”

“What do they wear instead?”

“Panties,” he whispered softly.

Sampson nodded and pulled from the bag a pair of pink cotton panties, handing them to Jill. “Put on your pretty new panties Jill.”

The boy took them, eyes downcast. Obediently he slipped them on. The close-fitting bikini panties covered his midsection.

“And what else do girls wear underneath their clothes Jill?” he pressed.

But Jill didn’t answer now. Instead he sat across from him in his pink panties, looking away, realizing at last that he would be wearing panties from now on.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/surgery/not-that-bad

From agate!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Tue Aug 8 09:43:20 1995
Message-ID:
Path: agate!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an225040@anon.penet.fi (marlissa)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an225040@anon.penet.fi
Date: Tue, 8 Aug 1995 12:02:36 UTC
Subject: NEW Not That Bad 1/3 (tg, nc, teen, white slavery, auction, bd)
Lines: 505

The following three part story contains adult material. If below
the age of 18, go outside, get some fresh air and do something
healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is
about teenaged boys who are forcibly feminized and
transformed into slavegirls by a white slavery ring through
chemical and pyschological techniques, then auctioned off for
profit. It contains non-consensual sex and b&d themes. Both
the characters and occurences in this series are completely
fictitious.

NOT THAT BAD/Part One

by Marlissa

Being a girl wasn’t all that bad, thought Kim. You could wear
the prettiest clothes and make yourself as beautiful as you could
with all the make up and perfume and nail polish and
everything. The catalogs were filled with such nice things too.
You could get lost in the wonderful clothing catalogs from all
those great stores– Spiegel’s, Royal Silk, and of course,
Victoria’s Secret. Even Frederick’s of Hollywood had pretty
things. The bras especially. Kim dreamed of going to
Hollywood sometime and visiting Frederick’s Bra Museum
some day. Wouldn’t that be fun?

Not that Kim had breasts that required most of Frederick’s
brassieres, that was for sure. Kim had small, no be honest
Kimmy!, very small breasts– 32AAs to be exact. Oh, they
were a heartbreakingly small pair, like a little girl’s. But Kim
was sixteen– the age where most girls had the breasts they
would live their lives with. Kim’s hands caressed the bare
breasts, making the pink eraser-looking nipple tips stand up in
trembling excitement. Ooooh! This was naughty! Kimmy,
stop yourself this instant, the teen thought. The hands dropped
away.

Bored and frustrated, Kim waited, sitting naked on the bed.
Life was about waiting. Without thinking, the teenager did a
self-inspection. The nails, painted glossy pink, were perfect–
finely filed and about a half inch long. The toenails were
likewise painted in the glossy pink. Was the long clean blonde
hair tied in a ponytail? Yes, and not a stray hair poked from the
bow. The underarms were as smooth as silk, the long pale legs
shaven as close as possible, giving them a caressable glow.
May as well do a face check, Kim thought and bounced off the
bed. Looking in the mirror revealed the same face as always–
the same berry blue eyes, the thin pink cotton candy lips that
made up the small, puckish mouth. The thin blonde arcs that
were the eyebrows so carefully plucked each and every day.
The light blonde, almost invisible, lashes that needed the black
Mabelline to allow the blue eyes to tease with their batting. The
small, straight nose. The pink ears that poked out of the drawn-
back blonde hair with their pierced lobes. And the small
dimpled chin. Oh it was all perfect as always. Kim sighed and
dropped gently back onto the bed again, wishing to be given
permission to dress soon. It was a drag not to be able to do
anything, even dress.

Normally, there was a lot to do– aerobics, doing chores,
watching teevee, chatting with the other girls, and more.
Activities at least kept Kim busy, so busy as not to dwell on the
facts. But with nothing to do now, Kim could only be reminded
that the world the teen lived in was a prison. It was a nice
prison. the bedroom was comfy, filled with pretty clothes,
makeup, a comfy bed, lots of books and magazines. And Kim
was allowed to play and talk with the other girls, who like Kim,
were brought, trained and kept here by the strong silent men.
But it was a prison nevertheless. Much like the prison between
the long smooth legs. But like the male chastity belt that Kim
had worn for two and a half years, the teen was used to it.

Between the legs, taut thigh crushed thigh to hide something
else that kept Kimmie under lock and key more than the locks
on the doors of the Complex. Between the legs, there was a
small metallic pouch, held there by nylon-thin metal strands as
tight as guitar strings. And in that pouch was imprisoned what
was left of the old Tim. Kim could feel it even now, resting in
the snug cocoon, could feel air between the legs where the poor
thing was pressed, starting from right below his crotch, running
up between the cheeks of his butt. Kim could do what he
needed to do for his physical necessities, but no more. When it
got excited from Kim’s handling or frequent punishments, the
metal pouch was such a harsh warden. The poor thing would
thicken a bit, then press against the metal that never gave.
There had to be a lock for the thing, probably a tiny one
between his legs. But he knew instinctively from the tautness of
the pouch and restraining metal strands that unless the key was
used to free him, there was no way he was getting it off himself.
And Kim had been at the Complex long enough to know the
key would never find purchase in the lock.

It was the least of the changes Kim had undergone here at the
Complex. The Treatments had transformed him from a
growing fourteen and a half year old boy that was 5’5″ and
weighed 130 pounds into what he was now– a pretty sixteen
year old blonde girl with firm little boobs, nice curvy hips, long
legs and a tiny cute little butt. It was so weird. The Treatments
had hurt– all surgical procedures and casts were painful– but
the Guardians all said not to worry. At this age, it was much
easier to make the transformation than for boys who were older.
He struggled against the changes, but then the Treatments
switched from surgery to injections. And the injections in a
way had deeper effects on him than the surgery.

In the beginning they simply made him groggy. The Guardians
had wanted to ease him into his new body and to dull the shock,
Kim guessed. That phase had lasted a long dreamless month.
Then when Kim began to use his new body and exercise the
newly strung muscles, the injections had dulled that pain too.
But there were other effects too. Kim suspected that the
injections had changed the way he thought about things. Not
the thoughts maybe– he still hated being called Kim when his
name was Tim– but the way he thought about them. He wasn’t
so sure about things any more– he became confused.

For example, when the Guardians explained to Kim that “she”
had to keep “her” legs and underarms shaved with “her” pink
Daisy razor every day, he didn’t ask why. He knew it was all
wrong, so very wrong that he should be called a “she” but
couldn’t explained why. It was true of the make-up as well. It
was absolutely critical, the Guardians instructed, that “Kimmie”
keep herself made up and pretty. But it wasn’t, was it? Why
couldn’t they just let him go? But he didn’t even try to argue.
He learned how to make himself up instead. And wait for the
next instruction on how to be a “proper girl”– there were
always more.

So Kim waited. Over the last two and a half years, Kim had
been taught to wait though. The teen had been trained to react,
not act– to anticipate, not formulate. It was true of speaking.
When Kim had first been brought to the Complex, he had found
that when he spoke, no one answered his questions, or even
noticed he was talking! The Guardians just ignored him. All his
screaming, all his yelling was wasted. Gradually Kim learned
that when he was spoken TO he had the opportunity to speak
back. But initiating conversation was useless, as if there was no
point in the minds of the Guardians in listening to anything Kim
might say.

It was frustrating not to have your words even acknowledged.
Even when he was spoken to, if he didn’t respond properly, the
Guardians wouldn’t answer his many questions. Over the weeks
and months, Kim had learned how to respond in a way that the
Guardians did find acceptable. Instead of answering in a surly
tone, he began answering in a pleasing way. This brought
approving nods from the Guardians and encouraged Kim to put
even more work into his speaking. They liked it when Kim
tried to listen harder. When Kim tried to interject comments
when speaking, they turned cold. But when Kim learned to nod
and smile when he was being spoken to, they were pleased.
When Kim did speak, he kept his voice low, his words simple
and clearly enunciated. Always Kim smiled. Smiling pleased
the Guardians. So did using your hands in little flippy twists
and gestures. And using “nice” words were looked on
favorably too. “Please” became “oh pretty little please?” and
“thank you” became “thank you sooo much!.”

Then Kim found that just making statements wasn’t even simple.
At first, when Kim was asked a question, he would answer
promptly. But the Guardians frowned on this simple direct way
of talking. Again, as time passed, Kim learned the Guardians
were more pleased when Kim answered a question with a
question. So when a Guardian asked Kim if he was through
with aerobics training for the day, he no longer answered “Yes
Sir.” Instead he would look up, smile and answer “Why only if
you think I’ve done enough for today, Sir. Is my tummy trim
enough or should I work harder on my hips or bust?” They
liked this, liked it when Kim tried to please them this way. At
first Kim felt silly saying things like this, but it gradually it
became so natural he forgot he had ever spoken any other way.

Being a boy had made things hard at first. Just like Kim had
talked like a boy, always loud and interrupting, so too was his
way of acting all wrong. The way he had to act now was the
opposite of how he had acted before being brought here. Before
he had done stuff– run, jumped, horsed around with other boys.
Now he had to restrain himself, had to mind the way he moved.
Now Kim knew better about what kind of activity was
appropriate for him to take part in. Skirts needed to be patted
down and legs crossed to keep thighs properly covered,
otherwise anyone could get a peek at Kim’s panties. And
anything outdoors could cause problems– ruin Kim’s carefully
prepared hair, chip a nail, put a run in a stocking. Talking and
listening to the other girls was easier and caused less problems.
Experimenting with clothing and make-up was o.k. too and
aerobics was absolutely necessary for figure shaping. But no
activity that was messy was allowed, or anything where you
had to think about things too much.

A Guardian had told Kim not long ago that “she” was turning
into “a regular Barbie doll” and it was proof that he was
growing used to his new life that he had two immediate
thoughts. First, absolute joy that he had received the
compliment and second, that his boobs weren’t Barbie-sized.
Maybe Kim was a girl after all. He was used to acting like a
girl now– quiet and smiling like a girl, picture perfect
appearance like a girl. And the Guardians didn’t expect Kim to
be anything other than a Barbie doll kind of girl anyway.

The door was being unlocked! Kim hopped off the bed,
waiting. One of the Guardians, the younger bald man entered
this time, the one with the moonshaped scar on his face. He
didn’t like this one. He was called Hercules by the other
Guardians and was one of the sternest. If you were unlucky
enough to be corrected by Hercules, you were sure to regret it.
Kim modestly clutched the soft hands to the bare breasts and
lap. The man chuckled as Kim did this.

“Put on some underwear, something pretty.” He stood and
waited for Kim to obey.

Kim hated when they did this. They would come and watch
you do everything and keep their eyes on you all the time. It
was so humiliating never to have any privacy. As if they
thought you were going to escape or something. Kim had
talked to the other girls and knew you couldn’t escape. From
time to time, one of the other girls tried, usually one who hadn’t
been there long enough to receive the Treatments. But they
were always found out and punished in front of the others. Kim
hated “Example Nights”, couldn’t bear to watch the guilty girl
being whipped till she fainted. Kim never thought of escape
anymore. Oh sure, Kim had been punished on “Example Night”
a few times, but Kim had earned at most a good paddling.
Kim’s crimes had been nothing that the other girls hadn’t been
punished for– poor posture, clumsiness, unladylike manners,
fashion faux pas, makeup mistakes, being a few pounds over
the required body weight and so forth. Once a week for two
and a half years of Example Nights had taught Kim to keep
mistakes to a minimum. But still one of the Guardians needed
to watch Kim put on panties and a bra! Ooooh! It was so
aggravating!

With hands still protecting breasts and crotch from view, Kim
backed up to the dresser. then turning around, the hand deftly
dropped from the breasts to hide the now exposed ass.
Frantically, Kim dove into the top drawer, the one where the
undies were. The hand fished in and came up with a simple
pair of white full-cut cotton panties.

“You can find a prettier pair than that I think,” the Guardian
urged impatiently. He pointed at the dresser/

There were prettier pairs. Kim had only reached for the top
pair. But in the drawer were panties and bras of all colors and
styles– cute floral bikinis, adorable white panties decorated
with cherries, daring red French cut panties from Bloomie’s,
boring white training bras (Kim hated them but the Guardians
insisted; her breasts were small, they said and needed shaping),
white sport bras that Kim wore while doing aerobics, a darling
pink underwired bra trimmed with lace that gave Kim’s breasts
some a needed lift, and others, so many others. There were nice
slips for dresses, and half slips for shorter ones, plus pairs of
sheer thigh highs, stockings and garter belts to show off Kim’s
legs. There were pastel teddys for lounging in bed, as well as
camis and tap pants that Kim would slip into at night when
readying for bed.

Kim dropped the white panties back in the drawer and pulled
out a pair the Guardian would accept. It was the sexiest pair
Kim owned– a pair of black cotton Calvin Klein thong panties.
When Guardians said “pretty” it meant “sexy.” The dark cool
cotton thong was quickly pulled up the long legs, covering and
shaping Kim’s buns tightly. Underneath the chastity belt kept
the natural bulge flat and level as much as stainless steel could.
No word from the Guardian meant acceptance and Kim
continued to slip on the matching black cotton soft cup
brassiere. Pleasure throbbed in the nipples as the cotton cups
snugly lifted the petite breasts upward.

The sixteen year old turned, no longer as self-conscious. The
Guardians saw the other girls in their undies regularly. At first
Kim had thought that he had been brought to the Complex for
the same reason that Joe Bob had wanted him to stay– for sex,
pure and simple. But the strange thing was that the Guardians
never touched the girls in their charge, except to punish them.
The girls were taught to dress, to make themselves up as
attractively as possible, to put themselves on display as
femininely as possible, but never had Kim seen any of the
scantily clad prisoners abused by the Guardians. Yet they were
encouraged and expected to act like dainty teenage virgin girls!
And they were treated like prized possessions, not like whores
at all. Why, the Guardians complimented them when they
exhibited the shy curiosity of girls about things sexual. Kim
had learned early to be demure, to smile a lot, to giggle, to keep
himself on display for the Guardians. Playful flirting was
becoming mandatory. Pirouettes in pretty flowing party
dresses, hands on hips to show off subtly tightening miniskirts,
chests stuck out playfully to present firm teen breasts– it was all
happening more and more as Kim grew older. But it was o.k.
to act this way because while the Guardians liked this behavior,
they never pressed beyond it. For whatever reason Kim was
here, it wasn’t to service the needs of the Guardians.

Hecules then pulled out something that began to scare Kim– a
pair of shiny cuffs. “Put your hands behind your back,” he
gruffly ordered.

“Oh! Well, may I finish dressing Sir? I’d love to put on
something pretty for you!” Kim offered. Though the girls
scampered about in undies, they usually were kept dressed.
And Kim hadn’t been bound for a long, long time in cuffs.
Something was happening.

The Guardian held the cuffs up, shaking them. He repeated the
order.

Kim obeyed, shivering as the metal encircled and captured the
thin wrists. Next the obedience collar, a stiff long-armed lead
with a collar that fitted over the teen’s neck. Now the Guardian
pushed the teen out of the room, using the obedience collar to
guide Kim. Kim’s bare feet were cold by the time the Guardian
unhooked the obedience collar in the Amphitheater, a place
rarely visited.

Kim was relieved at first as the cuffs were unlocked, but that
was only to draw the wrist together over the teen’s blonde head
and slipped over a hook. Then Kim hung suspended, arms high
over head. He could see he was one of nine other girls who
were similarly suspended. Like him, they weren’t really girls
but boys. But they all looked so pretty in their own way that
Kim thought of them as girls, not boys. It was a little sad to
think that they thought of him that way too. The prisoners
looked at each other shyly and in quiet terror. What was
happening?

Lights blazed on and chattering voices approached. One of the
Guardians. At last Kim could see him. Of course it was
Sampson, the tall one who had lured Kim into this new life two
and a half years ago.

Kim blinked back the tears. Sampson had seen him at the bus
station, after having traveled for hours to escape his stepfather
Joe Bob. The memory still upset Kim. Joe Bob had been so
nice at first. Momma had meant him at the bar where she
waitressed. He was a rich Texas oilman, she had said– very
rich. Not long after, he had married her and Joe Bob had taken
the two from the dreary trailer park into his mansion. It had
been so pleasant at first, till Joe Bob had started to make
Momma DO THINGS, not caring if Tim was there or not. And
then Momma had died. Joe Bob said it was Her Time, but Tim
wasn’t so sure. She had seemed healthy, if not happy about her
new husband.

Not long after, his stepfather told him he wanted Tim to DO
THINGS for him, things that it wasn’t right for a fourteen and a
half year old boy to do. “Now that you’re Momma’s gone,
you’ll mind me better. And now that she’s gone, you’ll have to
do the things she did to make me happy,” Joe Bob had said. Joe
Bob had pulled out his Momma’s panties and bras and told him
he’d have to wear them. “You’re the girl of the house, now,”
Joe Bob had said and the big, older man had made him put on
the ladies’ underwear. And then Joe Bob had made him do
THOSE THINGS.

The next morning when Joe Bob had been sleeping, he had left–
TIM had left. He hated being treated that way and made to act
like a girl for Joe Bob and knew if he stayed, he would indeed
have to become the “girl of the house” as Joe Bob wanted. And
that was how he wound up in the bus station alone without
money and scared. ‘Sampson,’ if that was his real name, had
said he was with a church shelter– he could help him get a
place to sleep for the night. He understood what he was going
through and could help him escape his stepfather. Tim had been
relieved to find such a good friend as Sampson and took the
Coke he gave him, drinking it down at once.

But the Coke had been drugged. And then he had wound up
here in the Complex. When he awoke, he was nude, and except
for the hair on his head, he was hairless. Tim felt the pouch
then for the first time. Sampson told him in a kindly way that
he had been taken to the Complex, a wonderful place where
Tim would learn how special being a girl was. Why? asked
Tim. And why me? Because you are going to become a girl,
he was told, and because you will make a very pretty girl. The
Treatments will help you to become a girl, to look like a girl, to
move like a girl, to act like a girl, to think like a girl and most
important to feel like a girl.

“You’ll come to understand that if you behave yourself, it isn’t
all that bad being a girl, Kim,” Sampson had said. That was
how he found out what his new name was to be Kim, though
when he was good, the Guardians called him Kimmie as well,
and when he was bad, they would call him Kimberly.

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

And now he stood in front of ten of his prettiest pets of the
Complex, rubbing his hands. He smiled appreciatively at the
sight. The ten girls were so darling there, awaiting inspection
from the buyers, squirming in their undies. He let his eyes
dance over his merchandise, satisfied with them all, imagining
which girl might be bought by whom.

There was the one on the end, the one he had transformed from
Peter to Pam, the short haired pageboy blonde in the yellow
panties and camisole. He had been such a boy’s boy at thirteen.
And now at fifteen, Pamela was such a mincing little priss with
her dainty 32B titties. She make a wonderful upstairs maid
with her sense of place. Pam was naturally tight– a tightness
that would fetch about $100,000.

And there was John now Joanie, the curly brunette in the red
and white polka dot teddy who struggled next to her. Hadn’t
John been a junior varsity football player? Now Joanie was
more of a cheerleader type– all ditzy, head full of air and chest
full of 34D tits. Probably make a nice “niece” for some older
man. Joanie was a cutey– could she bring as much as
$110,000? He thought she might.

He loved the long legs of Donna, once Don. She had such
expressive blue eyes too, blue that matched her gauzy nightie
negligee. It was lovely lingerie for such a “mature” girl of
eighteen. Don had been hitchhiking when Sampson had picked
him up, but now he was a she and was sure to make a
wonderful dancer for a strip club owner with those bursting 34C
breasts of hers, swaying underneath that nightie! She was older,
but big tits went a long way– maybe $75,000.

Poor Mandy, who had been Andy, seemed very afraid. She
was so skittish now– and to think Andy had been a Boy Scout!
Now Mandy was a timid chestnut haired sweetie in pink Hanes
For Her bikini panties and bra. A proper little pansy in a penis
in her panties and 32C breasts stuffed in her bra cups. What
would she be best suited for– a personal secretary in the office
of some strict Fortune 500 boss? Easily $90,000.

And Mary who had been Marty– a pale long redhaired Irish
rose. She dangled there limply in her snow white cotton panties
and plain white Olga bra. Mary had been an altar boy who he
had stolen from a Boston church at twelve. Now at sixteen, he
would make a wonderful bed companion for a powerful
Catholic Bishop, one who longed to touch the taboo flesh of a
35C chest. From Marty to Sister Mary? Sampson chuckled.
Sure–for $125,000!

And there was Natasha, once Sasha, his Russian import. The
break-up of the Soviet Empire had brought wonderful dividends
such as Natasha, his pale, raven haired honey. He had bought
Sasha wholesale for a pittance from some traders in the Black
Sea and now she hung there like a true Russian minx in her red
cotton teddy. Sampson knew one of his auction guests ran a
very unusual cruise service in which such talent as Natasha kept
leashed at the foot of each cabin bed for the use of the paying
passenger. A cool $115,000 for the 34C busted babe.

Look at Danny, now Annie! Long soft brown hair, nice wide
brown eyes, and big pouty mouth–wasn’t she a dish? She
looked so forlorn hanging there in the beige strapless, front
closing demibra that gave her ripe seventeen year old 32B
breasts such tempting definition, not to mention those tummy-
control top beige panties. What buyer wouldn’t be interested,
especially one with oral needs? He could think of a madam
who ran a call girl service for politicians who was sure to bid a
minimum of $85,000.

Erin would fetch more though. Had she been Eric in her former
male life? The wench with the long bleached blonde hair who
now was dressed in the dark navy blue string bikini had been a
cabin boy on a private yacht till the Guardian’s pirate attack had
“liberated” the boy. Now Erin was one of those “beach girl”
boy toys with 34B breasts and especially widened hips that
were some accentuated by panty and bikini bottoms. Sampson
had a wealthy widowed yachtsman who would love to have a
“first mate” with these measurements for a clean $100,000.

Linda was a little prize. Taking Lenny, a fourteen year old
delinquent at a heavy metal concert and turning him into Linda,
a sassy little punk bitch with short spiky auburn hair and an ass
that wouldn’t quit– now there was a successful transformation!
The sixteen year old looked like the world’s hottest teen
groupie– her 36C boobs wanted to pop out of her “This Slut
Property of Megahead Rock Group” cropped t-shirt top and her
ass wriggled in those neon purple thong panties in the most
inviting way. How ironic that the band was a customer– Linda
was likely to indeed become the property of Megahead for a
mere $80,000!

And now Hercules was adding Kimmie to the menagerie.
Kimmie, his little blonde bimbo. What a find she had been!
She had been Tim, he thought so anyway, a runaway– his
biggest source of cuties. And now she was Kimmie, sixteen
year old debutante. How darling she looked in her snug, stylish
Calvin Klein undies! Of all his girlies, Kimmie was the biggest
clothes pony. She loved making herself up and being a girl.
They all were girls now, but Kimmie liked being a girl the
most. Of course she had been here the longest. Sampson had
kept her for an extra year, hoping against hope that the
injections would boost her pathetically flat breast size. But to
no avail– the breasts were firm little 32AAs and that was that.
Training bra for life. It was too bad. Despite her high school
teen queen prettiness, it would keep her price down. Kimmie
would sell for no more than $50,000. And then if at all, for
why buy her when there were such other buxom young beauties
for the having? Perhaps one of the pimps would buy her for
“retail” street use. How sad.

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From agate!howland.reston.ans.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Tue Aug 8 09:43:20 1995
Message-ID:
Path: agate!howland.reston.ans.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an225040@anon.penet.fi (marlissa)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an225040@anon.penet.fi
Date: Tue, 8 Aug 1995 12:03:53 UTC
Subject: NEW Not That Bad 2/3 (tg, nc, teen, white slavery, auction, bd)
Lines: 661

The following three part story contains adult material. If below
the age of 18, go outside, get some fresh air and do something
healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is
about teenaged boys who are forcibly feminized and
transformed into slavegirls by a white slavery ring through
chemical and pyschological techniques, then auctioned off for
profit. It contains non-consensual sex and b&d themes. Both
the characters and occurences in this series are completely
fictitious.

NOT THAT BAD/Part Two

by Marlissa

The thought of Kimmie working a corner for a demanding pimp
excited Sampson. He thought of one the new boys who had just
been brought in sometime ago. He and his teammates had been
on their way to a Little League game when the “accident” had
occurred, all staged by the Guardians easily enough. The bus
driver and coach had been dispatched with ease and the boys
were trooped off the bus into the Guardian’s semitrailer
quicktime. The bus had been tipped off the bridge into the
ravine and exploded on impact– there would be no
investigations and the tragedy would be lamented and forgotten.
These big hauls were dangerous but profitable. The entire raid
had netted fifteen teenage and preteen boys, most of whom
would make desirable and thoroughly feminized lovers for their
future owners.

As they were being processed into their new home the
Complex, Jack had caught his eye. Sampson generally
preferred natural females and resisting the charms of using his
own chattel. Like the drug dealer who refuses to be tempted by
the addiction of using his own products, Sampson had
controlled his lust for the teen flesh for the most part. And
certainly the Guardians were kept from likewise being tempted
by the huge salaries they received. No Guardian had disobeyed
this injunction to date– the money was too good and all knew
Sampson wouldn’t hesitate to exact a supreme revenge on the
one who did use the merchandise.

But this Jack had such spunk. He watched as the unconscious
boy had been stripped, shaved and chastity-belted. And as the
weeks had passed, he kept track of the drugged boy’s
transformation into girlhood– the hormonal injections, the
growing breast buds on the thirteen year old, the lengthening
black hair, the softening milk white skin. And as the boy slowly
regained composure, the dawning horror as he realized what
was being done to him. The day he was told his new name, he
had wept so piteously that Sampson was even touched.

“I’m NOT Jill– I’m Jack!” he had screamed over and over, till at
last he had been sedated. The following days the feminized
boy had been sullen and angry. The Treatments’ effect on his
behavior were taking hold and were channeling his boyish anger
into a more appropriate feminine sulkiness. Whines were
understandable even in the best behaved girlies– outright rage
were not.

“What is your name, girl?” Sampson had asked at last.
Sampson had forbidden any Guardian to speak to the boy–
most unusual. But he had already decided that he would train
this one personally.

In anguish, the naked teen raised his head. His pursed lips were
fuller, seductively poutier now with the collagen injections.
His blue eyes were big with frustration, powerlessness and fear
as they looked up at him.

“Jill– I guess.”

“You guess?” Sampson questioned sternly.

The feminized boy bowed his head. “I mean, I know. I know
my name is Jill from now on.” His voice was melodic, sing-
song now. Sampson nodded with approval.

“Good. Now let us try it again. What is your name, GIRL?”

The teen didn’t lose a second. He could interpret the annoyance
growing in Sampson’s throat. “Jill. My name is Jill.”

Sampson had smiled. “Better. Would Jill like something to
wear?”

The boy had nodded. He had been kept naked for weeks now.
He would very much like something to wear. Sampson
unzipped the small garment bag he had brought with him.

“What would Jill like to wear?” he asked, feigning interest.

At once Jill was jack again. “Some jockey shorts, a pair of
jeans and a t-shirt, please. And a pair of tube socks and
sneakers.”

Sampson shook his head. “First of all, do girls wear jockey
shorts, Jill?”

The boy looked down, shell-shocked. “No.”

“What do they wear instead?”

“Panties,” he whispered softly.

Sampson nodded and pulled from the bag a pair of pink cotton
panties, handing them to Jill. “Put on your pretty new panties
Jill.”

The boy took them, eyes downcast. Obediently he slipped them
on. The close-fitting bikini panties covered his midsection.

“And what else do girls wear underneath their clothes Jill?” he
pressed.

But Jill didn’t answer now. Instead he sat across from him in his
pink panties, looking away, realizing at last that he would be
wearing panties from now on.

“Here’s a clue, Jill.” Sampson leaned forward and flicked the
nipple on Jill’s small left breast. Jill closed his arms over his
chest at once. Good– natural modesty. “Now, what else do
GIRLS wear underneath their clothes, Jill?”

he mumbled something and I told him to speak up. “Bras,” he
answered. “That’s right, Jill– bras. And with your little breasts
growing you need a bra too. A special kind of bra. Can you
guess what kind of bra you need?”

His pale face was so downcast, so doleful. I could tell he
knew. He was thirteen and what thirteen year old Little
Leaguer hadn’t snapped one that a young girl might wear? “A
training bra,” he answered softly.

I nodded and handed him one. “Put it on Jill. Put on your
training bra, girl.”

He fumbled with the strange new article of clothing. “Not to
worry, Jill. I’ve taught lots of girls your age how to put on their
first training brassiere. Put your arms through the shoulder
straps first. Good. Now hook the bra snap in the back. That’s
o.k.– you’ll get better at it– you’ll be wearing a bra every day
from now on. Now, slip your pretty breasts into the soft cups.
Now since your breasts are so small now, you can adjust the
shoulder straps higher so that your training bra will lift them up.
Good girl, Jill! You’ve got it! Now stand up and model your
new underwear for me!”

Jill stood up uncertainly. He obviously didn’t know what to do
with his hands and they danced nervously from his bra strap to
pulling out his panty to cover up his backside. “Let’s keep those
hands still, Jill. Put them on your hips. No– not like that– with
palms up and thumbs pointing out at me. Good girl.” He
looked so sweet– a young teen in his first panties and training
bra. I twirled my fingers, insisting he spin for me in his new
undies. He did, keeping his hands on his hips, looking just like
a little ballerina.

“Now sit down, pretty girl. And tell me, Jill– what do girls
wear over their training bras?”

“A shirt,” he answered firmly.

I shook my head. He most certainly wouldn’t be wearing a
shirt! “Boys were shirts. What do girls LIKE YOU wear Jill?”
He seemed confused, so I answered for him. “They wear
blouses. Here is one for you. You will put it on now.”

Jill took the white cotton blouse and looked at it. It was a
darling short sleeved blouse with a lacy pink ribboned collar and
lacy trim on the sleeves. It buttoned in the back. As Jill slipped
it on and awkwardly tried to button it behind his back, I
consoled him. “Most girl’s clothing buttons in the back, just like
your training bra. You’ll get used to it.” This seemed to draw a
spark of resentment in his big blue eyes, but he was careful to
keep his pretty mouth shut tight.

“Very cute. Now, let us continue. What do girls wear over
their frilly underwear?”

His face was flushed and his long black hair all tousled from his
pirouettes. I could tell he was mortified by his panty and bra
modeling, and now the fit of his snug white blouse. The tension
of the material was giving him a precious little bust! “Uh, a
dress?”

I smiled. “Sometimes. And sometimes they wear a kind of
dress that shows off their nice smooth legs. What kind of dress
would do that for you Jill?”

“A s-sk-skirt?” Tough to get the words out now, but you’ll learn
Sampson had thought.

“Yes! That’s right, Jill! And here’s one for you– you’re first
skirt! Put it on!”

Jill took the pink denim garment doubtfully. It wasn’t the jeans
he had asked for, that was written all over his face. He stepped
into the skirt zipper side on the front and pulled it up.

“What did I just say about girl’s clothing, Jill? The zipper goes
in the back!”

Hurriedly, he turning the waist around and pulled it up. It got
tight around his hips. “I–uh–can’t get it on. It’s too small!” he
whined.

“No, it isn’t. It is the perfect dress size for you– a Junior Miss
size five. You’re just not familiar with how much tighter girls’
clothing is. Just keep huffing and puffing– you’ll get it on!”

Jill gritted his teeth and managed at last to wriggle himself into
the pink denim miniskirt. Sampson had been impressed– Jill
had properly tucked the blouse into the skirt, sucked in his
breath and zipped it up gallantly. The denim compressed the
pantied teen buns delightfully, giving the thirteen year old a
shapely little figure!

“And finally, what do girls wear on their pretty feet, Jill?”

“Shoes.” He knew what was coming. Sampson could tell. He
had asked him what kind of shoes girls wore, like his own
mother wore to be pretty for his father. “High heels,” the
thirteen year old had responded limply. He took the pair of
three inch pink pumps and slipped into them with quiet
submission. Sampson then told him to stand up. The feminized
boy did so with surprising grace.

If you got them early enough, it was a grace they kept,
Sampson knew. Instead of using that grace to catch flyballs,
Jill’s grace would be harnessed for such activities as curtseying.
He imagined his Jillie in all her future prancing, and capering in
silly female play– the things SHE would be trained to like and
find expression in. Jill would soon forget he had ever partaken
in anything as messy and unfeminine as baseball. No, HIS Jillie
wouldn’t be running in sneakers, SHE would be skipping in her
dainty high heels. He wouldn’t be rounding bases, SHE would
be gliding around a dancefloor in the arms of her “boyfriend.”
He wouldn’t be reading comic books, SHE would be invited
into the naughty mysteries of teen romance novels. He wouldn’t
be playing with balls, bats and mits, SHE would be imagining
the life of a young woman with HER Barbie doll collection. He
wouldn’t be collecting baseball cards, SHE would be collecting
lipsticks and nail polishes. He wouldn’t be reading Sports
Illustrated, SHE would be devouring Sassy and Teen Beat. He
wouldn’t be watching baseball games, SHE would be watching
nice “girl” shows like “Saved by The Bell” and “Blossom.”
And when it was time, he wouldn’t be scoring with some babe,
SHE would be surrendering all her girlish charms to the hunky
boyfriend of HER dreams, the one SHE worshipped and
adored.

Sampson looked at his creation and was contented. This one,
he had decided, he would keep for himself. And Kimmie
reminded him of his Jillie, now waiting for his summons
somewhere in the Complex. Ah well, back to work.

He clapped his hands. “Ladies, your attention please!”
Instantly ten femininzed faces listened hard to his words, eyes
wide in fear and pouty lips trembling.

“As you know, while you’ve been at the Complex, you’ve been
changed– transformed. Once, if you can remember that far
back, you were all boys.” Sampson noted the wistful look on
some of his girlies’ faces and grinned. “But now you’re all girls,
pretty teenage girls. I’m extremely proud of you all. In your
own ways, you have become so very well-behaved, deferential
and obedient young ladies. Even you know your place, don’t
you Linda, you little punker! All of you are now so interested
in being such exquisite, charming young missies. You’ve
become so aware of how important it is to make yourselves up,
to look your best in your frilly new feminine clothes. You have
learned how to make the Guardians smile at your girlish flirting
and you know how to tease and please with the sweetest of
glances and slightest purse of your lips! Just like real teenage
girls, you have discovered the power of your shapely, firm
bodies and your sweet smiles. Look at you all! You look so
lovely and bewitching in your alluring under things. So sweet,
so innocent— and so sexy.”

The feminized boys grew restless at this comment, but Sampson
continued. “As you know, the beauty and sensuality of the
teenage girl is a most sought-after and wonderful thing. Men
and women the world over and throughout history have sought
out pretty girls. And the same is true now. Who won’t want a
pretty girl to have for your very own?

Now you know none of the Guardians have ever touched you.
That is because you were brought here to become girls. And
even though you have tempted them and put them to the test
with your ever-increasing femininity, none have touched you in
an intimate way. But now comes the time in every girl’s life
when she discovers why she has been blessed with her girlish
beauty. And so now you shall be told the reason why you have
been transformed into such desirable teen babes.”

The girlies looked at him as filled with curiosity as their
chemically altered minds and emotions could comprehend. He
continued.

“Outside there are a group of men who find girls like you– girls
with little twigs between their legs in nice tight chastity belts–
very sexy. You should be flattered that they came so far to see
you! They came because they want to look at and perhaps buy
some of you and take you home with them, if you are very
lucky. Sort of like picking out kittens in a pet store! And when
they get you home, they will do to you what people like to do
to pretty teenage girls. They will touch you and teach you how
to make them happy.”

Sampson could tell that all the girlies were terrified. They had
been shielded from the idea of sex for so long they had
forgotten that along with the beauty of their new softened bodies
came the obligation their alluring bodies promised to men. He
went on. “I can tell you are all afraid. It is right to be afraid,
little ladies. Be afraid– be afraid that if you do not please your
masters, that you will be hurt. Believe me, you will be.
Depending on your luck, the man who buys you may be kind or
cruel. Whichever they are, you must try as hard as you can to
bring a smile to their lips with your sexy little girl ways. Do
you understand?”

The girlies remained deathly still and silent. They had not
expected this. Perhaps they thought they would always remain
in their pretty pink teen girl world of the Complex. But soon it
would be time for these girlies to know what it was to be used
as a sexy young slut. Sampson turned and called his guests into
the Amphitheater.

Hercules led the group of men into the room to him.
“Gentlemen, I think you’ll enjoy the latest bevy of beauties
we’ve prepared for you. They’re all between the ages of fifteen
and eighteen, all perfectly ripe specimens of teenage femininity.
They come in all hair colors, all breast sizes, and all kinds of
temperaments– from prudish young ladies to playful little
kittens for you to break to your will. They’re all virgins–
naturally– and,” he leered, “they all have the naughty little thing
that make them so restless and special in your beds– that little
twig that we’ve put under lock and key for you. Please, take
your drinks and inspect them all you like! Just remember, the
bidding will begin in one hour.”

Bidding? Kim and some of the others began to struggle as the
strange men converged on them. They seemed to be of all
races, all cultures. Almost immediately, an older Arab dressed
in the traditional garb of a sheik approached Kim. He had a
natural scowl on his hard leathery face till his stony eyes rested
on Kim. Then the hard mouth opened to reveal a grinning set of
white crooked feral teeth. The sheik’s hand cupped Kim’s
breasts tightly through the thin cotton bra.

“Small fruit, but is it sweet my dove or not yet ripe?” the sheik
asked softly.

Kim twisted impotently on the hook. “Don’t!” he pleaded
softly. He still hadn’t recovered from the shock of learning that
he would soon be sold off to one of these hard looking men.
Why? Hadn’t he behaved? Hadn’t he become the girl Sampson
said he wanted? Why couldn’t he stay here? he screamed inside
his head. he would try harder to be prettier! He would try
harder to be more girlish! Then Sampson would let him stay,
wouldn’t he?

The sheik smiled wisely. “My little dove, should I purchase
you, you would coo your love for me in my ear should I caress
you so. You would dream of taking my lance between these
small treasures and in your soft mouth. Would you not dream
of pleasing your lord and master so, pretty maid?”

Kim twisted again. “Please leave me alone!” he tried again.
But the words seemed catty and weak. They were meant to
offend the sheik.

But the sheik just shook his head. “You are a willful infidel
bitch. After I purchase you, I shall attend to your training
personally. After these,” he squeezed Kim’s nipples viselike
between his finger and thumb,” are pierced for Obedience
Rings, perhaps my dove will learn humility! You should be
honored to be one of the Sheik of Abadan’s Passion Slaves–
not beg to escape him!” The Arab narrowed his eyes in greed.
“Oh yes, I shall purchase you, little one. You will be a pretty
pet to train. Will you dance in your chains to tempt your new
master?” His crooked white teeth were bared in anticipated
pleasure.

Kim began to cry. He would not dance for this ugly old man!
“No! Please, I’m not a girl! I’m a boy! An American boy!”

The Arab dropped his hand to Kim’s black thong panty, cupping
the backside it tightly sheathed. “As if American boys cannot
be turned into American girls and these girls sold as playthings
to wealthy masters! I have bought five such as you from Israel,
Lebanon, China, Ethiopia and Greece, little dove, all to serve in
the Royal Stable! You shall learn to frolic with them as well!
Your master enjoys watching his pets play with one another!
Soon you shall join them, your new sisters. They will help me
train you. You will learn the taste of each of your slave sisters
in the Stable.” He patted Kim’s rump. “And like each of them,
you will be branded with the mark of the Wench Boy That
Delights.”

Kim shrieked, but the response from Sampson and his other
guests was merely laughter. “A spirited filly for you to break,
My Lord?” Sampson asked cheerily.

The Sheik nodded grimly. “You choose your words well. The
little Golden haired one is in need of a strong man’s hand to
teach her respect and training her in the ways of mounting!
But,” his flinty eyes glinted, “she has much to commend her.”
The sheik stroked Kim’s backside longingly, slipping his horny
hand underneath the tight black panty and tugging on the
chastity pouch. “She would bring much joy after being tamed.
I think I shall buy her. I should enjoy training a Western wench
like this,” he promised. With that, the sheik departed.

Kim was white with terror. The other men had seen the
exchange and had assumed the sheik would indeed purchase
Kim. Not one of them approached to inspect Kim. The teen
sobbed. The sheik would buy him and do those things to him.
All he could do was cry. Sampson looked over once and
smiled.

The time for the auction was approaching. The men chatted
with one another quietly, pointing at the teens they would bid
on. Kim hung limply, waiting for the inevitable. The auction
was to begin even as a man hurriedly joined the other guests.
He approached Sampson.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I just got back from a business trip,” he
explained. Kim thought the voice sounded familiar. As the
man turned toward him, he could see the clear and unmistakable
face of Kurt– his stepfather. Kurt looked at him without
surprise as he continued to speak to Samson. “May I speak to
her?”

Sampson nodded. Of course, he should have the opportunity to
inspect the merchandise before the bidding. Joe Bob walked
toward Kim, smirking.

“Never thought you’d see me again, did you? I saw the catalog
with your face in it and had to be here to put a bid in. Damn
nice changes on you, I’ll say that. Heard you got you’re name
changed to Kimmie, that true you little faggot?” he sneered.
“Course you’re no faggot, you’re a hot lil girlie now aren’t you,
baby? A hot lil piece of ass like yo’ momma!” Joe Bob’s face
bore a furious scowl which slowly was transformed into a
wolfish leer. ” Damn I like these pint-sized titties,” he said as
he clutched Kim’s breasts. “Stick ’em out for me, girlie. Show
me your hooters!” And with that, the Texan oilman ripped up
the soft black cotton bra, pulling it up over the tops of the small
succulent teen mounds.

Reluctantly Kim closed his eyes and thrust his chest out. In the
dark, he could hear the rough breathing of his stepfather as his
callused hands pulled on his sensitive breast buds, fingered the
nipples and turning them into red hard tips. “Gettin hot for yo’
Daddy, ain’t you bitch? Open your eyes and answer me
Kimberlee!”

The use of his full name shocked him into an answer that would
please the older man. He obeyed, looking Joe Bob full in the
eyes. “Yes, Sir!”

Joe Bob smiled. “Course you are. Bet you want to come home
and take your momma’s place in my bed, doncha you lil whore?
Like me to take your titties in my hands and wrap ’em round my
big Texas dick!”

Kim watched him in utter silence considering. Joe Bob had
been cruel to him but he would probably be better that the Arab.
Kim made a decision and smiled. It was time to start acting
like what he was– a teenage sex kitten. it was what all his
training and the Treatments had been about. Kim could make it
easier or he could make it harder on himself, but the result
wasn’t going to change. In a way, he was so lucky Joe Bob was
interested in buying Kim. maybe it was time for him to show
Joe Bob just what a good little girl Kimmie could be for HER
stepdaddy.

“I’m glad you like them,” Kim purred, continuing to stick HER
chest out. “I can’t wait for you to hold them and to be in your
bed.”

Joe Bob ran his hands down to Kim’s ass. “I never did fuck
you, did I?”

“Not that!,” Kim purred as SHE licked HER lips. “Oh, no, but
I fantasized about it!” Kim cooed. SHE wriggled HER hips as
Joe Bob felt them. “I’m still a virgin. They keep us that way
till we get bought. Then Sampson says we have to do whatever
our owners say. What would you make me do?”

Joe Bob snickered. “All the things your whore of a momma did
and more. Too bad she didn’t understand you were going to be
my slut just like she was. I tole her I wanted her to train you to
be a girlie for me. But the stupid cunt was stubborn and I had
to snuff her out.” Joe Bob’s face blazed in furious remembrance
of that rebellion.

A cold core of chill bored through Kim. But it didn’t change
anything did it? And maybe if HER mother had obeyed, Kim
would have been taught to please Joe Bob and… Ooooh! HER
stepfather was playing with HER nipples again! It felt so good!
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being Joe Bob’s girl. At least SHE
would be taken care of. At least SHE would be the only one.

“Gentlemen! The auction will now begin!” Sampson’s powerful
voice promised. “Take your seats!”

Joe Bob let HER nipple go with a snap and took his seat. Kim
caught the eye of the Arab and winced. The ugly brown man
nodded as if assuring HER that he would soon indeed be HER
master.

Sampson was caught the exchange between Kimmie and the
Texan, as well as taken note of the Arab’s angry stare. He
hadn’t planned on putting up the blonde with the tiny tits, but if
there was so much interest, the bidding was bound to be high.
That would put the auction off to a very prosperous
commencement! He walked over to Kimmie.

“Gentlemen, shall we begin with Kimberlee? She is a gorgeous
sixteen year old, all-American girl who just loves to play dress-
up. Imagine this girl-next-door waiting for your return in
nothing but her sexy black Calvin Kleins. Oh nothing will come
between Kimmie and her Calvin Kleins– until you snap your
fingers!”

Sampson slapped Kimmie’s ass hard and SHE jiggled in HER
bounds. Keep your eyes on the floor, SHE told HERSELF. Be
a good girl!

“Then,” Sampson went on, “she’ll strip out of them faster that
you can say ‘blow me’– which you’ll say quite often with Miss
Hoover around the house!” Kimmie blushed and the men
chuckled at this.

Samson swung Kimmie around, so HER back was to the
audience. Sampson yanked HER panty waist up effortlessly.
“See this ass? Nice tight American teenybopper ass, gentlemen!
You’ll get plenty of use out of this piece!” Sampson slapped
HER butt again unnecessarily. “Let’s go! Shall we start the
bidding at say, thirty thousand?”

The Arab raised his hand.

“Ah– thank you Sheik! And thirty-five, have we thirty-five for
this virgin blonde? Ah– the gentleman from Texas! Thank
you!”

Kim listened to the bidding on HER with a nauseous feeling of
unreality. Boys changed into girls and bought for money! It
was too strange to think HER fate was to be a girl, to serve on e
of these two cruel men! Desperately SHE hoped the Arab
would stop bidding. Maybe HER breasts would be too small to
interest him.

“Sixty thousand! Thank you very much Sheik!” Sampson was
saying. Kimmie flushed. Joe Bob was quiet and he should be
bidding! please Joe Bob, SHE begged. SHE would be a good
girl, a very good girl! Just please bid!

But Joe Bob wasn’t looking at Kimberlee any more. His eyes
were on the shy brown haired bitch, Mandy. Now those were a
ripe pair of titties! Sampson had said she’d make a great
secretary too. Joe Bob smiled. Mandy, the Boy Scout, in a
tight mini bent over his desk taking it up the ass doggy style
from Boss Joe Bob! Shy Mandy taking “dick-tation”! She
looked so arousing up there in her pink panties! Why did he
need Kimberlee when the Mandy cutie had such nice titties and
a good attitude? Tim had run away- fine, let him learn what it
was like to suck Arab dick for the rest of his life as a harem
girl. He’d regret he had ever given up the chance to be Joe
Bob’s private whore. That would teach him! Screw it– let the
towel-head have her! Joe Bob would buy the brown haired
missy instead.

“Sold to the Sheik for sixty thousand!” proclaimed Sampson
triumphantly. Ten thousand more than he had figured for the
flat-chested blonde! And things were off to a bang!

An hour later when the owners came to collect their new
possessions, Sampson toted the final bids and was pleasantly
surprised. He had exceeded his expectations by well over 30%.
Pam had brought $125,000 from a conservative member of the
House of Lords who found her “English” looks and “respectful”
attitude quite appropriate for a pleasure maid in his summer
house on the Dover coast. Joanie’s cheerleader looks had
attracted the interest of a professional football coach, who had
paid $140,000– quite a coup, but the coach was a new client
and had nervously overbid. Donna would be going to her new
home, the Exxxcstasy Club, to begin her new career as a lap
dancer. The club owner thought she had potential. “She might
make stage dancer if she works very hard,” he had said after
closing the bidding at $95,000. Natasha, his exotic Russian
beauty, had caused quite a sensation. Her winsome presentation
and seductive accent had brought on a bidding frenzy till a
prominent Southern U.S. senator had bought her for $200,000!
Sampson made a note to touch base with his Russian contacts–
he would need more of these Russian boys to transform! The
Catholic bishop would had bought Mary for $150,000 seemed
unable to keep his hands off her already. Look how he was
caressing her breasts even as the boy-girl cried in shame.
Sampson was pleased– he sensed unique opportunities from
other Catholic prelates and anticipated the word would spread
should the bishop be pleased with his purchase. Make a note–
procure more altar and choir boys! Annie had been a
disappointment, fetching only $60,000. The madam he thought
might buy her hadn’t shown up and instead she had gone in a
solitary low bid to a Mexican whoremaster even Sampson didn’t
like taking money from. The Mexican wanted Annie because
real “gringo” girls were just too expensive. “My customers,
they no care if she real girl or not. After all, she still have two
holes to fill, no Senor Sampson?” the seedy whoremaster had
commented. Too bad her breasts hadn’t been a bit larger– she
might have merited a bid from one of the other clients and led a
more pleasant life. Erin had made up for it though. The perky
blonde beach bunny had brought $210,000 from the leader of a
mid-sized African nation. The dictator seemed enchanted by the
pale blonde Erin, who seemed equally terrified of her new large
coal-black master. Linda, the punker groupie, had been a
bargain for Megahead at $80,000. The lead singer had come to
bid on and pick up the teen. Her eyes bulged at the singer, so
well had she been indoctrinated to adore and worship the rock
group. The singer had confided to Sampson that they would no
doubt be back– with four band members using her constantly,
Linda wouldn’t last long. Did he take trade-ins, the singer had
asked. The band was also interested in buying a girl for their
roadies. Sure, he could take a trade-in– the girlies had
excellent re-sale to pimps and whorehouses. Sampson liked
volume business. And shy, scared Mandy– to the Texan for a
sizable amount of money. There had been some interest in this
one– cute, decent boobs and an innocent face– so the bidding
had shot up right away. Then the Texan had closed it off with
finality at $150,000! Sampson had thought he was interested in
the blonde, some family connection. The white slaver wasn’t
surprised, though. When his clients came to shop for one thing,
many times they left with something altogether different. And
even the boobless blonde Kimmie-boy had brought in $10,000
more than he expected from the Sheik.

It all came to a total of $1,270,000 US dollars. Minus expenses
for the Guardians, facilities and overhead, the transformation
treatments, the girlies’ pretty clothing, make-up and other female
accouterments, he had $790,000 left in profit– a 63% margin.
And with quarterly “crops” of new girl-boys, the Complex
under his guidance netted over $3,000,000 in profit per annum.
And with the dismantling of trade barriers and access to
virtually every market in the world, the business of turning
teenage boys into sultry little slave girl sirens had blossomed
into a very hot business. Not to mention the side benefits, he
thought with pleasure. After escorting his clients out he would
have Jill brought to his private suite for “evening instruction.”

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From agate!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Tue Aug 8 09:43:21 1995
Message-ID:
Path: agate!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an225040@anon.penet.fi (marlissa)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an225040@anon.penet.fi
Date: Tue, 8 Aug 1995 12:28:31 UTC
Subject: NEW Not That Bad 3/3 (tg, nc, teen, white slavery, auction, bd)
Lines: 452

The following three part story contains adult material. If below
the age of 18, go outside, get some fresh air and do something
healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is
about teenaged boys who are forcibly feminized and
transformed into slavegirls by a white slavery ring through
chemical and pyschological techniques, then auctioned off for
profit. It contains non-consensual sex and b&d themes. Both
the characters and occurences in this series are completely
fictitious.

NOT THAT BAD/Part Three

by Marlissa

The aforementioned Kimmie hung limply. She watched in
sadness as Joe Bob walked out with the boy-girl Mandy, who
followed him in confusion. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be so
bad, belonging to the sheik. SHE was till shivering but SHE
was composed. The Sheik was HER master and owner now.
SHE had to be a good girl for him, had to be pretty, had to
make Master forget SHE had been such a little bitch, had to
please him, had to–

The Sheik roughly collared Kimmie and leashed his new slave
girl. “Heel Golden one!” he commanded and Kimmie lowered
herself to her knees by his side, like a trained animal. As he
stroked her long blonde hair, he spoke to Sampson.

“I am pleased. Such a bargain for this one! But she has small
breasts, true.”

Sampson nodded. “She’ll make up for it in other ways, I should
think. You should find her ready to please you and follow your
every command.”

The sheik smiled and laughed. “But she is not for me,
Sampson! I would never waste the Royal seed on one such as
this! Such a small-titted wench for the Sheik of Abadan? I
should be insulted except I know you so well. Allah, no! I
have my own harem of pretty girls– real girls, with big breasts
and soft, wet coves for the Royal member. I have not bought
her as a serving wench for MY pleasure!”

Sampson shook his head in confusion. “My mistake my Lord!
I was to understand you had five others such as Kimberlee in
your private stable?”

The sheik nodded. “And I do! Kimberlee will have five other
pretty slave sisters she shall become quite intimate with. As I
said, I do enjoy watching them play. No, they DO serve in the
stable. And I shall train Kimberlee. She shall serve in a harem
for one I love dearly. Kimberlee shall toil in the harem of my
Royal Mount, the stallion Cinnabar!”

Kimberlee looked up at her new master, her mouth forming an
“O” of unadulterated horror. The Sheik pushed her golden face
down to the ground again.

“She will bring Cinnabar much pleasure after she learns to
accommodate the size of his equine member! He stands seven
hands tall and has ferocious needs that will be serviced. He has
grown so bored with his other wenches and I thought to surprise
him with a blonde like Kimberlee. He will be so surprised and
pleased, I think. She shall make a delightful mare for him to rut
with her firm behind, will she not Sampson?”

But Sampson had turned green. He nodded politely, looked
with a trace of guilt at Kimmie and moved to speak to the other
departing customers. After they had all left, he drew Hercules
aside. “Take over the Com, my friend. I’m retiring for the
afternoon.”

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

His trusted second in command smiled. “To enjoy the fair
Jillie, I assume. Then we shall conduct Example Night without
you?” His scare seemed to glow at the prospect of laying
paddle to teen flesh.

He liked to manage Example Night himself, but Hercules had
done such a commendable job recently. He nodded. “Enjoy
yourself, my friend– just don’t mark the merchandise. You
have a wicked cruel streak!” Hercules laughed at the
compliment appreciatively.

Sampson stopped at his office for the brightly packaged present,
then walked to his private suite on the far side of the Complex.
It faced out over the very top of the high gorge overlooking the
Red Sticks river, which flowed some thousand feet below.
There wasn’t any need for the security system of cameras and
electric barb wire on this side of the Complex, since there was
no way for his chattel to escape. Besides it would have ruined
the fantastic view he enjoyed so. He placed his thumb print
over the sensor and his door slide up, descending as he entered.

Jillie sat on the bed, a model of teenage femininity. He
marveled at how mature she had become. She was far from the
whining, awkward and sullen boy of thirteen. Now she was a
sparkling prize, a lissome ornament, face fill with bliss at his
entrance. She stood expectantly. “Hello my Master!”

Sampson smiled. The idea that he owned this bauble filled him
with rich satisfaction. As always, when he summoned her, she
was properly prepared and clothed. Her face was properly
made up– not whorishly overdone, but lightly made up with
just a thin dab of rouge to highlight, a wholesome and girlish
pink lipstick and the slightest whiff of the cheap “California
Gal” perfume she liked. Her long black hair, now falling
halfway down her back, was braided and ribboned with a
flowery band. The cropped yellow tank top was ribbed and
drew out Jill’s small, perky breasts. She had long ago graduated
from training bras to her current 32As. He liked the shape and
feel of her small pointy breasts and so had forgone implants for
now. The stone-washed denim miniskirt gave her once boyish
hips a smooth swell of 34″. Jill had been trained to work hard
on her waist and even that was down to 29″. On her feet she
wore her pink pumps. Underneath it all, Sampson could only
guess. He would find out soon enough. Sampson lowered
himself into his wingback chair.

“Jill, is everything ready for our afternoon?”

Jill kept her eyes down. “I think so, my Master. The K-Y jelly
is by your bed. My vibrator is on the nightstand should you
want me to play with it for you. And I hope I am wearing some
panties and a bra I hope you will find pleasing.”

“And the crop, Jill?”

Jill bite her lower lip. “Yes, my Master,” the feminized boy
admitted. “The crop is by the bed too.”

Sampson liked the smell of fear that suddenly filled the room.
“And why is it important that the crop be ready, Jill?”

The boy-girl shifted from pink pump to pink pump nervously.
“You need the crop to punish me if I don’t please you well
enough, my Master.”

“Good. Now Jill, sit here on my lap and tell me what you did
today.”

The teen scampered up into Sampson’s lap, immediately feeling
his hands on her hips. Shakily she began to speak.

“Well, nothing very interesting to you, my Master. I got up this
morning and after breakfast– just a slice of melon–I slipped
into my pink exercise leotard and did the exercise tape you
wanted me to do– the Cindy Crawford one?– and I did that
with some of the other girls till before lunch. Then I took a
quick shower and had lunch– just a salad!– and read my new
issue of Seventeen till you sent for me!”

“Oh, very nice,” declared Sampson. “And you feel so trim now
Jill!” He slipped his hands over her breasts and squeezed.

As she was expected to do, Jill closed her eyes and sighed.
“Ummm! I love you to feel me like that my Master!”

“Of course you do, little girl.” Sampson cupped the breasts in
his hands, weighing them like a pair of tangerines. “Tell me,
who do these belong to?”

Jill scrunched her breasts forward. “You, my Master. They
belong to you.”

“Take off your top, Jill.”

The slavegirl who was still technically a boy obeyed, pulling off
the snug top even as she remained anchored in Sampson’s lap.
Underneath she wore a yellow soft-cup brassiere.

“No underwire bra Jill?” Sampson growled. His hands were
back on her titties now.

Jill twisted her pretty pale face to one side in embarrassment.
“No, my Master.”

“And why not, LITTLE girl?”

“Because my Master says I don’t need them, because my breasts
are so small,” Jill whimpered softly in shame.

Sampson tugged on the nipples through the pale yellow cotton.
“Take off your skirt, pretty baby.”

Jill slipped her hands in back, unzipped the skirt and flipped it
off, along with her shoes. Under the seat of the matching pair
of pale yellow bikini panties, Jill could feel her master’s
manhood rising. She squirmed. He liked it when she squirmed
in his lap this way. Jill would do anything to avoid the snap of
the crop.

Sampson snapped his fingers. “You’re getting to be such a good
little girlie for me. I thought I’d reward you, Jill. Go get your
present on the table and go to the bed to open it.”

Jill fetched the red wrapped gift box and sat on the bed.

“Go on– open it, Jill.”

As she did, Master rose to get his camera. “Like it?”

Jill’s face was flushed. She held it up. It was a black lace push-
up underwired bra and a lewd little matching black lace g-
string! She smiled, pouty lips curved up in ecstasy! Her master
had given her pretty things to wear– just for him! A tear of joy
flowed down her downy cheek. “Oh yes! yes, my Master!
More than anything!”

He leered at his teenaged mistress. “Go on– put them on. I
want to see you model them for me.”

Jill turned to obey. Never–never had she been given anything
so wonderful! She had learned at first to like her cotton undies,
then resent them. She was sixteen now– old enough to wear
things like this. And she felt so feminine in them! The naughty
bra lifted her little boobs up so much! And the g-string, it made
Jill feel soooo naughty! For the first time, Jill felt like a young
woman, not a girl! And she would show her master she could
be soooo good to him!

For the longest time, it had hurt to be thought of as a girl. Jill
had been a boy, no matter what her master had said. He had
been a boy who played baseball, a boy who had even started to
like girls, who had parents and a family. Now Jill knew that
was all long gone. And she had accepted her growing
femininity. She had been scared of her master’s needs at first,
been frightened of the way she had to offer up her body to the
Master. But he had been so good to her, keeping her as his
special little girl. After a year, Jill came to suspect her master
really loved his baby. She began to not be so afraid of the
things Master did to her, came to be lonely if Master didn’t
summon her. On her fifteen birthday, Master had called her his
“mistress” and she had been so proud!

And now, Master had given her these sexy things to wear for
him. She was a REAL girl now and he must love her! She was
swooning now, she couldn’t wait to turn around. Jill wiped the
silly tear of joy from her face, stuck her perky bra’d breasts out
for Master and turned. She would tempt him, she would love
him so hard, and please him with her mouth, her breasts, her
whole body! He would be so excited to see his little Jillie
wearing this! She turned and her heart broke.

Sampson had set up a camera on a tripod and was aiming it at
her. He was going to take dirty pictures of her! Jill’s eyes grew
heavy with tears. Even as the flash burst, she felt so dirty, so
betrayed.

“Hey Jill, I’m going to take some pictures of you to show my
friends my hot little centerfold! Come on, sexy girl, stick those
tits out! Show me how much you want to give them to me!
And wipe those tears away or I’ll REALLY give you something
to cry about!”

Jill quickly wiped the tears away though betrayed frown
remained. She rose on shaky knees and looked at the camera.

“Go on, cup them and smile. A hot dirty girl smile, Jill! Or I’ll
crop that tight ass of yours!” Sampson barked.

Jill raised her palms to cup her small black laced boobs, then
held them up for the camera. As her Master reached for the
crop, she grinned a plastic smile, showing lots of teeth. She felt
like a piece of trash as the camera clicked.

Sampson smiled. He’d use these pictures in his brochure. After
photographing her, he’d screw the hell out of her. And if she’d
cried then, he could care less. He had been far too patient with
Jillie.

“Good. Now on your back and spread your legs nice and wide.
Like you want me to climb on top and put it to you! Good girl!
Now on your fours, butt towards me. Good girl! Now look
behind you. Play with your g-string, hands between your legs.
Good! Now spread your knees apart and stick your ass up, like
you do before I stick my cock in. Good. Now on your back
again and spread your legs–”

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

It was Mandy’s first day and Mr. Joe Bob had told her the rules.
“You call me Boss at all times, got it darlin’?”

“Yes, Boss,” the teen replied promptly. She wanted to be the
best little secretary she could be for Mr. Joe Bob. He had been
fairly pleased with her performance at home and she wanted to
keep him as happy as possible. Even when he had introduced
Mandy to her new duties in his bed, she had been brave. Mandy
was girl now and had to perform like one for her owner. The
feminized boy moaned in bliss as he handled her breasts, smiled
lewdly as she tried to engage him in foreplay. He seemed
pleased that Mandy had been able to suck cock so well for a
virgin. “You know just what to do darlin’ and you like it don’t
you?” he had asked. She had answered by kneeling and taking
Mr. Joe Bob’s thing in her mouth again. And when he wanted
to use her, she had bucked like a little wildcat in heat for him,
faking orgasm after orgasm for him as he rammed her from
behind. It had only been a couple of days, but she hoped
against hope that she had been lucky enough to land a kind
owner.

And if Mandy DIDN’T perform just the way Mr. Joe Bob
wanted, he made it clear she wasn’t the only girl-boy around.
“Almost bought that blonde slut, you know that Missy? So if
you don’t get it done for me, back you’ll go to the Complex.
And I hear that ole Sampson don’t much care for Returned
Merchandise, you understand?”

Oh yes, she understood all right! That was why she was
swinging her hips nice and wide for all the employees of the
corporate offices of Elite Oil to see. She heard the other
secretaries whisper behind her.

“Joe Bob’s got himself a little piece there, ain’t he?”

“Little bitch! Got her claws in a sugar daddy all right! Lord,
she can’t more’n sixteen!”

“Looks like Sugar Daddy got himself some sugar britches!”

Mandy knocked on the door lightly and brought the coffee in,
shutting the door behind her softly.

“Boss?”

He lookedup and smiled. “Good. Just in time for some
dictation Mandy. You ever take dictation?”

She shook her head.

“You know how I give you your protein drink at home?” he
sneered.

She kept the bimbo smile on her face. Protein drink meant his
cum. He wanted Mandy to give him a blow job here at the
office! She nodded.

“Don’t take off your silk blouse. It’ll force you do an extra good
job or you’ll get your pretty blouse all gummed up. Now
kneel.”

Mandy minced behind the desk and knelt on her stocking knees.
She kicked her high heels off.

Boss Joe Bob said “You should buy some knee pads for
yourself, Mandy girl. YOU’RE GOING TO BE DOING A
LOT OF THIS.”

She fumbled with her buttons to reveal her push-up red lace bra
to him. Not that he didn’t know what she was wearing. He had
told her precisly what to wear to work– red lace panties and
this slutty push-up bra. She bent her head and took the erect
cock in her wet mouth. Why did she get a little hardon of her
own when she did this? But there was no time to think when the
Boss needed her. Oh, he was playing with her tits– she pushed
her breasts up to his lap. She gulped the cock down as hungrily
as she could pretend to. He slammed it in and out and then it
popped out.

Mandy looked at the cock and saw the thin strand of cum that
began on the tip of the cock and led to her lips. Looking up at
Mr. Joe Bob, she extended her tongue and carefully drew in the
strand of the priceless goo, drawing it in and rolling it around in
her mouth till it had disapperaed down her throat. Mandy
suddenly hated a little prostitue she had been made into, hated
this man who was degrading her so, hating the men who had
turned her from a perfectly normal teenage boy into a
cocksucking bimbo. The Boss Joe Bob patted her on her brown
curly haired head.

“Good lil slut, girlie. Good lil slut!”

Mandy smiled angelically and licked cum drops off her lips. It
could be worse, she thought furiously as she was lifted and bent
over the desk. It could be worse she thought as her red lace
panties were ripped off her butt. It could be worse she thought
as her cruel master sodomized her over his mahoghany desk. It
could always be worse!

And it could.

Meanwhile on a plane thirty thousand feet in the air, a girl
named Kimberlee, once a boy named Tim, sat in a steel cage,
thinking ferverously. Her Calvin Klein underwear had been
taken off and she had been “fitted” with a metal formfitting bra
that snapped over her chest tightly. “Cinnabar will have no use
of your little buds Golden One. He has a busty whore from
Israel that he suckles from,” the Sheik kindly explained. Instead
of cloth panties, Kimberlee now wore a thong made of bronze
links. “To protect your little thimble from Cinnabar’s hooves,”
the Sheik elaborated. As he stroked her long hair, he whispered
in her ear, “Cinnabar likes his mares with long manes! You
shall please him mightily, Golden One! And he shall soon show
you his love by mounting his lovely new companion. Perhaps if
you should please him, he would favor you by making you his
preferred mate! Wouldn’t you like that? It is a shame you
cannot foal for him!” the Sheik regretted, even as he fed her a
cube of sugar.

She remained silent as he spoke. She couldn’t speak– the bridle
that had been fitted in her mouth wouldn’t let her do anything
more than swallow the lumps of sugar in the sheik’s hand. He
stroked the blonde boy-girl’s soft leg, then ran it high on the
inside of Kimberlee’s thigh. The feminized slave obliged her
owner by spreading her legs to give him more access in his
explorations.

“Here,” he lightly pinched the skin below Kimberlee’s
imprisoned scrotum, “is where you shall be branded as a
concubine of the Royal Stable, Golden One. The pain will be
most intense, I’m afraid. But all animals of the Sheik must bear
the Royal brand. Be grateful I shall not have you gelded, but I
am told the passion of the feminized boy decreases if he is
gelded. And Cinnabar enjoys frolicking with only the lustiest of
mares.”

Kimberlee winced and the Sheik grabbed the bridle. “Hold still
Golden One as your owner addresses you, for I have one last
piece of news for you– the last you time I shall apeak to you as
anything other than an dumb animal.”

Kimberlee remained still. The bit was something she could get
used to, yes, it could be worse!

The sheik continued. “I have thought of many possible names
for you, my Golden One and I think I have decided on one that
fits you well. From this day on, you shall answer to no other
name than Blonde Beauty.” With his work done, the sheik rose
to return to his front cabin.

As the horse boy-girl sat in her cage, all that ran through
Kimberlee’s bubble head was a manic string of hopes: “Maybe
it won’t be so bad, being a mare for a stallion; it won’t be so bad
to be mounted by a horse; it won’t be so bad taking a horse cock
in my mouth; it won’t be so bad being the concubine of a
stallion, it won’t be—”

THE END

I hope you liked NOT THAT BAD. Comments always appreciated! Send them
to an225040@anon.penet.fi
—————————————————————————-
To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi.
If you reply to this message, your message WILL be *automatically* anonymized
and you are allocated an anon id. Read the help file to prevent this.
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