Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/G/GRETCHEN.TXT

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gretchen.txt
                              On Becoming Gretchen
                                By Amelia Allbyte

                                   Chapter One

        If  I  hadn't  accepted a 'cheap' ride my story  would  be  quite
        different. I'd probably be settled down in some nine-to-five job.
        Maybe even have a wife and kids in a little vine-covered cottage.

        But  I did and my path has changed. As a result, I'm not  allowed
        to  even consider going back to that sort of existence.  And  you
        know,  I'm  not sure I want to - now. Anyway, after you  read  my
        story, you be the judge.

        My name is, or used to be, James Carrion. At the time, I was kind
        of  a vagrant. Itinerant worker sounds better, and I guess  would
        be  more  descriptive and apt. I would work at a  job  maybe  six
        months  or so and then set out for a new place and a new job.  At
        any rate, my story begins as I was between jobs, so to speak.  In
        fact  it  had  been quite a while since my last  job  and  I  was
        getting  down to my last couple of bucks when I heard that  there
        were jobs of some kind opening up in Wells City.

        Since  there weren't any immediate job prospects in this town,  I
        decided to try my luck there. When I paid off my room rent, I had
        barely enough for the bus ticket. I wasn't going to pay for  that
        lousy roach-infested room, but as I started to leave I was met by
        my  landlord,  all  six feet and two hundred pounds  of  him.  So
        naturally I was overjoyed to pay my past-due bill. I sure  didn't
        want  my credit rating damaged, nor my nose bloodied and my  eyes
        blackened.

        I  trudged  to the bus station. It was a cold, miserable  day  in
        late  fall.  Not freezing, exactly, but one of those  chill  days
        when the dampness goes right into your bones. Arriving at the bus
        station cold, wet, and hungry, I found to my dismay that the next
        bus  for Wells City didn't leave for another six  hours.  Nothing
        for me to do but wait, and starve.

        I  purchased my ticket and went over to sit in the dingy  crowded
        waiting room when this really good-looking dame came up to me. "I
        just  saw you buy a ticket to Wells City. Are you just  going  to
        sit here and wait until the bus leaves?" she asked me.

        "Yes, ma'am. I got no place to go and no money left. About all  I
        can afford to do is to just sit here until the bus leaves."

        "Well,  I'm  going to Wells City and I hate driving  alone.  I'll
        tell  you  what. If you will cash in your ticket, I'll  take  you
        there, half price. We'll leave right now so you won't have to sit
        around waiting."

        To me that sounded like a really good deal. I'd get to ride  with
        a good-looking girl whose eyes promised real company rather  than
        wait around and then have to ride in a crowded bus. Besides,  I'd
        have  enough money to get something to eat and maybe rent a  room
        for a day or so when I got there. Without a moment's hesitation I
        agreed.

        It only took a few minutes to cash in my ticket and pile into her
        big  fancy car and be on our way. You might have guessed  by  now
        that this whole thing was just a come-on. At the time I was tired
        and  disgusted and my only thought was to get out of there, so  I
        never  even thought of a come-on. We got going, her driving at  a
        pretty good rate of speed.

        I  wasn't  paying much attention to where we were going  until  I
        noticed  that we had turned off the main road and were  traveling
        down  a back country road. I turned to the girl to ask where  the
        hell  we  were going and looked down the barrel of a big,  and  I
        mean  big,  pistol. "Just sit quietly. We're almost  there,"  she
        ordered.

        I  soon  found out where 'there' was. The  road  dead-ended.  She
        ordered me to give her the rest of my money, which I  reluctantly
        did. I couldn't even hold back a few bucks since she knew exactly
        how much money I had. She then ordered me to get out of the  car,
        which  I did with a bit of alacrity. The farther I got away  from
        that  gun, the better I felt. That gal was handling it  like  she
        was  born with it in her hand and she did this every  day.  Maybe
        she did.

        She  didn't waste a minute. She turned around and drove off  with
        my  money,  my  pack, and everything else I had  except  for  the
        clothes on my back.

        There was nothing else for me to do except to trudge back  toward
        the  main  highway.  I guessed I was a good  ten  miles  up  this
        deserted little side road. To top it off, it had begun to drizzle
        and it was getting dark.

        I  guess I walked a couple of hours in that drizzly rain, when  I
        finally came to a large house, kind of set back from the road. It
        was the first and only house I saw the whole time I was  walking.
        It sat out there by itself. There was nothing else anywhere near,
        not even a barn.

        I approached it, hailed it, pounded on the door, and even circled
        it.  I tried looking in the barred and shaded windows  but  could
        see no sign of life. Finally convinced that no one was about, and
        being cold, wet, and hungry, I tried the door.

        Lo  and  behold! The windows were barred and the door  looked  as
        solid  as  a  rock,  but it was unlocked.  The  interior  was  as
        elaborate  as the exterior was imposing. I wandered  through  the
        living  room and den, sloshing water on the deep napped rug  with
        every step. I made my way through the house, meeting no one,  and
        finally found the kitchen. Looking about, I found a  well-stocked
        refrigerator.

        I was hungry, but I was also wet by now, quite chilled. I decided
        to  try and find some dry clothes, or at least a blanket  that  I
        could  cover  up in while the rags I was wearing  dried.  I  then
        started  wandering through the darkened house. I finally found  a
        bedroom, but the only clothes I found were quite feminine.

        I  gave up and thought I'd try another room, maybe I'd have  some
        better luck and find some male clothes, when suddenly the  lights
        came on!

        I  turned, and the first thing that caught my eye was the  barrel
        of a cannon. For the second time in one day I was looking at  the
        wrong end of a pistol.

        As  ny eyes strayed from the mouth of the pistol, I saw  that  it
        was  held by a girl. Woman, really, as she was tall. Taller  than
        me, even allowing for her high heels. She had fair skin, accented
        by her long black hair. She was wearing a white gauzy see-through
        blouse  that  embellished her full breasts and wore  black  form-
        fitting slacks that emphasized her long tapered legs.

        She  had an air of quiet confidence and held the pistol like  she
        knew  how  to  use it. What was worse, she looked  like  she  was
        rather eager to try it out on me.

        "Lady,"  I  said. "You can put that gun away. I'm not  trying  to
        steal  anything except maybe a little food, the loan of some  dry
        clothes,  and  a  chance to get it out of the rain  and  cold.  I
        banged  on the door and hollered all around the place but no  one
        answered.  I just figured that no one was home, so I came in."  I
        started to lower my hands.

        "Keep them up!" she commanded, waving the pistol a bit. She  then
        walked  around  me,  kind of looking me over  from  every  angle,
        giving little exclamations of approval or disapproval during  her
        inspection.

        After circling me a couple of times, she got a pair of  handcuffs
        from  somewhere. Quickly and efficiently, she pinioned my  wrists
        behind me.

        Marching me back into the den, she stopped me on a big furry  rug
        lying  in  front  of the fireplace. She made me lay  down  on  my
        stomach and produced another pair of manacles which she put on my
        ankles.  Then,  to add insult to my helplessness, she  linked  my
        wrists and ankles together.

        "Your  clothes are soaking," she said rather unnecessarily as  if
        she hadn't seen me dripping water the whole time. "We'll have  to
        do something about that."

        She left and returned a few moments later with some scissors  and
        calmly  began cutting my clothes off me. I mean  everything.  She
        stripped  me down to the buff so that I was lying there  on  that
        rug, bare-assed naked.

        She kind of giggled while I lay face down on the rug and tried to
        pull  my  feet  up  to hide the crack of  my  ass.  However,  she
        relented a bit and covered me up with another skin. I didn't know
        whether  the  rugs were fake or real animal skin, but  they  sure
        were soft, warm, and dry.

        "Hungry?" she finally asked.

        "Starving," I replied. "I haven't eaten since this morning. I met
        this girl who offered me a ride to Wells City. We hadn't gone but
        a  little way when she took me down this lonely road, pulled  gun
        on me, and dumped me. Now I find this place, and the first  thing
        I know you pull a gun on me, hog-tie me, and strip me."

        Then  I added quite angrily, "You're damn right I'm  hungry,  and
        mad and disgusted too. To top it off, you have me chained up this
        way for no reason at all."

        "I only asked if you were hungry," the woman replied. "I'm not in
        the  least  interested  in  your  problems  or  whether  you  are
        disgusted or not. I'll get you something to eat."

        She  appeared shortly with a plate of what appeared to be  pieces
        of meat, gravy, and some kind of vegetables in it, and a bowl  of
        milk.

        She sat the dishes down in front of my face. "You'll have to  eat
        it  like my little doggy, but don't worry; when  you're  through,
        I'll wash off your face."

        I looked at the food, rather warily. It looked suspiciously  like
        dog  food. She saw my look and laughed. "No, it's not dog food  -
        this time. But if we don't come to some sort of an understanding,
        it may very well be, next time."

        I was hungry, and despite the humiliation, began eating. The meat
        was rich and tender. The vegetables were delicious. But have  you
        ever  tried  eating while lying on your stomach with  your  hands
        tied  behind you? It's not easy. You have to estimate  where  the
        food is. By the time you get your face down to it, you can't  see
        it. Then you have to get your nose out of the way. No matter  how
        hard  you  try,  you are still going to get your  nose  and  chin
        messed up. Also, trying to get liquid out of a bowl is no snap. I
        guess that if a person practices long enough, he would get  adept
        at lapping it up like a dog or cat. In my case, though, I had  to
        kind of purse my lips and suck it up.

        I  finally  finished  it all, even to the point  of  licking  the
        plates  clean.  The woman removed the plates and  cleaned  up  my
        face. After putting the dishes away, she sat on the sofa, looking
        down at me.

        "I'm needing a maid to serve a group of girl friends I am  having
        here  in a day or so. If you will act the part, I won't turn  you
        in to the police for breaking and entering and possibly trying to
        attack me."

        "I never tried to attack you and I wasn't breaking and  entering.
        I just came in to get out of the rain."

        "On  the  contrary, I found you in this  house  sneaking  around,
        looking  for  something to steal. Probably if you  had  found  me
        unarmed, you would have tried to rape me."

        "Why, you know that isn't true!"

        "Who do you think will believe you, after I tell them my story of
        how I caught you sneaking up behind me, trying to attack me?"

        I  was beat and I knew it. There wasn't a soul who would  believe
        my story. I could hardly believe that it had happened the way  it
        did, and I was there.

        So, I asked, "Maid? What's with the maid bit? A maid's a  female,
        I'm not, so that leaves me out. I may be a lot of things, but I'm
        no girl."

        "If you agree, when I'm through, no one will know the difference.
        I can put some makeup on you, dress you up, and you'll look quite
        attractive."

        "Hell, no! I'm not going to agree with such a silly thing."

        "OK.,  I'll just call the cops and tell them I caught you  in  my
        bedroom."

        "Why,  I'll  just tell them what really happened,"  I  responded.
        "I'm sure they'll realize that it was just a mistake," I  replied
        desperately,  knowing  that  no one would believe  it.  What  was
        worse, she knew it too.



                                   Chapter Two

        "That's your side of it. But I'm not so sure that they'll believe
        your story after I tell them my story, especially with this  sort
        of thing going on."

        She  dropped  a  newspaper in front of me.  Craning  my  neck,  I
        managed to read the headlines and the first few lines of the lead
        story.

        "RAPIST STRIKES AGAIN," it read. "For the third time this  month,
        a  rapist  attacked a woman in an isolated home. The  police  are
        baffled, but believe it to be the work of an itinerant worker who
        has holed up somewhere since the rapes were always in conjunction
        with a robbery."

        It went on in the same general tone. There was even a description
        given  by one of the victims. Uncomfortably, I noted that it  fit
        me quite accurately.

        "Now," said the woman, "what do you think they'll do when I  turn
        you in?"

        I  knew  what  they'd do and the outcome wasn't  very  pretty  to
        contemplate. I may eventually convince them that I wasn't guilty,
        maybe  even produce an alibi (my old landlord?), but  during  the
        time they spent checking it out, I'd be in for a rough time,  and
        it would probably be for a long time.

        "If I agree to do this, you won't turn me in?"

        "That's right. You do as I ask and no cops."

        "OK., you got a deal," I gave in.

        "I'm  glad to see you're reasonable. I can just imagine  how  the
        police  would question you," she responded. Then she added,  "Now
        that we have come to an understanding, the first thing that we're
        going to have to do is to get rid of that ugly hair on your body,
        arms,  and  legs.  Since it's rather late and  you  need  a  bath
        anyway,  we'll just go ahead and do it tonight. We'll start  your
        other lessons in the morning."

        "Remove  my body hair? Other lessons tomorrow? What the  hell  is
        this? I don't need all that junk just to serve a few plates."

        "You  just agreed to do as I asked and already you're  trying  to
        get  out  of it. You will either do it my way, or I'll  call  the
        cops. Now which do you want?"

        "Alright, you win. I guess I can take anything for a day or so."

        Once  I agreed, she yanked the skin off me and released  the  leg
        irons.  "OK., young man, let's get going." By now I was warm  and
        dry and despite the humiliating method, well fed.

        I  struggled  to my feet. "I agreed to your terms. You  can  take
        these things off my wrists now."

        "You agreed verbally. I don't know what's going on in your  mind.
        What  you  are going to be doing can be done just  as  well  with
        those things still attached. Now, move on."

        I  headed  back  to the bedroom where the bath  was  located,  my
        female  guardian following, occasionally prodding me.  I  noticed
        that she was no longer carrying the gun.

        We  reached  the bathroom and she began applying a lotion  to  my
        body.  Starting  at my forehead and working her way  down  to  my
        toes, she covered every inch of me.

        It  was kind of titillating, especially when she got to my  groin
        where  she liberally applied the lotion to my cock and  balls.  I
        began responding to the handling. In other words, I was beginning
        to get a hardon.

        The  woman  stopped,  reached for long-handled  bath  brush,  and
        slapped  down my erect member. It hurt! My eyes watered  and  all
        thoughts of arousal were gone. I went completely limp.

        She  acted  as  if nothing unusual had happened,  as  though  she
        whacked  erect cocks every day. She went on with her task.  In  a
        few more minutes I was completely covered with the gooey stuff.

        "Just stand there awhile and let that lotion do its work. I'll be
        back when it's time to remove it." She went out, closing the door
        behind her, leaving me standing there.

        With  no clothes and my wrists locked behind me, I  wasn't  going
        anywhere.  Besides,  I  heard  the lock  click  after  she  left.
        Apparently the door could be locked from the outside.

        With  nothing  else  to  do, I stood there  -  and  stood  there.
        Meanwhile,  the  lotion  was beginning to work and  my  skin  was
        beginning to feel itchy. So I stood and waited some more.

        Finally, when I felt I couldn't stand any longer and my body felt
        like  one big rash, the lock clicked and the woman  entered.  She
        looked  me over rather critically, ran a fingernail lightly  down
        my  leg, examined it, and nodded in satisfaction to herself.  She
        started the shower, motioned for me to enter, and I did.

        When  I got fully wet, she started rubbing me down with the  bath
        brush.  It  was  scratchy and uncomfortable. What  was  worse,  I
        could see all of my hair coming off with the brush. Now, I didn't
        think  I  was exceptionally hairy, but I could see gobs  of  hair
        coming off and going down the drain. Even my pubic hair was going
        and  the woman seemed to take a perverse delight in  giving  that
        area a good scrubbing.

        Satisfied  that the hair was all removed, she motioned me out  of
        the shower and began rubbing me down with a big fluffy towel, and
        then  began  applying a soft soothing lotion to my  now  hairless
        body.

        The  feeling  was amazing. My denuded skin seemed  so  much  more
        sensitive  and  delicate. I was suddenly aware of every  waft  of
        air, of minute changes in temperature as she led me from the bath
        into the bedroom.

        "You look much more presentable now," she said after examining me
        to make sure I was completely hairless.

        "Oh,  one other thing. I want you to know that the lotion  has  a
        hair growth inhibitor in it. Your face should stay smooth for two
        or three days; the rest of your body for at least a week."

        "You  need a name. You're fairly light complexioned  and  blonde.
        'Gretchen'  seems  rather appropriate. Hello, Gretchen.  You  can
        call me Miss Irene. Just always remember the respectful Miss."

        "My name is --"

        She  slapped my face, hard. Then she put her hand over my  mouth.
        "Gretchen,  I don't give a damn about what it used to be or  even
        what  you did. As far as you and I are concerned, you  have  just
        been born. Do you understand?"

        "Yes, Miss Irene."

        "It's kind of late," she said. I looked at the clock. It was well
        after eleven and I realized that I was quite worn out.

        "Tomorrow we'll start training you so that you may be a  passable
        maid.  You  may as well start getting used to  feminine  clothing
        tonight.  I'll get you a pair of panties and a bra. We'll pad  it
        out, and of course you will need a nightgown."

        She came over and removed the handcuffs. "I guess it's all  right
        to remove these now. Besides, it would be difficult to dress  you
        while you're wearing them."

        She started over toward the bureau to get the clothes. I  figured
        it  was  now or never. I had been forced to agree  to  her  terms
        under  duress,  which  as  far as  I  was  concerned  carried  no
        validity.  I'd just beat the hell out of her, find  some  clothes
        and  get the hell out of there. I had no desire to be  her  maid,
        and  as  far as I knew, she would still turn me in at  the  first
        opportunity anyway.

        Without  another moment's hesitation I jumped her with  the  full
        intention  of overpowering her and leaving her manacled with  her
        own handcuffs.

        Now,  the idea may have been pretty good, but the execution  left
        something  to  be desired. As I started to jump  she  turned  and
        grabbed me by the writs and using my own momentum, slammed me  to
        the floor.

        I  staggered to my feet and before I knew what had happened,  she
        grabbed  me  by my other wrist and slammed me against  the  wall.
        Then  she  lowered her head and butted me right  in  the  gut.  I
        doubled over and she rabbit-punched me on the back of my neck and
        my little revolt was quelled. I was licked.

        "I can let you up and we can go at it again just to prove it  was
        no accident," she said in a conversational tone, stepping back to
        give me an opportunity to rise.

        I  clambered to my feet, still a bit shaky. "Uh, no,  thanks."  I
        didn't need or want any more proof. She was quicker, more  agile,
        and  better trained than I was. At the moment, it would not  have
        surprised  me to discover that she was stronger than I.  The  one
        grab  that  I did make at her felt like I was  grabbing  a  steel
        cable. "So where's the damn clothes," I muttered.

        As I was getting up, she was getting the clothes and tossing them
        onto the bed. I had no trouble pulling the sleek lace panties  up
        into  place about my waist, at least as far as slipping them  on.
        But  the  sensation was quite another matter. That  smooth  nylon
        about  my hips and the lace-trimmed elastic around my  waist  and
        legs gave me an exotic high you wouldn't believe. The feeling was
        intensified because of the increased skin sensitivity due to  the
        hair removal. I could feel an erection coming on - fast.

        Miss Irene saw the sudden bulging at my crotch and wasn't amused.
        "You will get aroused and have an erection only when I permit it.
        Cease immediately."

        Well,  that  was like telling the tide to quit coming  in.  There
        wasn't a thing I could do about it.

        My  captor  could do something, and did. She went back  into  the
        bathroom  and  returned  with the long-handled  bath  brush.  She
        positioned  herself and held the bath brush like a baseball  bat,
        and - whack! That was all I needed. I subsided immediately.

        "You  may  not believe it now, but that thing will  become  quite
        obedient,"  she  said nonchalantly, returning the  brush  to  its
        proper  place. I didn't believe her. After all, that thing had  a
        mind  of  its own and would occasionally pick some  of  the  most
        embarrassing  times  to decide to get hard. Besides,  wasn't  she
        going  to release me in a few days, after I acted as a  maid  for
        her little party? Or was she?

        After we went through the little fracas she then brought over the
        bra  and  helped me put it on, and then inserted the  pads.  Here
        again,  although  the  sensation wasn't quite  as  erotic  as  my
        panties, it sure wasn't unpleasant. The tightness of the  elastic
        about my chest, the pull of the straps over my shoulders and  the
        weight  of  the inserts seemed very pleasant, and in an  odd  way
        rather natural.

        "You  will  look much better with adhered pads, or  even  better,
        implants until you grow your own, but for now these will have  to
        do," she commented after viewing the completed task.

        "That  sounds like you want this to be permanent. I  thought  you
        said you would let me go if I acted as your maid."

        "I  said I would not turn you over to the police," she  retorted.
        "How long I keep you depends on how you cooperate."

        As she was saying this, she was handing me a peach-colored waltz-
        length nylon nightgown with a gauzy overlay of lace. It had short
        puffy  sleeves,  ending just below the shoulders.  The  neck  was
        modestly scooped and ornamented with frilly lace, the same as the
        cuffs and hem.

        Once again, the sensation of the dainty nylon and the frilly lace
        on  my  denuded  and  sensitive body was more  to  be  felt  than
        described. But this time there was no erection, or at least  none
        that  caused  a  noticeable bulge in my  satiny  panties.  I  was
        learning.

        "Time  for beddie-bye, Gretchen," she said. "Do you need  to  use
        the bathroom before you retire? You know where it is."

        I nodded and headed for it. I started to close the door when  she
        stopped me. "We're two girls together. We don't keep secrets from
        each other. And remember, we girls sit down to pee."

        I took the hint and sat. Oh, well, I thought philosophically,  at
        least I don't have to worry about my aim.

        "And  now to bed. You will soon learn that your  sexual  activity
        will  be  under  my direction. Therefore,  to  prevent  you  from
        playing  with  yourself  during the night, you  must  wear  these
        'chastity irons'. The chastity irons consisted of a collar locked
        about the neck, and a pair of manacles attached to it by about 18
        inches of chain. This device very effectively prevented my  hands
        from going any lower than my chest.

        She  led  me  into another bedroom. At first I  thought  the  bed
        within it was a hospital bed with side rails, but then I realized
        it was built more like an oversized crib with high side rails.

        I looked about, finding the bedroom unusually furnished. One side
        of  the  room was decorated just like a nursery. There  were  big
        murals of barnyard animals on the wall. There was a cabinet  that
        was  stacked high with diapers and all sorts of baby powders  and
        lotions.  Along  the floor there were baby toys  and  other  baby
        things.

        The other side of the room was a picture of femininity. There was
        a dressing table with all sorts of cosmetics and various  lotions
        and powders. There was a dresser with some sort of jewelry box, a
        pair  of  pink-shaded  table lamps,  and  other  dainty  feminine
        decorations.

        I really didn't get a good opportunity to investigate all of  the
        furnishings. Miss Irene motioned toward the bed and I crawled in.
        She  raised the side, and then reached over and lifted up  a  top
        cover, which she locked down in place. The crib was nothing but a
        cage!

        "I feel so much better knowing that you can't walk in your  sleep
        and possibly injure yourself. Now, go to sleep. We have a big day
        tomorrow."

        Leaving a little ducky night light burning, she closed the  door,
        leaving  me  alone in my cage with a little furry  bear  I  found
        laying on the pillow.



                                  Chapter Three

        When  Miss Irene left me, I made a quick check and my  suspicions
        were confirmed. There was steel under the wood finish of the crib
        and  the  locks,  although quite inconspicuous,  were  solid  and
        secure.  There was no way these were going to be  opened  without
        the  key. I just wasn't going anywhere until Miss Irene came  and
        released me.

        I  tried  to sleep but the bed was new to  me,  the  surroundings
        strange, and I was unsure of my fate. I would doze off,  suddenly
        come  awake, then repeat the process. I guess I  finally  dropped
        off  because the next think I knew, I awoke and found Miss  Irene
        smiling down at me.

        "Good  morning, Gretchen. Did you sleep well? I'm glad  you  like
        Toto.  Most young girls like a cuddly animal to sleep  with.  I'm
        glad you're adjusting so well."

        Glancing down, I noticed that the bear was snuggled up against my
        fully-padded bra. Embarrassed, I put it aside and climbed out  of
        the crib.

        Releasing  me  from the 'chastity device', she handed me  a  robe
        that  matched  my gown and made me step into a pair  of  backless
        mules with about a two-inch heel and a large bow on the toe.

        After  you  clean  up,  you may go to  the  kitchen  and  fix  my
        breakfast. I would like one egg fried, sunny side up, two  slices
        of  bacon,  not  too crisp, cinnamon  toast,  orange  juice,  and
        coffee, black. You may serve me in the dining room."

        She then turned and walked off.

        Shrugging my shoulders, I did as she bade. It felt kind of  funny
        washing  up  without having to shave. I felt my face and  it  was
        still as smooth as a girl's.

        It  took me a while to get used to the shoes, and when I  got  to
        the kitchen, to find all the stuff. I finally succeeded. While  I
        was  at  it,  I fixed myself a couple of eggs,  some  bacon,  and
        coffee. I brought both plates in and set them on the dining  room
        table.

        I found Miss Irene in the den and called out, "Soup's on, ma'am."

        She  turned  and looked at me coldly. "You are to address  me  as
        Miss  Irene.  You  will also make your  announcements  much  more
        respectable in the future."

        "Yes, Miss Irene. Your breakfast is ready in the dining room."  I
        don't know why I knuckled under so easily. I knew she could  whip
        me physically, but it was more than that. She just seemed - well,
        superior. She deserved to be waited on.

        She  went  into  the dining room and saw  both  plates  of  food.
        "What's this? I didn't order all that!"

        "Why,  I  just  fixed some for myself. I  figured  we  could  eat
        together."

        "Eat  together? Why, the maid eats in the kitchen. But for  being
        so  presumptuous, you shall eat that here today, that food."  She
        pointed. "On the floor. But first you will serve me."

        So  I  stood behind her as she ate, refilling her coffee  cup  or
        whatever else she wanted. When she was through, she motioned  for
        me  to  clear  the table of her dishes, but  stopped  me  when  I
        started to remove the food I had fixed for myself. She dawdled  a
        while,  sipping  her  coffee, looking at  her  fingernails,  just
        taking her time. Finally she said, "All right, Gretchen, you  may
        eat," and swept the food, plates and all, onto the floor.

        I  looked  at her, then at the food on the floor and  started  to
        pick it up. She stopped me. "No, Gretchen. You eat off the floor,
        with  your hands behind you. I can get the handcuffs if you  feel
        it necessary."

        So  for  the second time in as many meals, I ate off  the  floor.
        Also, I was learning an important lesson. Don't presume.

        After  trying to eat as best I could, she finally stopped me  and
        told me to clean up the floor and then the kitchen. She then left
        me and went into the bedroom.

        I had no sooner finished getting things cleaned up and put  away,
        when she called out, "Gretchen! Come here!" Obeying, I went  into
        the bedroom.

        She  was  dressed completely in a black  one-piece  garment  that
        covered  her completely and concealed nothing. It was  very  thin
        leatherlike  material  that looked more like it  was  sprayed  on
        rather  than  conventionally  dressed.  Her  breasts  jutted  out
        boldly,  her  nipples firm and erect. Her stomach  was  taut  and
        lean,  her  belly button plainly visible.  The  material  plainly
        outlined  the  thick lips of her vagina at the  crotch,  actually
        emphasizing her femininity rather than concealing it.

        Every line, every tendon in the long tapering legs showed through
        the  material  and accented every little movement she  made.  Her
        feet were covered by a pair of black suede ankle-high boots  with
        at  least  four inch heels. In one hand she held  a  quirt,  idly
        slapping it into the palm of the other. The pale hands and bright
        red  fingernails were in sharp contrast to the dull black of  the
        ominous-looking braided leather quirt.

        Her long black hair framed her pale ivory face. When she  smiled,
        her  small white even teeth appeared in starling contrast to  the
        rich, succulent, deep red lips.

        She  was indeed lovely! She was seductive! For the first  time  I
        realized  what  a male spider must feel when  he  approached  his
        potential   black  widow   mate.    Anything,  even  death,   was
        acceptable in return for a tryst. One union with this  delectable
        creature was worth life itself!

        Miss Irene, however, did not have sex, or at least the kind I was
        thinking about, on her mind. She was fully intent on  domination,
        training  me to be the perfect maid. The conception of bending  a
        male to her will, to make him obey and tend her at every beck and
        call  was  a sexual triumph for her. I noticed a small  wet  spot
        appear  at  her crotch when I came in with bowed head  and  said,
        "Yes, Miss Irene."

        "On  your  knees  and  kiss my  feet,  then  we'll  discuss  your
        training."

        I  obeyed.  It seemed right and natural that I should  obey  this
        lovely  and  imperious creature. I did so, not only  kissing  her
        feet,  but abjectly licking her shoes. As I did, I could feel  my
        own sex pressing against my panties with my act of submission.

        "All  right,  Gretchen, on your feet. I didn't mean  for  you  to
        slobber all over my boots."

        When I arose and stood before her, she looked at me. She suddenly
        raised the robe and saw my arousal winning its battle against the
        smooth nylon panties.

        Without  a  moment's hesitation, she lashed out with  the  quirt.
        Twice  she slashed at my unprotected genitals. Any idea  that  my
        poor  cock  had  of being useful was  dashed.  My  erection  flat
        disappeared.

        "You  will  not get and erection or even  become  aroused  unless
        permitted," Miss Irene stated, still holding my nightgown up  and
        watching my genitals disappear into my panties.



                                  Chapter Four

        "It's time you started learning how to present a proper  feminine
        appearance and acquaint yourself with your duties as my maid. You
        can start by taking a bath. I'll accompany you to insure that you
        prepare it correctly."

        We  went  into the tub, not the ornate luxurious  room  adjoining
        Miss Irene's bedroom, but into the room adjoining the one I slept
        in. Although smaller and not quite as elaborate as the other,  it
        was  nevertheless well furnished in a  dainty feminine  style.  I
        did  note  that,  as  in the other room  also,  that  there  were
        provisions for infants here also.

        She watched as I ran the water. Under her direction, I  liberally
        applied  bath salts and bubble bath under the flowing  water.  As
        ordered,  I  removed all of my clothes. As I did so,  Miss  Irene
        watched  carefully for any signs of arousal. Fortunately for  me,
        there was none.

        After I finished bathing, and while still sitting in the tub, she
        again manacled my hands behind me. "Okay, you just lay there  and
        soak awhile. Don't masturbate. I'm going to lay out your clothes.
        I'll  be back in a bit." Taking the clothes I had  been  wearing,
        she left, closing the door behind her.

        I  don't  know how she thought I could masturbate with  my  hands
        chained behind me.

        She  returned a bit later and removed the cuffs. I  dried  myself
        off  with a nice thick fluffy towel. The sweet perfumed  odor  of
        the bath salts still clung to my now dry and tingling body.

        Miss Irene then led me back to her bedroom where my clothes  were
        laid out on the bed. There was a lacy pair of pink panties with a
        matching  lace  bra and slip. Without even being  told,  I  began
        putting  them on. I still needed a bit of assistance  putting  on
        my bra and inserts. To digress a moment, the inserts were  filled
        with a heavy gel-like material that had the weight and feel of  a
        natural  breast. When they were inserted  into my bra cups,  they
        seemed  to cling to my chest and react to my body movement,  even
        to the point of having a realistic bounce.

        The  slip was a new experience for me. Unlike the  nightgown,  it
        fit snugly about my body, making me fully aware of its  presence.
        Its sleek coolness and the feel of the lacy hem dancing across my
        hairless thighs sent tingles up and down my spine. Next came  the
        panty hose, sheer and silky. I looked at Miss Irene; her face was
        expressionless.  I  knew  that I had better  not  mess  this  up.
        Fortunately, I didn't. I drew the clinging material over my  toes
        and  heels, up my hairless legs, and on up and over my hips.  Now
        the slip tingled, but the panty hose- ! The taut feeling about my
        legs and thighs, the delicate constriction of my hips and  crotch
        was just indescribable. No wonder girls liked to dress up!

        I then slid my feet into my shoes. They fit perfectly. Now,  Miss
        Irene  and  I  were of nearly the same size, so  I  presumed  the
        clothes  she  was giving me were hers; but I thought it  quite  a
        coincidence that we both wore the same size shoes.

        In any event, I slipped them on. They were black open-toed  pumps
        with about a three-inch spiked heel. "I gave you those mules with
        the  two-inch heels to get you used to wearing heels. You  should
        adapt to these quite easily," Miss Irene noted.

        I then put on the dress Miss Irene had chosen, a maid's  uniform,
        really. It was not like those scanty French maid outfits one sees
        in  sex  magazines; rather, it was a  no-nonsense  work  uniform,
        although  quite  feminine  and attractive. It  had  short  puffed
        sleeves,  a  belted waist, full-flared petticoated  skirt  and  a
        white starched pinafore apron, tied in the back with a large bow.

        She  then  led me over to the dressing table and  began  applying
        makeup. As she applied it, she cautioned me to pay attention.  In
        the future I would be expected to do this for myself.  Completing
        the  task  to her satisfaction, she went over to the  closet  and
        came  back with a wig, which, coincidentally, was the exact  same
        shade  as  my  own hair. She put it on my head and  spent  a  few
        moments brushing it out. Finally, she stopped, looked me over and
        nodded her head in satisfaction, and asked, "Well, would you like
        to see what you look like as my feminized maid?"

        Do fish swim? You bet I wanted to see what she had done to me.

        I  jumped  up and made for the full-length  mirror,  then  almost
        twisted  my ankle and fell. Those three-inch spiked heels with  a
        base of less than a half an inch were a far cry from the two inch
        heels on the pumps. However, I quickly discovered that the  basic
        technique  was the same. Only now my steps had to be shorter  and
        more precise.

        "If  you  would point your toes straight ahead and kind  of  walk
        like  you  were  on a tightrope, you  should  rather  easily  and
        quickly  develop  a more feminine style of walking,"  Miss  Irene
        commented to my retreating back.

        I  wasn't  paying  to much attention to her  words;  I  was  busy
        staring at my reflection. From what I saw, I could easily pass as
        a  girl. Maybe not a beautiful one, but still fairly  attractive.
        My  hair, which I had always thought of as a nondescript  blonde,
        was  another matter when lengthened and brushed out. It  fell  in
        soft  waves,  almost to my shoulders. There appeared to  be  tiny
        glints  of gold shining through it when the light struck it in  a
        certain way.

        My  eyes were gray and rather wide set. Miss Irene  had  accented
        them  with mascara, eye shadow, eye liner, and  painfully  arched
        and emphasized eyebrows. My lips were colored a full red and were
        glossed  to  a luscious sheen. Finally, my high  cheekbones  were
        shaded and lightly colored to draw attention to me eyes.

        All  in  all, my face was quite attractive with an open  kind  of
        innocent   expression.  My  body  didn't  look  bad  either;   by
        necessity,  I had skipped a few meals. I had kept pretty trim  in
        my  waist and my tummy was lean and flat. The inserts in  my  bra
        gave  a perfect swelling in the bosom, and the high-heeled  pumps
        put a perfect taper in my legs and calves.

        I pranced and pirouetted, looking at myself from all angles while
        Miss  Irene smiled indulgently as one does to a child with a  new
        dress.

        "You do look quite acceptable, Gretchen. We'll finish up with the
        details later this evening."

        "Details? What details?"

        "Why,  paint your fingernails and toenails and pierce your  ears,
        for  some examples. I'm still leaning toward getting  you  breast
        implants  until  you  can grow your own. I  guess  I'll  talk  to
        Mistress Circe about it."

        "Paint my nails? Pierce my ears? Grow my own breasts? Why do  you
        want to do all that stuff when you are going to let me go in just
        a few days after I act as your maid for your party?"

        "I told you before, I never promised to let you go right away.  I
        only  told  you that if you agreed I wouldn't report you  to  the
        authorities.  Now,  we'll discuss what happens later  at  another
        time.  All  I'll say now is that you should prepare  yourself  to
        stay a while."

        "Why, you can't do that! You can't keep me here against my will."

        "I  can do any damned thing I want to with you, and do it for  as
        long  as I please. Don't forget that. No one knows  you're  here,
        and I doubt that anyone really cares."

        "Now you have a house to clean, so get with it."

        "I'll be damned if I will," I said. "I'm not going to do a damned
        thing until you promise to let me go as you said."

        Miss  Irene just looked at me and sighed. "I just knew  it  would
        eventually come to this. Well, if you need a demonstration,  then
        you  shall  have  one." She got up and went  over  to  a  bureau,
        reached into one of the drawers, and returned, carrying the quirt
        in her hand.

        She  approached  me, and I began backing away  but  tripped,  not
        being used to the high-heeled shoes. She reached down, grabbed my
        by  my wrist and forced me to my feet. With no  apparent  effort,
        she  twisted my arm way up behind my back, forcing to me to  bend
        over helplessly.

        She  marched me over to the bed, sat down, and forced me  to  lay
        across her lap. Laying the quirt down on the bed beside her,  she
        raised  my  dress and slip. She then pulled down my  panties  and
        hose, leaving my bottom exposed to the world.

        Picking  up  the  quirt, she began whipping  me.  I  squirmed,  I
        struggled,  all  to  no  avail.  Meanwhile,  she  was  vigorously
        applying  the braided quirt to my bare bottom. I began  swearing,
        but  that  didn't help, so I began pleading, almost  crying.  The
        pain  was  really becoming quite severe. It had no effect  on  my
        tormentor. She kept laying down the quirt where she felt it would
        do the most good.

        Finally, exhausted, I gave up the struggle and lay whimpering and
        quiescent across her lap as she continued with the whipping. Once
        I gave up the struggle, she ceased. "Do we have an  understanding
        that  you  are  my feminized maid and will do as  I  say?  I  can
        continue this all day. It doesn't hurt me a bit."

        "You win," I moaned. "I'll do anything you say, just let me up."

        She  gave  me one last vicious whack and then released  me.  "Now
        pull up your panties and straighten your dress!"

        Gently and as delicately as I could, I pulled my panties and hose
        up over my tender bottom and pulled down my slip, fluffing out my
        skirt so that it again hung neatly.

        She  arose  from sitting on the bed and stood  facing  me.  "Now,
        curtsy  for  me  and say that you are sorry  for  questioning  my
        authority, and that you will obey me in the future."

        All  thoughts of rebellion were erased by the pain in my  bottom.
        My  only thought was to appease this iron hard female who  looked
        so lovely, innocent, and delicate. I made an attempt at a  curtsy
        and  said, "I'm sorry I questioned your authority, Miss Irene.  I
        will obey all of your orders in the future."

        "Just  don't  forget this mild lesson. I can do  this  anytime  I
        wish, and if I think it necessary, I have a room where I can hang
        you from the ceiling and lash you with a real whip until you  get
        the message that I am your superior."

        I  inwardly shuddered. After this last fiasco, I knew  she  could
        and  would do it if she thought it was necessary or if  she  just
        had the notion to discipline me severely.



                                  Chapter Five

        She then ordered, "You have a house to clean, so get with it!"

        Get  with it, I did. I mopped. I scrubbed floors. I  vacuumed,  I
        dusted,  I polished the furniture. I did everything necessary  to
        clean  the house until it was spotless. I even did  the  windows;
        inside, that is.

        Meanwhile,  Miss  Irene was doing exercises  and  practicing  her
        martial  arts.  I sneaked a few minutes to peek in a  watch  her.
        Seeing  her work out made me understand how she took me  down  so
        easily  when  I  first tried to jump her, and then  how  she  had
        overpowered  me  when she gave me the spanking, which,  in  fact,
        still  hurt. I knew there was no way that I could get the  better
        of her physically without a club or something.

        Occasionally,  she would interrupt me in my work, force  me  into
        the dressing room and remove my makeup, and make me re-apply  it.
        We  did  that four or five times during the day.  The  first  few
        times  it  was a disaster and she had to do it over for  me.  The
        third  time,  so-so. The fourth time I was  almost  passable.  At
        least I was getting better.

        She  also  interrupted me at lunch. I had to fix her a  meal  and
        then  stand behind her while she ate, making sure her every  need
        was fulfilled.  I should also mention that she would interrupt me
        all  during  the  day to serve her drinks  or  otherwise  do  her
        bidding.

        After  she  ate, she allowed me to eat in the  kitchen.  My  meal
        consisted  of eating what she had left on her plate. It may  have
        been  humiliating,  but for me, it was a giant step up.  For  the
        first time since I had come into the house, I didn't have to  eat
        off the floor.

        I might also mention that early on, I had complained about  doing
        housework  in high heels, pointing out that regular  maids  doing
        menial work wore low-heeled shoes while working. I argued that  I
        could  do a better job cleaning the house if she allowed me  this
        freedom.

        She only laughed and replied that regular maids already knew  how
        to   wear  high-heeled  shoes  and  that  housework   was   their
        occupation.  But in my case, not only must I learn  housework,  I
        must  also  learn to accustom myself to high heels. It  was  also
        necessary  to keep me aware that I must get used to  accepting  a
        subservient role and wear feminine clothes. No arguing with that.

        I  guess it was around five-thirty when I finished. If the  house
        was clean before, it was sterile now.

        It  was  now time to begin preparing Miss Irene's  evening  meal.
        Fortunately,  I had spent some time in my wanderings as a  short-
        order  cook,  so I wasn't completely lost in front  of  a  stove.
        Also, the meal she ordered was rather simple to prepare. I had no
        trouble  making it. She did mention, rather emphatically, that  I
        had  better  learn to prepare more exotic foods as  she  and  her
        guests enjoyed a varied menu.

        It  was after seven before I finished preparing and  serving  the
        meal.  As instructed, I stood behind her while she ate so that  I
        would  be available in case she wanted something. My meal was  in
        the same manner as lunch. I ate her leftovers in the kitchen.

        Completing  the  cleanup,  I went and bathed. I  again  used  the
        sweet-smelling  bath crystals and the bubble bath. By now  I  was
        starting  to enjoy this part of it and thought that after  I  was
        freed, I'd continue to bathe this way whenever possible.

        After  I bathed and dried myself, I put on a clean lace  bra  and
        inserts  that  I  found  on  my crib (cage?).  I  had  a  bit  of
        difficulty  but I was getting used to the technique  of  snagging
        hooks behind me.

        Next was baby doll nightie and a matching short robe that  barely
        covered my hips. The lace bikini panties were elasticized in  the
        crotch,  which held my genitals back between my legs,  completely
        hiding  them out of sight. Smearing some night cream on  my  face
        that  Miss Irene told me I'd find on the dressing table,  I  went
        into the den to join her.

        She was there waiting for me, similarly clad. When she saw me she
        produced a bowl of ice cubes, a few of which she wrapped in  some
        cloth.  She  told me to hold one against each ear,  which  I  did
        until they began to feel numb.

        She  then  severely pinched each ear in turn and  began  fumbling
        with them, finally stepping back.

        "When  are  you going to pierce them," I asked,  secretly  hoping
        that she would change her mind.

        "It's  already done, and the keepers are in place," she  replied.
        We'll  check them again in the morning. I see no reason  why  you
        shouldn't be able to wear any style I select for you by then."

        Under her close direction, I filed and shaped my fingernails  and
        toenails,  and applied a bright red polish on them. She  remarked
        that  my  fingernails would look much more attractive  when  they
        grew out longer.

        When  they  were completely dry, she affixed the  chastity  irons
        about  my wrists and neck to prevent me from reaching down to  my
        crotch and playing with my genitals.

        She took me up to my bedroom and again locked me in my  crib/cage
        and left me to my own thoughts for the night.

        And so ended my first full day of feminized captivity.


                                   Chapter Six

        The  next  day started exactly as the previous one.  After  being
        released  and  doing  my morning necessities,  I  went  into  the
        kitchen  and prepared Miss Irene's breakfast. This time I  didn't
        make the mistake of thinking I was worthy of eating with her.

        After  serving her and again eating her leftovers, I went to  her
        room in response to her summons. She was wearing only a peignoir,
        not the elaborate costume she had worn the previous morning. "You
        will  be my personal maid as well as do the housework, cook,  and
        serve meals. You may as well start learning now. You can begin by
        helping  me with my bath. Draw the water, warm, but not too  hot.
        Remember to add the bath crystals on the counter."

        I did as she ordered, constantly testing the water, all the while
        hoping that she would like the temperature I selected.

        When  the water was ready, I went in to inform her.  She  slipped
        off the robe and, well, she undulated into the bath.

        Yesterday, she was erotic while wearing the sexy costume.  Today,
        unclad, she was beautiful. Her body was perfect. The pink nipples
        and  aureoles capped her perfect breasts that rose to their  full
        perfection.  The  dark  pubic patch had been  shaved  to  form  a
        perfect  heart. Awe-struck, I gazed at her as she passed  me  and
        went into the tub.

        She  dipped her toe in the water, testing it. "It's a  bit  warm,
        but acceptable this first time. However, next time have it a  few
        degrees cooler."

        "Yes, Miss Irene."

        She  entered the tub and I helped her bathe. I washed  her  back,
        handed her the washcloth or soap or whatever she wanted. When she
        was through, I patted her dry with a large fluffy bath towel.

        We  the  returned  to the bedroom. She turned,  facing  me.  "Get
        down on your knees," she ordered. I complied.

        She  approached me until there were only a few inches between  my
        face and her furry patch. "You will now service me, and use  your
        tongue," she commanded, pulling my head up into her crotch.

        I pushed my nose into her, and then hesitantly at first,  slipped
        my  tongue  between  the thick wet lips of her  labia  and  began
        working  it  around. I found the hot musky taste of  her  vaginal
        fluids quite tantalizing.

        My  exploring  tongue moved about within her vagina. I  felt  her
        quiver  as erotic sensations were being aroused within her  body.
        Suddenly,  I wanted to make her come. I wanted to orally  satisfy
        her  so  that she would reach orgasm. I began driving  my  tongue
        deeper  while  at the same time thrashing it  about  within  her,
        trying to stimulate her to greater arousal.

        Apparently  I met with some success as her gyrations on my  mouth
        became more frantic and the fleshy lips of her pink tunnel became
        coated  with  a thick, gooey lubricant, which I collected  on  my
        tongue.

        I  don't  know  how long I, or rather we, kept it  up.  She  kept
        getting more and more excited and held my face so far up  against
        her snatch that I could hardly breathe. At that moment, I  didn't
        care. I only wanted for her to climax into my subservient mouth.

        She  finally  gave a tremendous tremor and sighed  audibly,  then
        relaxed, satiated.

        Releasing  my  head, she ordered me to my feet. Pulling  down  my
        lace panties, she smiled triumphantly.

        "You're  learning how to obey." I looked down in  amazement.  All
        during  the whole erotic act, I had no physical arousal. My  cock
        was still soft and limp although I was on an erotic high.

        "As  a reward for your obedience, you have my permission to  have
        an erection. In fact, I order you to have one."

        Apparently of its own volition, my cock started to obey. I  could
        feel  the  blood pulsing within it. I watched it  slowly  engorge
        until within a few seconds it stood straight and stiff,  pressing
        the front of my panties out obscenely.

        I  can't  explain it. Ordinarily I considered my cock to  have  a
        mind  of its own. It would get erect in crowds,  embarrassing  me
        with its distinct bulge. At other times I'd be embarrassed for no
        good  reason because it wouldn't come up. Now, here, in one  day,
        this strange woman was making it do as she wished.

        "You are a bit repressed, aren't you?"

        "Yes, Miss Irene. Horny would be a better word. It's been quite a
        while."

        She  handed me a pair of her panties. "You have my permission  to
        have some relief. Masturbate yourself into those panties."

        "Here? Now? Right in front of you?"

        "Certainly. You must not have any ejaculation or erection without
        my permission. On the other hand, if I should order it, you  WILL
        comply.  Also,  you will only have sexual arousal by  my  orders,
        unless, of course, I lend to other mistresses. Then you will obey
        them as you would me."

        I  was red-faced and embarrassed. I had never  been  specifically
        ordered  to beat my meat, nor had I ever done it in the  presence
        of a lovely woman. Miss Irene stood there with a slight smile  on
        her lips, enjoying her superiority and my embarrassment.

        "Well,  are going to deliberately disobey me or are you going  to
        begin?"

        I  reached  down and grabbed my cock. It felt hot in my  hand.  I
        began  to  stroke  it.  She stared intently  at  my  activity.  I
        gradually  began manipulating it at a faster pace. It  responded,
        beginning to throb somewhat, a bit of ejaculate lubricating it. I
        gradually increased the rapidity of my stroking and could feel my
        excitement rising.

        I was soon rapt with the sensations rising within me. I knew Miss
        Irene  was still watching me, but I was no longer embarrassed.  I
        did  note, without being fully aware of it, that she was  staring
        intently at my masturbation, her breath coming in short gasps  in
        unison with my own.

        Suddenly, I knew it was time and placed the panties over the  tip
        of my swollen cock. I closed my eyes and exploded!

        As I was ejaculating, I felt a cool hand over my own. I opened my
        eyes  and looked down. Miss Irene's hand was over mine, her  body
        was bucking, and I'd swear that she had an orgasm in  conjunction
        with mine.

        She  recovered her composure rather quickly, and as I was  coming
        back  to my senses she said, "Yesterday, you cleaned  the  house.
        Today  is  washing and ironing day. You will take your  bath  and
        apply  your  own makeup. Instead of a uniform, you  will  find  a
        skirt  and  blouse lying on your bed. I want you to get  used  to
        wearing various sorts of female clothing."

        "When you are finished dressing and applying your makeup and feel
        that you are presentable, report to me for inspection. After  you
        pass,  I'll  show you where the laundry is and what you  have  to
        do."

        Relaxed,  and  finally at ease with myself, I left to do  as  she
        ordered.

        I  took  my  bath  as directed, liberally  dumping  in  the  bath
        crystals  and  luxuriating  in  the  sweet-smelling  warm  water.
        Completing  the  bath,  I  went into my  room  and  discovered  a
        complete wardrobe laid out on my bed.

        I  put  on  the  white nylon lace  panties  that  were  liberally
        embroidered with pink butterflies. The matching bra, I discovered
        with  some satisfaction, was front-hooked, which for me was  much
        easier  to put on. The skirt portion of the slip was of  a  sleek
        white  nylon. The bodice was form-fitting and all lace; even  the
        shoulder  straps were lace. The same pale pink  butterflies  that
        adorned my panties and bra were also on the slip.

        The  blouse  was pullover type with a modified 'V' neck  full  of
        lace  ruffles. The sleeves were short and puffed. The cuffs  were
        white satin with lace ruffles similar to those around the collar.
        The  material of the blouse was very sheer,  almost  transparent,
        and the lace of the slip could easily be seen through it.

        The  skirt  was pale pink, made from a soft wool fabric.  It  was
        fully pleated and had its own self belt.

        The  panty  hose were a very light shade of beige and  were  very
        sheer,  almost  invisible when worn, except for  the  sheen  that
        accented  the pleasing appearance of my shaved legs.  The  three-
        inch  heeled  shoes  were open-toed with  spaghetti  straps  that
        buckled around the ankle.

        I  also discovered a fine gold necklace with  a tiny  pendant,  a
        matching  bracelet, and a pair of pierced earrings with  pendants
        that matched the one on the necklace.

        Prior  to putting on my skirt and blouse, I applied my makeup.  I
        was  still  far from an expert but at least by now I had  a  good
        idea as to how to apply the various cremes and colors. I selected
        a  lipstick  that would match my red nails, with  a  slight  pink
        cast.  I  figured that would match the pale pink  skirt.  I  also
        selected a very light shade of pink for my eye shadow, hoping  it
        would  kind  of go with the outfit. Although I  was  learning  to
        apply  makeup, I still had a long way to go in learning to  match
        colors and shades.

        Completing my makeup, I carefully put on the rest of my  feminine
        clothing,  then the jewelry, and finally set the wig on  my  head
        and brushed it out.

        Looking  myself  over,  satisfied with what I  saw,  I  presented
        myself to Miss Irene.

        She  took one look and exclaimed, "I thought I taught you how  to
        apply  mascara. It should look natural, and each lash  should  be
        separate, not glued together in clumps as you have done."

        She  reached  into her own vanity, rustled through it for  a  few
        moments, then returned. "Here is a mascara comb. Go back and  fix
        that mascara. When it looks right, let me see it again."

        I  did  as she directed and was surprised at  how  effective  the
        little comb was. It smoothed and separated each lash, making them
        appear longer and decidedly more attractive.

        Again I presented myself to Miss Irene. This time she  grudgingly
        approved   of   my  appearance.  I  felt  quite   proud   of   my
        accomplishments, and strangely enough, I also enjoyed the feeling
        of attractive femininity that I knew I portrayed.

        Miss Irene wasted no time, and led me into the laundry room. "all
        the  lingerie  that  is here, you will wash by  hand."  She  then
        instructed  me  as  to how to wash the rest  of  the  items,  and
        cautioned  me to be careful of the clothes I was  wearing.  There
        were of a light color and delicate fabrics. I believe Miss  Irene
        deliberately selected them to make it difficult. Then she left me
        to myself.

        There  wasn't a whole lot of the regular laundry. A  few  sheets,
        some towels, and a load or so of wash-n-wear clothing, belonging,
        I  assumed,  to Miss Irene. There were blouses,  skirts,  shorts,
        jeans,  and things of that sort. I eyed the jeans, some of  them,
        and  even the blouses, a few of which looked like they would  not
        be too out of place if worn by a male.

        It put the thought of escape in my mind, but until I could figure
        a way out, such thoughts were useless. So I went back to the task
        at hand.

        There  were no problems with washing the clothes. I put  them  in
        the  washer,  then the dryer, and let them go. The  lingerie  was
        another  matter.  There  was a mountain of it.  It  was  hard  to
        imagine that any one person could have so many underclothes, much
        less  get  them all so that they all needed washing at  the  same
        time. My mistress much change her undies four or five times a day
        and go that way for a month to have that much to wash.

        I  started  the washing machine and then began sorting  and  hand
        washing   the  lingerie.  Panties,  hose,  slips,  gowns,   bras,
        everything.  It seemed that there were zillions of each  kind  in
        every imaginable style and color.

        Originally, I had thought that this would be an easy day -  after
        all, how many clothes does one woman wear? I mentioned  something
        about it while I served lunch to Miss Irene.

        "Oh,  most of that lingerie belongs to friends. They asked me  to
        have it done when they discovered I was going to get a maid."

        Now,  how  did they, or Miss Irene, know she was going to  get  a
        maid, at least me specifically? If I hadn't, by chance,  accepted
        that ride, then been hauled off and dumped hereabouts, I'd  never
        have been anywhere near this place. Did they have someone else in
        mind?  If they did, then there should be two of us. Did she  know
        in  advance somehow that I or someone else would come by? Or  did
        she  have other plans, and I just happened by and caused a  last-
        minute change? The idle comment Miss Irene made brought all sorts
        of questions to my mind. I even get up the nerve and temerity  to
        ask her how they knew she would obtain a maid.

        She looked at me frostily and simply replied that it was none  of
        my  business. I was merely her maid and I would be better off  to
        learn  my duties rather than to worry about matters  that  didn't
        concern me.

        There was one hint she did give. She said that if it suited their
        purpose,  Mistress Circe would teach me all I needed to  know  in
        order to become a better maid.

        "Who is Mistress Circe?", I boldly inquired.

        "Mistress  Circe is the queen of the Sisters of Circe. She and  a
        few  of  her aides will be here for dinner tomorrow  night.  They
        will  judge  your  appearance and deportment to see  if  you  are
        worthy of continued development and training."

        "Oh, if I don't pass, you turn me loose?"

        "We have said enough about this. You had better realize that what
        you  learn,  how  you look and act will have a  real  bearing  on
        whether  you  live  or  die.  Your  impertinence  will  also   be
        considered  in your judgment. I should add that  your  unprovoked
        attack upon me and subsequent punishment will also be  considered
        in  your  final  judgment. Your impertinent behavior  that  I  am
        observing now doesn't help you in the judgment."

        I didn't need to be clubbed to get the hint. "Yes, Miss Irene," I
        apologized,  clumsily trying to curtsy. "Is there  anything  else
        you need?"

        She smiled at my attempted curtsy and said, "No, Gretchen, that's
        all. You had better get back to work. However, it would be a good
        idea  for you to be more graceful when you curtsy to  acknowledge
        my orders."

        Rather  subdued, I returned to the laundry room. From  the  hints
        that  Miss Irene dropped, there was something more than  me  just
        acting  as a maid for one party. It appeared that my  future  had
        but one real choice, slavery as a feminized maid. The options  of
        death  or  insanity were no choices. As far as I  was  concerned,
        there was no other choice.

        I  finally finished the lingerie and began hanging the  items  on
        lines that were strung across the room. While hanging them up,  I
        took  the  opportunity  to study the windows. As  I  should  have
        expected, the windows were locked and had heavy grilles bolted to
        them. Not to keep intruders out, but to make sure the subject  of
        feminization, me, stayed in.

        While  I was looking over the windows, with a very faint hope  of
        escape  on  my  mind, Miss Irene walked in and  saw  me.  "That's
        right," she said. "Every window is securely barred. I don't  want
        my domestic help to 'accidentally' fall out and hurt  themselves.
        And you should also know that all of the doors are steel and  the
        locks are all electrically operated. Even if by some  far-fetched
        chance  you managed to overcome me, there still wouldn't  be  any
        way out. And the punishment for trying would be most severe."

        Despondently,  I  knew  that she spoke the  truth.  My  fate  was
        sealed.  Even if I could overwhelm my captor, I'd be  trapped  in
        the  house  until Mistress Circe, whoever she was,  came  in  and
        found me.

        "Oh,  yes,  another  thing. The telephone is fixed  so  that  all
        outgoing  calls  are routed through the local  Sisters  of  Circe
        lines."

        "Oh,  I wasn't thinking of escape, Miss Irene. I'd never  try  to
        escape  from  you  or  to make  a  telephone  call  without  your
        permission," I lied, going back to my chores.

        "I  just  know you wouldn't, Gretchen," she said with  a  knowing
        smile.

        I  finally  finished the wash. Miss Irene told me  to  leave  the
        dainties hanging. When Miss Irene's friends came, they would pick
        their own right off the line.



                                  Chapter Seven

        Miss  Irene made an inspection of the washing and ironing.  After
        finding a few pleats in one skirt ironed incorrectly, which I had
        to do over, she grudgingly approved my work.

        She ordered me to bathe and to prepare myself with clothes I would
        find on my bed. When I was ready, I was to report to the den  for
        her inspection and scrutiny.

        After  bathing,  I went to find my clothes on the bed  as  I  was
        instructed.  The  dress Miss Irene had chosen for me was  a  long
        sleeved gown of a sheer crepe-like material. It was peach-colored
        and  lavishly  ornamented  with  sequins,  which  gliitered   and
        sparkled  as it moved. It had a high empress-style  waistline.  A
        bright  diamond-shaped pin, covered with rhinestones, was  placed
        between the breasts, accenting the bustline. The gown was  floor-
        length and draped seductively from my hips to the floor. It had a
        side   slit  almost  to  the  waist  which  gave  an   occasional
        tantalizing glimpse of a long expanse of nylon-clad leg.

        The lingerie consisted of matching panties, strapless bra, garter
        belt,  and a long half-slip that also had a side slit.  The  long
        sheer  hose also had a faint peach cast to match my dress.  There
        was a pair of shoes with at least a four-inch spiked heel in same
        color to match the gown.

        There was a necklace a pair of dangling earrings which I inserted
        into  my pierced ears. The jewelry was pearl (I don't think  they
        were real pearls, but they sure did look nice).

        Needless  to  say,  I took extra special pains  and  utilized  my
        growing  skill  to put on my makeup and brush out my wig.  For  a
        fleeting moment I wished my own hair was long enough for it to be
        femininely styled.

        You  used  to read those stories about how some guy  got  himself
        dressed up and turned out to be more beautiful and glamorous than
        his girlfriend. Not me. There was no way I could approach Irene's
        beauty  or  attractiveness. My reflection was that  of  a  rather
        attractive  young lady, one who appeared naive, almost  virginal,
        but wanting to appear as a sophisticated young lady of the world.

        I suddenly realized that I was enjoying my feminization! What was
        happening  to me? I had never had the least desire to 'dress  up'
        before. Now I gloried in it. In fact, I could hardly wait to join
        Miss Irene and hope for her approval of my girlish appearance.

        I  decided that later I would have to analyze my feelings.  Right
        now  it  wouldn't  do  to make Miss Irene wait  for  me  while  I
        pondered on this concept.

        With  a bit of trepidation I went to meet Miss Irene in the  den,
        stumbling  a little as my heels were higher than any I  had  worn
        previously.  Also, I tended to trip as I was not used to  such  a
        long skirt.

        Miss  Irene was waiting for me, similarly clad in a long  evening
        gown.  However,  where mine was of an innocent pastel  color  and
        relatively  modest except for the side slit, hers was of  flaming
        red,  backless,  with  a  plunging  neckline  exposing  the  deep
        cleavage between her breasts.

        The  difference  carried deeper than our appearance. I  was  shy,
        diffident,  and  rather  nervous. Hell, I never  thought  I'd  be
        forced into feminine attire, much less a glamorous evening gown.

        Miss  Irene, on the other hand, was confident, self-assured,  and
        well aware of the lovely vision she presented. There was no doubt
        that she was the dominant personality.

        When  she saw me, she smiled, "Why, Gretchen, you look  charming!
        Turn around and let me see all of you."

        I obeyed, doing a slight pirouette and replied, "Thank you,  Miss
        Irene. I must say that you look quite attractive yourself."

        For  tonight, let's dispense with the 'Miss'. You  have  docilely
        accepted  your  status for the last couple of  days,  except,  of
        course,  for  the bit of rebellion that  I  effectively  quelled.
        Other  than,  that,  you  have been  quite  cooperative  and  are
        adapting  well  to your new role. Tomorrow at this  time,  you'll
        either  be  dead or starting on an intensive training  course  to
        prepare you to be an obedient subject to me and other members  of
        the Sisters of Circe."

        "Who are these Sisters of Circe and this Mistress Circe you  keep
        referring to?"

        "I  may  explain  to you later. But first, if  you  look  in  the
        freezer, you'll find two prepared meals. If you will put them  in
        the  microwave  for  about  thirty  minutes,  they'll  be  ready.
        Meanwhile, I'll fix us a couple of drinks while we're waiting."

        Well,  I did and she did. When I returned from the  kitchen,  she
        had a couple of Martinis in lovely long-stemmed crystal  glasses.
        They were potent. I think she forgot to take the cork out of  the
        vermouth bottle. The only thing I could see diluting the gin were
        the olives, and they were small.

        We had three before the microwave signaled that dinner was ready.
        In any event, I was feeling the effect of them before we  started
        to eat.

        The meal was fantastic: rock Cornish hens stuffed with some  sort
        of wild rice dressing and all of the trimmings. Its amazing  what
        they can do with frozen prepared meals these days.

        After  the meal we sat together on the overstuffed couch  in  the
        den.  It wasn't real cold but Irene started a small fire  in  the
        fireplace. The flames began flickering hypnotically. At the  same
        time,  Irene began plying us with Brandy Alexanders.  Smooth  and
        potent. Like being hit with velvet sledge hammers. After the last
        few  days of involuntary servitude, I was enjoying  this  evening
        immensely.

        Irene took one of my hands in hers. The other she draped about my
        shoulders,  pulling me close and laying my head on her  shoulder.
        "How do you like being a girl?" she asked softly.

        "Right now I'm enjoying it to the Nth degree. I feel like I  have
        sole  possession of cloud nine," I replied. Strangely  enough,  I
        did.

        Now,  I've heard of guys getting a kick out of  wearing  feminine
        clothes  and  always thought of them as a bit nuts  and  kind  of
        sissified.  But  I  must say I was enjoying  wearing  my  clothes
        immensely. The taut suspension of my bra and the gentle swell  of
        my  breasts  when I looked down at them was  very  sensuous.  The
        gossamer nylon hose seemed to add a soft sheen to my legs, and  I
        could  feel the sheerness of them when I happened to rub my  legs
        together. Even the slight tug of my garter belt felt natural  and
        gave  me  a comfortable feeling knowing that it  was  holding  my
        nylons  up and keeping them free of wrinkles. I decided then  and
        there  that I liked the garter belt and nylons much  better  than
        panty hose.

        The  gown  and  slip felt comfortable and  natural  and  my  skin
        tingled where the hem dangled about my ankles. When the side slit
        fell apart and displayed an expanse of nylon-clad leg it added  a
        sense of daring and a feeling of feminine vulnerability.

        My  genitals, imprisoned by the sheer silky nylon of  my  panties
        was  eroticism personified. I don't believe that I could  make  a
        movement  without  becoming  aware  of  their  soft  and   gentle
        confinement.

        I  realized that I was now hooked. Even if, by  some  far-fetched
        chance,  I  was  able to manage an escape, I  would  still  be  a
        prisoner to my newfound desire to wear feminine clothing for  the
        rest of my life.


                                  Chapter Eight

        In  any event, after starting on the second drink, I  asked  Miss
        Irene about the Sisters of Circe.

        "The Sisters of Circe," she replied, "is an organization of free-
        thinking  women, aware of their superiority and dedicated to  the
        humiliation  and abasement of men as payment for the  years  they
        have   suffered   under  masculine  domination.  They   do   this
        symbolically by capturing a male slave and humiliating him.  This
        humiliation may be by feminizing them, by infantilizing them,  or
        by training them to be pet  animals. Of course, the women are not
        limited to these classifications. They can train their males  any
        way  they wish as long as the subject is constantly aware of  his
        subjugation to the whims and desires of his mistress."

        "In fact," she continued, deviating from the subject a moment, "I
        know  of  a  woman  who made a bed pot out  of  her  male  slave.
        However,  this  is  an  extreme  example  and  is  not  generally
        practiced."

        "The main purpose is not the method. It is the desire, the  whim,
        and  even the fetish of the mistress. It is to  continually  make
        the  subject  male  aware that he is under  the  control  of  his
        mistress and has no free will of his own, forever!"

        "Yeah,"  I  replied,  "but this Sisters of Circe  sounds  like  a
        pretty big organization to me. How come I've never even heard  of
        it?"

        "That's  not  surprising. Despite everything that  you  may  have
        heard, women can be very close-mouthed when necessary. There  are
        no  living ex-slaves, sane ones anyway, that may talk  about  our
        organization."

        "I guess it's all right now to tell you a little about us,  since
        you  won't be able to repeat it to anyone, except possibly  other
        slaves."

        Here is the story she told me. She did put words in the mouths of
        some of the women, which may or may not be quite precise, but  it
        did clear up several points.

                                * * * * * * * * *

                              THE SISTERS OF CIRCE

        The  Sisters of Circe was started about a hundred years  ago.  It
        seems  that there was a group of rather wealthy and  independent-
        minded  women who would meet regularly. They would  discuss  many
        topics  of the day, but generally the main and central object  of
        discussion  always came back to the subject of  male  domination,
        the  treatment  of  women as property, and most of  all,  how  to
        overcome this domination and give women at least equal rights.

        "You  must remember that this was in the late  eighteen-seventies
        and  women's rights were not even thought about then. Women  were
        considered  to  be the property of their  husbands  or  fathers,"
        Irene interrupted herself.

        During one of these meetings, one of the younger women burst out,
        "I'd like to take one of those men and make him wear a bustle and
        girdle  and  all  the other uncomfortable  clothing  and  perform
        the menial housework that we women have to put up with."

        "Oh, you say that, but you couldn't handle my pet dog, let  alone
        a   big   adult  independent  male,"   another   woman   answered
        sarcastically.

        "I could too! I'm quite athletic. I'm an excellent horsewoman and
        tennis player. Besides, my brother has a book on the manly art of
        self-defense  and  I've been sneaking it off  and  practicing.  I
        don't  want  any big, hulking, clumsy oaf. I'd pick  one  who  is
        small  and  delicate, one who would look  attractive  in  women's
        clothes."

        "And where do you think you would find such a man?" another woman
        asked.

        "Males of that sort are all about and quite easy to find, if  one
        wants  to look. Why, my father's tailor has an  eighteen-year-old
        apprentice  who would make a lovely-looking girl. He's small  and
        delicate.  I'll bet that master tailor would sell him for  little
        or  nothing,  and he's an orphan. No one would ever miss  him.  I
        imagine there must be thousands like him."

        The  meeting  degenerated from "I wish I could--" to  "How's  the
        best  way to--" and finally to "If you had one, where  would  you
        keep him?"

        Finally,  one  of the older women spoke up. "Except  for  me,  my
        family is all dead. We have a large estate in the country  h=that
        no one uses anymore. It's quite isolated. We don't talk about  it
        much, but father used to catch runaway slaves and hold them there
        until their masters would come to get them. It has several  rooms
        that  were  used as jail cells. It also has  a  punishment  area,
        another way to say torture chamber. Now, if any of you women  are
        serious about the idea of overpowering, capturing, and training a
        male to wear feminine clothing, then you're welcome to use of the
        estate."

        "All right," one woman jibed at the first speaker, "you now  know
        where to obtain your 'man'. You are offered a place to train him.
        Now, what are you going to do about it?"

        Stung by the dare, the woman replied, "I'll do it if someone else
        will do it with me."

        That  created another uproar, and when the dust had  settled,  no
        less  than  five women had each volunteered  to  domesticate  and
        feminize a man of their own choosing.

        The  women  agreed to a few basic rules. No male  under  eighteen
        would  be  taken. Otherwise, a woman could get a lad  of  ten  or
        twelve and train him with little difficulty.

        It  should be noted that putting boys in dresses  for  discipline
        measures  was  an accepted procedure in those days.  If  a  woman
        could  find  a  male  over eighteen who  had  been  through  this
        discipline, it was her good luck.

        The  second rule was that the selected male should not have  any
        close  kin  or friends who would raise a big stink if  he  should
        suddenly turn up missing.

        The  third was that a male, once selected, would be  trained  and
        kept  for  life,  or killed, no exceptions.  There  would  be  no
        opportunity  for ex-slaves to disclose any information about  the
        group.

        There  was a bit of argument over this rule, but  its  importance
        was  accepted.  It just meant that the women would  be  extremely
        selective in choosing their subjects.

        It  should  be noted that through the years, only  a  handful  of
        males  suffered this fate, and these in every  case  demonstrated
        violent criminal tendencies.

        Basically, that was it. Find a male over eighteen that suits you,
        one  with  no close family ties and have at it. With only  a  few
        minor exceptions, these rules still apply today.

        Well,  to  get back to the story, those five  women  found  their
        subjects. Taking them to this isolated estate, they trained  them
        with surprisingly little difficulty. Contrary to popular  belief,
        the  women  quickly discovered that the  difference  in  physical
        strength  between the sexes was negligible. The  individual  with
        the  most  rigorous training and the practicing of what  we  know
        call  the martial arts made the difference. All of the women  who
        first accepted this challenge were quite physical and aggressive.
        They  had  no real difficulty in subjugating and  training  their
        males.

        They  also found an unexpected bonus in this  'experiment'.  Once
        the male had been thoroughly dominated and forced to wear women's
        clothing,  they  actually embraced their  femininity  and  adored
        their mistresses. They would endure any punishment and discipline
        just for the honor of serving them.

        Those old-time women had one problem with their feminized  males,
        though  - facial hair. There were no depilatories or even  safety
        razors  then - only straight razors. These razors would shave  as
        close  or even closer than safety razors today - in the hands  of
        an expert. There were probably many who had light beards or  were
        able  to  shave closely every day who had no trouble  passing  as
        women.

        However,  there  were a number of feminized males who  could  not
        shave closely every day. These made full use of veils which  were
        very  common  at that time to hide their stubble. This  may  have
        been a significant reason why veils were so popular then.

        All  in  all,  these first five women were  quite  successful  in
        establishing their dominance over their feminized male slaves.

        Like most endeavors, success breeds success, and over the  years,
        the  number of women wanting male slaves burgeoned. No one  knows
        how  many  there  are today. There may  be  hundreds,  thousands,
        perhaps even millions.

        The original estate where the first males were taken is no longer
        in  existence. The women spread out and formed individual  groups
        in  their  own  town or locality. Each group  maintains  its  own
        membership.  There  is  a  loose  confederation,  but  by  common
        consent, each woman keeps her affiliation secret. There are signs
        and  passwords  so  that  members  from  different  chapters  can
        recognize each other.

        Another gradual change has been the growth in the diversification
        of  training.  At  first,  the  women  were  only  interested  in
        feminizing  their  males.  However,  some  of  the  women  became
        interested  in  variations.  Now, in addition  to  our  feminized
        males, we also have males who have been infantilized, trained  to
        be  pets  of  one sort or another in  all  kinds  of  variations,
        limited only by the imagination of the dominant woman.

        Although  the  organization still operates  basically  the  same,
        there  have  been  some  changes over  the  years.  In  the  late
        nineteen-forties,  one of the members, a neurosurgeon,  attempted
        to  develop  a procedure whereby males failing to  be  acceptable
        could  have their memories of their captivity  excised.  However,
        the procedure resulted only in insanity for the poor subjects.

        Despite  this  one unfortunate failure, we women  have  developed
        several  improvements  in our procedures. We  now  have  improved
        depilatories, female hormones, and breast implants, and even  the
        birth  control pill was developed from original studies  done  by
        members of the Sisters of Circe.

        Needless  to say, we women adopted all the new techniques in  our
        training  methods  and disciplinary measures. However,  over  the
        years  we have found that nothing has been quite as effective  as
        the  good  old  fashioned lap spanking. It  combines  a  measured
        infliction  of  pain and obvious humiliation to the  males  lucky
        enough to be selected by a dominant woman.

        We  have also developed other procedures affecting  the  physical
        qualities  and  mental attitudes of the subject  males.  Most  of
        these are not yet available to the general public. For  instance,
        the depilatory with a hair growth inhibitor that you received  is
        one of our newer developments.

        Irene  smiled,  "There is also a potion that I put in  your  food
        the  first night that can cause the mistress to gain  control  of
        the sexual behavior of the subject. It is not fully perfected yet
        and  only  sets up the mind of the subject to be  receptive.  The
        mistress  must use commands, discipline, and punishment to  fully
        imprint  it  in  the mind of the subject.  Once  established,  it
        should  be permanent. They hope to eventually develop it so  that
        control  will  be  immediate without the  need  to  use  physical
        feedback.  That  is why I can control your  genital  arousal  and
        erections."

        She also indicated that there were many other developments,  some
        perfected,  others  they were still working on. One  they  almost
        have   completed  is  a  hormone  that  will   stimulate   breast
        development  and the growth of feminine curves on the  male  body
        without inhibiting the male potency. Retention of male potency is
        necessary so that male will always be a male, albeit a dominated,
        feminized one. Another is the ability of a developed male  breast
        to  lactate  so  that  they  can  breast-feed  babies  for  their
        mistresses.  "Another development is the ability to increase  the
        physical strength and agility of we women. I believe you may have
        noticed its effectiveness when you tried to attack me," she added
        unnecessarily, with a sort of gloating smile.

        "These  are only a few examples of the advances we have  made  or
        are working on. I am sure that if you are accepted as a permanent
        slave to me, you will be exposed to many more of our developments
        to  make  the superior woman's life easier. If certain  of  these
        techniques cause the male to be more aware of his subjugation and
        dependence on the superior woman, so much the better."

        I  listened with amazement. A whole secret feminist  organization
        that  was dedicated to subjugating and training male  slaves  had
        been  going  on, under our very noses, so to speak,  for  over  a
        hundred years without anyone ever knowing about it.

        After digesting this story, my mind was whirling with  questions.
        "If  you  can do all that, why don't you just give  the  selected
        male a complete sex change?"

        Irene  was amused at the question. "No - we will make  our  males
        look  feminine, act feminine, and even think feminine.  But  they
        must  be  constantly aware that they are  dominated  and  debased
        males,  subject  to  the  orders, desires,  and  whims  of  their
        superior  mistresses. In no way will we allow our slaves to  feel
        that  they  are  anywhere near our equal by  giving  them  a  sex
        change."

        "Who  is  this  Mistress Circe you keep talking  about?  If  each
        chapter is independent, how do they know about her?"

        "The  president of each chapter is known as 'Mistress Circe'.  It
        is  more  or less an honorary title given to the  woman  who  has
        trained the most males."



                                  Chapter Nine

        She  then dismissed the subject. "I've told you all you  need  to
        know,  perhaps  a bit more than you should know at this  time.  I
        just  want  you  to realize that once selected,  your  future  is
        sealed. It is either servitude or death. But tonight, let's  talk
        about other things."

        During this discourse, Irene had interrupted herself a few  times
        to have me procure us fresh drinks. By know, they were  beginning
        to have an effect on me.

        To tell the truth, I was beginning to have erotic feelings  about
        Irene.  We were still holding hands, and I was fully  aware  that
        our  hands were resting directly on my crotch. My head was  still
        resting on her shoulder.

        She  then  leaned over and gave me a long lingering  kiss.  While
        we  were trading lipstick, she slipped her tongue into  my  mouth
        and began searching for mine.

        I interrupted her for a moment and asked, "One more thing. How do
        you know that the 'selected male' can be trained to be obedient?"

        "Gretchen,   our  organization  has  over  a  hundred  years   of
        experience in training and domesticating males. We have developed
        to  a  fine  art the use  of  discipline,  punishment,  training,
        education,  tenderness,  love,  and even sex  to  accomplish  our
        objectives.  If you are finally selected for servitude, you  will
        see how effective our methods are. It is true that some may  take
        a  bit longer than others. But they all learn to be obedient  and
        to love it."

        She  looked  at  me with a smile and  asked,  "Would  you  rather
        continue the conversation or do this?" She again leaned over  and
        kissed me, tonguing me.

        At  that  moment,  all thoughts of  Circe  and  its  implications
        disappeared in a wave of erotic feeling. The simile of the  black
        widow spider again went through my mind. I guess I subconsciously
        realized  that this was another phase in gaining domination  over
        me,  making it attractive enough that I would willingly obey  her
        commands. But I dismissed the thought. Tonight, in a rising  tide
        of  emotion,  anything was worth continuing  my  lovemaking  with
        Irene.

        By  now,  Irene was delicately fumbling at my crotch  through  my
        gown,  while I did the same thing in fondling her breasts.  "I'll
        be  happy when you have real breasts that I can fondle too,"  she
        whispered huskily.

        Our kissing grew more intense. My fumbling fingers had no trouble
        in  finding an opening in her gown, and I was soon  fondling  her
        bared  breast.  On  the other hand, Irene experienced  a  bit  of
        difficulty in reaching up under my long skirt. However, she  took
        advantage  of the side slit and I could feel the hem of  my  gown
        being gradually pulled up over my knees. Then, her fingers  began
        moving  up the inside of my thigh, pausing a moment to play  with
        the  top  of  my nylons and gently snapping  the  garters  before
        finding my lace panties.

        I  could feel my gorge rising as I began pulling up her  gown  in
        the  same manner as she did mine. She suddenly pulled  away  from
        our  kissing and whispered in my ear, "I have not yet  given  you
        permission to have an erection."

        Somehow, it worked - again. I could feel myself subsiding.  There
        was no lessening of my sensitivity or passion. I could still feel
        her fingers gently manipulating me through the smooth nylon of my
        panties,  and they felt just as good and exciting as before,  but
        now there was no sign of an erection.

        Meanwhile,  my  loss  of an erection in no  way  slowed  down  my
        fumbling  fingers, and in no time I had her dress hiked  up  over
        her  knees, my hands beginning to explore the soft flesh  of  her
        upper thighs. I reciprocated to her a little by playing with  her
        garters  and nylons. I only dawdled a moment in this area  before
        winding my way up her upper thigh until I found the spot where it
        met  her opposite member. There, my fingers encountered a  moist,
        hairy spot. Either she was not wearing panties or she was wearing
        those fancy crotchless devices. In either event, I fumbled  about
        the soft flesh until I could find an opening and immediately, but
        gently, inserted an exploring finger.

        She arched her back and squeezed her thighs together, trapping my
        hand while my finger continued its slow and gentle exploration of
        the warmth and dampness of the crevasses it encountered.

        Suddenly,  and  without  a bit of warning, her  hand  moved  from
        my genitals and grabbed  the hair of my head. Another surge and I
        was kneeling on the floor in front of her, my mouth where my hand
        had  been  only a few seconds before, and my tongue  replaced  my
        finger.

        Now, if you think that bothered me, think again. At that  moment,
        the most important thing in my life was to get her to come and  a
        result of the ministrations of my lips and tongue.

        I succeeded and she came, fully and copiously, into my mouth. For
        a  moment,  she  was lost in a sea of  satiated  emotion.  Almost
        immediately the fog cleared. She came back to reality and  wanted
        more.

        She  pulled  my head back and looked at me, eyeball  to  eyeball,
        finally  saying,  "Why don't we get out of  these  damn  clothes.
        Maybe,  just maybe, I'll allow you to-". I didn't need  a  second
        invitation,  and we traipsed to her bedroom, dropping clothes  as
        we went.

        We  arrived at her bedroom, still shucking excess  clothing.  She
        stopped  me before I could divest myself of my bra, garter  belt,
        and my nylons. Meanwhile, she stropped down to the buff.

        I  started to pile onto the bed, intending to continue  where  we
        left  off. She stopped me, saying, "You must learn that  even  in
        your  moments  of ecstasy, you are still under  the  control  and
        domination  of  your  mistress.  To  reinforce  the  concept   of
        superiority, you must be in bondage during any sexual union  with
        your  mistress. Before we continue any further, I  must  restrain
        you."

        I was so eager to get on with our lovemaking that I gladly put my
        hands behind my back so that she could manacle them.

        We  piled onto the bed. Irene placed me onto my back,  straddling
        me,  her knees on either side of my head so that she was  looking
        straight  down at my cock and I was looking straight up into  her
        vagina.  She immediately lowered herself, and my tongue  took  on
        where it had left only a few moments ago.

        She  lowered her head and began licking and nuzzling my cock.  We
        had  only engaged in this mutual licking a few moments  when  she
        said,  "Oh,  by  the way, you may have an erection  now,  but  no
        orgasm until I give you permission."

        That  turned  on  the switch for me. I  immediately  felt  myself
        beginning  to respond and within a few seconds I was  rock  hard,
        enjoying  the sensation of a warm mouth encircling my prick  with
        an  occasional tongue licking at its tip and digging at the  tiny
        opening.

        Meanwhile,  my tongue and lips were working overtime and I  could
        feel Irene wiggle and squirm in response to my ministrations.  We
        did  that for a year or so, both of us reaching our  pinnacle  of
        eroticism.

        Then  she  suddenly pulled away from me,  reversed  herself,  and
        took  my  throbbing erection into the warm, moist depths  of  her
        vagina. Once she had engulfed me so that we were  belly-to-belly,
        she  clamped  down  on me, closing  her  legs  tightly  together,
        forcing me to spread my nylon-clad legs to accommodate her.

        We  pulsed that way for a century. Wave after wave of  excitement
        ran  through me. Starting right behind my ears, it would go  down
        my spine, to be followed immediately by another one.

        Irene  must have been having sensations of her own, as she  would
        throb  and  quiver, repressed gasps  occasionally  escaping  from
        between her clenched teeth.

        Suddenly,  her movements quickened, her gasps grew  more  shallow
        and  rapid.  When it seemed that she could move  no  faster,  she
        burst out, audibly, "Come, damn it! Now! Now!"

        I  was ready, more than ready, and could feel my juices  boil  up
        inside me. Suddenly, I climaxed, came, ejaculated, had an orgasm,
        call  it what you will, but I exploded my seed deep  inside  her,
        and  she took it, straining against me. I quivered, she  shivered
        in our mutual orgasm.

        Clumsily,  but adequately, I clasped my legs together behind  her
        waist,  pulling  her to me. Meanwhile, she  pressed  against  me,
        making sure that every bit of me was within her.

        We froze in that tableau, expending the last dregs of our aroused
        emotion in a brief stage of frozen bliss.

        We  then relaxed, I released my legs, freeing Irene. She made  no
        effort to pull away but kept squeezing the lips of her vagina  on
        my rapidly spent penis, trying to extract every bit of my come.

        Finally,  no longer able to hold my wilting penis with  the  lips
        of her labia, she rolled off of me and we lay side by side for  a
        few moments, reliving our recent experience.

        Suddenly,  Irene roused up. "Our little interlude is over.  We'll
        take a shower together, but then it's time for beddy-bye for  you
        in your own little bed."

        We  took our shower. Miss Irene replaced the chastity  irons  she
        had removed during our bath.

        "Why  do you have to put those things on me?" I asked. "You  have
        me  locked  up in that bed so that I couldn't get out even  if  I
        wanted to."

        "Why, that's to prevent you from playing with yourself while  you
        are alone."

        "Holy gee! After the session we just went through, I don't  think
        I'll bother myself tonight."

        "That  may  be so, but I don't want to get out of  the  habit  of
        restraining  you  at  night. That way I  KNOW  you  won't  bother
        yourself. Besides, I want you to to be helpless and dependent  on
        me to even allow you the use of your hands."

        She then locked me in my crib and started to leave me. "How  come
        you lock me in this thing at night? What happens if I have to use
        the bathroom?"

        "You'd  just  better learn to control it. If I should  happen  to
        find  your  bed or you messed up or wet, then you would  have  to
        wear  a diaper and rubber panties to bed . Not only that, but  it
        would  be marked on on your record and you would be  required  to
        take potty training during your indoctrination."

        Without another word, she left me with only sweet memories of our
        little  interlude  and  an uneasy feeling about  having  to  wear
        diapers at night.

        However, in spite of all of the negative aspects of my servitude,
        it would almost be acceptable if only I was allowed an occasional
        evening such as this one.



                                   Chapter Ten

        The  next morning, my captress came and released me from my  bed.
        "Just  to  remind you that, despite  last  night's  'relaxation',
        nothing  has changed regarding our status. You are still  subject
        to  my  orders and desires. You will continue to  address  me  as
        'Miss Irene'. We will be having guests tonight. You will  address
        them  as  'Mistress' along with their title or name.  Just  don't
        forget. Your memory may be a life or death matter to you."

        She  then handed me a jar. "Here is some depilatory. Put  it  on,
        wait  fifteen minutes, and then shower. Just make sure that  your
        body is smooth and absolutely hairless when you finish."

        I rubbed my hand along my face. "I don't think I need that  stuff
        yet. My face still feels smooth and I don't see any sign of  hair
        on  my body." It was true. Normally, I shaved every day to  avoid
        any  sign of stubble. However, after well over two days, I  could
        still see no sign of even a fuzz on my face.

        "No one gave you permission to think!" she replied haughtily."You
        must  learn  to obey me without question, Gretchen." Then,  in  a
        softer  tone, "You may be right, but I see no reason to take  any
        chances.  If they should find the least little trace of  hair  on
        your face or body, you will fail and that will be that. You  will
        be  as good as dead. What's worse, I would receive  demerits  for
        not making sure that you were presentable."

        Somehow  the  thought of Miss Irene  receiving  demerits  didn't
        upset  me nearly as much as the thought that if I didn't pass,  I
        would  be  dead.  You  can  be sure  that  I  applied  the  cream
        liberally.

        After  waiting the prescribed length of time, then showering  and
        rinsing  off  the cream, I carefully examined my face  and  body.
        There  was no sign of even a single follicle of hair and my  face
        felt as smooth as a baby's bare bottom.

        Grabbing  a silky shorty robe which barely covered my  thighs,  I
        reported to Miss Irene. She had laid out the maid's outfit that I
        had worn the first day. "You have cleaned the house and done  the
        laundry. Today you are going to cook."

        "Mistress  Circe and two of her companions, Mistresses  Cato  and
        Olga, will be the guests, as well as myself, of course. After you
        have  prepared  the  meal  and  finished  up  with  all  of   the
        preliminaries, you will change into a more appropriate outfit  to
        serve us."

        "The  menu tonight will start off with caviar as an appetizer.  A
        clear beef broth, seasoned with special spices, will be next. The
        main  course will be lobster cooked in an oyster sauce and  quail
        marinated  in  ginger.  The  vegetables  will  be  stuffed  baked
        potatoes and artichoke hearts in a heavy cream sauce."

        "For  dessert, you will prepare a few pies with various  fillings
        so  that  our guests may have a selection. You  will  serve  them
        beverages of their choice during the meal, and of course you will
        serve cocktails before and after the meal."

        "Miss Irene," I responded after listening to the exotic menu that
        I  was expected to prepare, "I did a spell as a short-order  cook
        but  there's no way that I'll be able to cook all the  stuff  you
        mentioned."

        "Gretchen!  This  is part of your test! There are  all  sorts  of
        cookbooks  in the kitchen and they have detailed instructions  on
        how to prepare those dishes."

        "Hurry  and get yourself dressed and apply your makeup. Then  you
        can get into the kitchen and have all day to familiarize yourself
        on how to prepare the menu."

        "But..."

        "There are no 'buts'. If you think you can get away with  serving
        these women hot dogs, you are dreadfully wrong - and may as  well
        be dead."

        With  that  she turned on her heel and walked  off.  I  carefully
        dressed,  applied my makeup, and brushed out my wig after  I  had
        put  it  on. I said 'carefully', and meant it. I didn't  want  to
        flunk a surprise inspection by Miss Irene. I did that a few times
        in  the last couple of days and received some  unpleasant  jolts.
        Miss Irene often carries a cattle prod and is not hesitant  about
        using it if she deems that I am not properly attired or following
        her orders implicitly.

        I  went into the kitchen with a sinking heart. There was  no  way
        that I could properly prepare the items on that menu.

        I   was  wrong!  Among  the  cookbooks  there  was  a  sheaf   of
        mimeographed papers. These papers listed the exact menu and  gave
        explicit  and  readable instructions on how to prepare  each  and
        every dish.

        By  following  the directions, and if I didn't try to  hurry  too
        much  or panic, I could prepare a passable meal.  Fortunately  to
        add to my serendipity, there were extra ingredients in case I did
        mess something up.

        It was by no means as difficult as I had previously imagined.  In
        fact,  after  a  while, I began  enjoying  myself,  sampling  and
        tasting the dishes in various stages of completion.

        Later in the afternoon, Miss Irene came into the kitchen for  the
        umptyith  inspection.  I proudly informed her that the  meal  was
        well in hand and would be ready to serve by seven P.M. Everything
        would be done, needing only a few minutes of final preparation to
        get it ready to be served.

        I  was then directed to go up and prepare myself to  be  properly
        dressed and presentable. For this occasion, I was allowed to  use
        her  commodious  bath and luxuriated as long as I  could  in  the
        warm,  bubbly,  perfumed bath. Finally, reluctant  in  having  to
        leave it, I dried myself with a big fluffy towel.

        I was then instructed to redo my nails. This time, I put on false
        nails, which were long and glamorous. The color, this time, was a
        deep and unmistakable red.

        Miss Irene gave me a little device that at first looked like  the
        bottom  half of a bikini bathing suit, except that  the  material
        seemed  to be a kind of stretch elastic. When I pulled it on  and
        got  it properly placed, Miss Irene reached inside and pushed  my
        penis  back  between my legs. I suddenly had no more  genitals  -
        visible, anyway. That little flesh-colored device forced my balls
        back up into my crotch and held my penis back between my legs  so
        that there was not a visible sign of any masculine bulge.

        I  next  put on a pair of wispy black nylon  bikini  panties  and
        matching  black  lace bra which held my inserts in  a  completely
        natural  manner.  There was also a sheer black  minislip  with  a
        scalloped lace hem that almost covered my hips.

        Before  I  put on my outer clothes, Miss Irene  insisted  that  I
        apply  my makeup. Instead of letting me do it and coming  to  her
        later for inspection, she stayed there and supervised the  actual
        application.

        The  basic pancake was bit heavier, the eye shadow a bit  deeper.
        The eye liner and eyebrows were a bit darker and more emphasized.
        She  gave me some kind of stuff to apply with the  mascara  which
        lengthened  and accented my lashes and made my eyes  look  deeper
        and wider.

        The  cheek  color was more pronounced and lipstick was  a  bright
        red, almost garish. It was the same shade as my nails. Miss Irene
        explained  that under the dim, artificial light, the makeup  must
        be heavier and more defined. She finally concluded, "If you  pass
        and are accepted for training, you will be taught the proper type
        of makeup for every situation and type of lighting, be it natural
        or artificial."

        Now,  time  was  getting  short I soon would  be  judged.  I  was
        beginning to get a bit nervous, especially when my captress  kept
        saying 'if'.

        In  fact  it  began bothering me so much that  I  got  up  enough
        courage to ask, "Do you think I'll pass, Miss Irene?"

        "Oh,  yes,  Gretchen. The investigators study  a  subject  rather
        intensively  before they are finally selected. Really, I've  been
        told that there are very few not accepted for training, once they
        have been inducted for preliminary review as you have been."

        That made me feel a bit better, but I still had butterflies in my
        stomach.

        Miss  Irene  would allow no more discussion. She  handed  me  the
        outfit  I would wear for the evening. Handed was a good word.  It
        was  a  maid's outfit, skimpy enough so that you could  hold  the
        whole thing in one hand.

        The  basic  outfit was black. The skimpy skirt was  stiffened  so
        that  although the hem should have been halfway between the  hips
        and knees, it was actually much higher due to the wide flare. The
        top  wasn't much more decorous. It had a deep plunging  neckline,
        stopping  barely  in  time to maintain my image  of  having  real
        breasts. The sleeves were short, puffed out, and capped.

        I  was given a pair of black fishnet panty hose. The weave  about
        the  ankles was rather close and tight. However, it opened up  as
        it went up my leg, so that by the time it was up to my thighs the
        weave was almost an inch square and showed a considerable expanse
        of  white  flesh. My feet were forced in a pair  of  black  high-
        heeled  pumps  with at least a four-inch heel, taper  down  to  a
        sharp point.

        There  was  a white organdy apron, tied in the back  with  a  big
        puffy  bow. About all it did was to accent the brevity and  flare
        of  my  skirt. There was also a little  white  organdy  hairpiece
        perched jauntily on top of my perfectly coiffed head.

        Miss  Irene also had me wear a gold choker necklace with a  large
        brooch  like  a decoration that the throat which only  served  to
        show off the expanse of flesh bared by the deep neckline. A  pair
        of pierced earrings that matched the brooch dangled from my ears.

        Miss  Irene carefully inspected her maid as a  finished  product.
        Satisfied with what she saw, she stated that I was as ready as  I
        would ever be to meet my judges and possible executioners.



                                 Chapter Eleven

        I  barely had time to get into the kitchen and begin  making  the
        last-minute preparations when the doorbell chimed.

        "That  must  be Mistress Circe and her companions",  called  Miss
        Irene from the bedroom. "Let them in and serve some refreshments.
        I'll be out in a minute."

        With  a great deal of trepidation and reluctance, I went  to  the
        door  and  to  greet my judge and potential  executioners.  As  I
        approached  it, I heard the lock click. Miss Irene  had  switched
        off  the electronic bolt, releasing the door lock. I  opened  the
        door and looked at a lovely pair of boobs!

        Now,  I'm five feet eight with four inch heels, probably  nearing
        six feet, but as my eyes traveled up to the face of the  imposing
        woman facing me, I felt like a size petite.

        The  woman  towered  over me by a good six or  seven  inches.  Of
        course,  she  was  wearing heels too, but still,  I'd  guess  her
        normal height to be over six feet. She had a body like a  goddess
        and  had long golden hair that hung down her back, almost to  her
        waist.  Her  skin  was  clear and fair,  her  nose  straight  and
        aquiline. The lips were full and kissable. However, all her other
        features  and attributes paled into insignificance when I  looked
        into her eyes.

        They  were green, as beautiful and hard as emeralds, no  pity  or
        softness  in them. She stared down at me, looking down  into  the
        depths of my being, seeing the fear and apprehension that  welled
        up  inside  me.  It was almost a physical  effort  to  keep  from
        falling  to me knees and kissing her feet. However, I did bow  my
        head in an attitude of submission.

        Recovering  my composure a bit, I raised my head, not  enough  to
        look her in the face again, but to note her two companions.  They
        were quite distinguished in their own right with their imperious,
        regal bearing. One had dark hair and rather exotic features,  who
        I took to be Mistress Cato. The other, who was blonde, I  assumed
        was Mistress Olga. They were not quite as tall as Mistress Circe,
        but still required me to look up to see their faces.

        I  stepped  aside to let them enter, but they made  no  immediate
        motion to do so. They just stood there, eyeing me. Discomfited, I
        could only stare at the floor and await their pleasure.

        Finally, Mistress Circe said, "Turn around, slowly."

        Then  she added contemptuously, "You must be the worm that  Irene
        thinks  worthy enough to serve us, and after we properly  prepare
        you, emulate us in manners and appearance. Well, we shall see."

        As she was talking, I was slowly turning about. "Keep your  knees
        straight and touch the floor with the tips of your fingers."

        Because the high-heeled shoes raised me higher than normal, I had
        a bit of difficulty in reaching the floor, but after stretching a
        few  times, finally made it. As I did so, I felt  my  abbreviated
        skirt  and  slip being pulled back and my  panties  being  pulled
        down.  Suddenly, two welts of fire were laid across my  buttocks.
        My panties and skirt were replaced and I was ordered to stand and
        turn around, keeping my head bowed. Needless to say, I obeyed.

        "You  do not raise your eyes to your mistresses  unless  ordered.
        Didn't Mistress Irene instruct you about that?"

        "Yes, Mistress Circe, but I forgot. When I opened the door I  was
        so  surprised to see such a majestic and beautiful woman  that  I
        was awe-struck and momentarily forgot my manners."

        "I'll  bet you do a better job remembering next  time,"  answered
        Mistress  Circe.  I think she kind of smiled but  I  didn't  dare
        look.  I did hear titters of amusement from the other  two  women
        who were witnessing my humiliation.

        About  that  time Miss Irene came up. "Why,  Mistress  Circe  and
        Mistresses  Cato  and Olga, it's lovely seeing you again.  I  see
        that you've met Gretchen."

        "Yes,  and  I  didn't even get inside the door before  I  had  to
        punish her. Didn't you teach her to be respectful and deferential
        to  her  superiors? She had the gall to stare at  me.  After  the
        lesson I just gave her, I don't think she will do it again for  a
        while."

        I  started  to protest that I really  wasn't  disrespectful,  but
        astonished  at her beauty and majesty. However, I bit  my  tongue
        and remained silent.

        "I  guess I have been a bit lenient with her. I'll just  step  up
        the  voltage on my cattle prod and inflict a bit more  discipline
        for even making indications of disrespect."

        "That  is, if she is still alive after tonight,"  Mistress  Circe
        said ominously, glaring daggers at me, which I was aware of  even
        with a bowed head.

        Miss Irene then turned to me. "Gretchen, you did not start off by
        making any points. For your sake, I hope you do better during the
        rest  of the evening. You may ask our guests if they  would  like
        some refreshments, cocktails, perhaps."

        "Mistress  Circe,"  I  croaked. My mouth had  become  dry  in  my
        anxiety and the pain from the sudden spanking. I audibly  cleared
        my  throat and again asked the women what they would  like.  They
        gave me their orders, and as luck would have it, they each wanted
        a different drink.

        Hoping that I could remember and prepare the different drinks,  I
        traipsed a bit clumsily toward the kitchen. Those heels came down
        to a sharp point and were higher than any I had worn  previously.
        Besides,  my buns were still tingling and I didn't dare rub  them
        in their presence.

        As  I left, I heard one of the women comment about  my  momentary
        stumble. "She should be able to walk a bit better, and she should
        also be taught to really sway her ass a bit more  provocatively."
        All I could think of was that another black mark had been chalked
        up against me.

        Well, I got the drinks mixed. Here again it was easier than I had
        feared. There was a book of recipes for mixed drinks lying on the
        sink and all of the ingredients were easily found.

        I  served  them, if not gracefully and practiced,  at  least  not
        spilling  any  on the guests, although I did slosh a bit  on  the
        tray.  Here  again, I received negative comments  on  my  serving
        abilities.

        I  guess  they  enjoyed making rude comments  about  my  lack  of
        experience because I prepared and served each of the women  three
        or  four  drinks apiece and received snide  comments  each  time.
        Between  serving the drinks, I was required to stand demurely  by
        the  kitchen  door, ready to serve if any of the  women  required
        anything.

        They  were sitting about, talking in low voices. Although I  kept
        my head deferentially bowed, I could see that occasionally one of
        them would look my way and then make a comment. Once in a  while,
        one of them would get up and circle about me, inspecting me quite
        intently.

        During  one  of  these  inspections,  Mistress  Cato  approached,
        lifted  my skirt and felt my crotch. I heard her remark  to  Miss
        Irene, "I see where you have her genitals tucked safely away."

        I heard Miss Irene answer, "Yes, she's pretty well trained not to
        get  an  erection without permission. But with  her  wearing  the
        revealing,  abbreviated outfit, you sexy looking women about  and
        the  briefness  of her training, I just didn't want to  take  any
        chances of her showing any unsightly bulge."

        About that time, dinner was ready, and I announced it. The  women
        seated themselves at the table. I noticed that Mistress Olga made
        a  quick  inspection of the table and audibly, so I  could  hear,
        pointed out a few errors in the silverware layout.

        Well,  I'm  no great chef, but the meal must have been  at  least
        adequate.  At least, everyone was eating everything in sight,  at
        the same time complaining vociferously about how poorly the  meal
        had been prepared and served.

        They  finally finished the meal and I was about to serve  dessert
        when  Mistress Circe said, "We had to suffer through warm  drinks
        and  a cold meal prepared and served by that abject failure of  a
        maid.  While we have our dessert, she will crawl under the  table
        and try to do with her tongue what she could not do her hands."

        Obviously,  I  had failed their test. If  I  understood  Mistress
        Circe  right, my only hope was to try and satisfy  then  sexually
        while they were having their dessert. After I served the dessert,
        Mistress  Cato  grabbed me by the back of my neck and  forced  me
        down on all fours under the table.

        I  knew  what was expected of me, and apparently it was  my  last
        chance  for survival. I crawled over to Mistress Circe.  She  had
        pulled  her dress up over her knees and spread her legs. I  stuck
        my head between them and worked my way up to her crotch,  kissing
        and  licking  her upper thighs as I went. I finally  reached  her
        crotch.  Whether  by  incident  or design,  she  was  wearing  no
        panties,  so I had no difficulty in finding her damp little  love
        nest. Did I say little? It may have been little in comparison  to
        her size, but it was almost like a cavern. My tongue could  never
        hope to penetrate its depths, although I tried with every bit  of
        fervor I could generate. As far as I knew, my life depended  upon
        satisfying these women.

        Although I couldn't reach fully into the depths, I did find a few
        sensitive  spots  and was rewarded by  convulsive  hip  gyrations
        during  my  ministrations. I kept at it for what seemed  like  an
        eternity.  I  just had to satisfy this woman. Finally,  she  went
        rigid  and her legs clamped around my head. I thought I was in  a
        vise.  This  woman  was unbelievably strong!  Luckily,  she  only
        clamped  down a few moments and then relaxed. I don't know if  my
        head could have lasted much longer.

        She reached down with her hand and pushed me from her crotch.  At
        the  same  time, I could feel another hand grab me  and  pull  me
        between another pair of legs. I repeated the process. This  woman
        did  not  have the size or power of Mistress Circe, but  she  was
        quite  impressive in her own way. As my head was  being  directed
        to  where  the  eager woman was waiting  in  anticipation  of  my
        arrival,  I  recognized her to be Mistress Cato.  She  had  long,
        tapering  legs,  and once I positioned myself,  she  locked  them
        about  my  head,  forcing my head and tongue to  just  where  she
        wanted  them  to be. I knew what was expected of me  and  did  my
        best,  and  was eventually rewarded by her  reaching  orgasm  and
        unleashing a flood, which I swallowed. She then relaxed her legs,
        but  she  would not release my head until I had  licked  all  the
        dampness from about her vagina.

        Then it was time for Mistress Olga. She was different again  from
        Mistresses Circe and Cato. Although her legs were as muscular and
        toned  as  my other two mistresses, they seemed much  softer  and
        more delicate. Instead of forcing my head into her love box,  she
        sort  of guided me, and all during my licking and  tonguing,  she
        moved my head about to where she wanted stimulation, which I gave
        to  the  best of my ability. Finally satisfying herself  with  my
        tongue, she released me.

        I wasn't sure if Mistress Irene wanted my servicing at that time,
        but just to take no chances, I approached her. She definitely did
        want  my services and I gladly obliged. Now, although  the  other
        women had their good points, when my face snuggled into  Mistress
        Irene's  snatch,  it  felt like I was coming home.  Since  I  had
        tongued  her  previously, I had a pretty good idea as to  how  to
        turn her on. I used my knowledge of her sensitive areas to  bring
        her to orgasm quite quickly, as my tongue was beginning to tire.

        After I had serviced all four women, I climbed out from under the
        table and rose to my feet, head bowed, awaiting a decision.

        "My goodness," exclaimed Mistress Olga. "Look at her makeup.  You
        would think that a maid who valued her existence would maintain a
        better appearance."

        "She sure is a clumsy maid," added Mistress Cato. "All during the
        time she was under the table trying to please us, the only  thing
        I  could  hear was her shuffling about. I don't  know  about  her
        gracefulness."

        Mistress  Circe  said  nothing, but I could  see  from  under  my
        downcast  eyes that she was eyeing me quizzically, a faint  smile
        of derision on her face.

        "All right, Gretchen," Mistress Irene ordered. "We are going into
        the  den to discuss your fate. You will bring us drinks and  wait
        while we deliberate."

        I  brought  and served the women drinks and was  then  forced  to
        stand outside the den while they discussed my future.

        There was no doubt in my mind that I had failed and that my  doom
        was  sealed.  Desperately I cast about for some way out.  Then  I
        remembered! Miss Irene had released the electronic bolts for  the
        door  when the women entered, and she had never reset  them.  The
        door was not locked!


                                 Chapter Twelve

        The women were all busy with their discussion. No one was  paying
        any attention to me. I went over to the door and pushed. It swung
        open.  Slipping out of my high-heeled shoes, I took off,  hearing
        startled gasps as I ran out the door.

        I  hadn't gone ten feet when I realized that I wasn't  going  far
        with no shoes. Fortunately, the car in which they had arrived was
        sitting  there. Even more fortunately, the keys were  sitting  in
        plain sight on the dashboard.

        I  jammed  the key in the ignition. Damn! It didn't  work.  Trunk
        key,  I  guess. I jammed the other key in the  ignition,  and  it
        didn't work either.

        Meanwhile, the women were sauntering out, in no particular  hurry
        as  they approached the car where I was frantically fooling  with
        the keys.

        Mistress  Olga  casually opened the door on the  passenger  side,
        slid  in, and dangled a set of keys from an upraised  finger.  "I
        think  these  are the ones you want," she said with  a  sarcastic
        smile. "Those others are just dummies - for a dummy."

        I  knew  I  was  whipped, had been set up.  I  slumped  over  the
        steering  wheel and began making dry, wracking sobs. I could  see
        death  staring me in the face. Surely there weren't going to  let
        me live after an attempted escape!

        Meanwhile, one of the other women, I don't know which, opened the
        car door and dragged me out. My hands were manacled behind me and
        I  was  marched back into the house. As we entered, I  heard  the
        door slam and the lock click with dreadful finality.

        I  was  back  where  I started, only now I was  in  a  much  more
        precarious position. I stared defiantly at Mistress Circe's face.
        Looking  her directly in the eye, I said, "OK, you've got me.  Go
        ahead and kill me."

        She  looked at me and smiled. "Your name is James Carrion, is  it
        not?"

        I looked at her in amazement. "Yeah - how did you know my name? I
        tried  to give it to Miss Irene when she first captured  me,  and
        all she said was that she didn't give a damn about my old name or
        past."

        "We know a lot about you. No brothers or sisters. Attended  State
        University for two years. Quit after your parents were killed  in
        a storm. Apparently, you lost some incentive to live after  their
        death.  Since then you've been working all around the country  at
        various  odd  jobs. No close friends or relatives.  Height  about
        five foot nine, weight about one hundred thirty-five pounds."

        "Yeah, but how did you know that I'd come to this house? If  that
        dame  hadn't taken me down that deserted country road and  robbed
        me, I would never have come to this place."

        "That 'dame' was a member of our organization. She took you  down
        that road and left you. There was only one way for you to go, and
        this is the only house for miles around. The rain was a fortunate
        accident.  We Sisters of Circe have many doctors  and  scientists
        among  our members and have contributed many new  and  innovative
        inventions and procedures, but weather control is not one of them
        - yet."

        "Well,  OK  - so when are you going to kill me?" I  finally  said
        wearily.

        "Kill you? Why should we kill you?"

         "I flunked the test. I tried to escape."

        "Gretchen,  please understand that your testing began the  moment
        you walked through that door. Before that, in fact, since we went
        through a rather detailed investigation to determine if you  were
        a likely candidate."

        "Irene  has stated that except for one or two  minor  exceptions,
        you  were quite a docile and cooperative subject. You  were  even
        beginning to be quite proud of your feminine appearance."

        "We led you to believe that you had failed and would be executed.
        We then offered you an opportunity to escape. By your being alert
        enough  to  try to take advantage of the  situation,  you  showed
        considerable ingenuity. We believe that you will be an  excellent
        candidate to be Irene's personal maid after your training."

        "Well, what happens now?"

        "You will be given at least thirty days intensive training at our
        secret  'College of Feminine Improvement' under the direction  of
        Irene. She will be assisted by Mistresses Cato and Olga and other
        specialists  in  various  areas of  feminine  grooming,  cooking,
        sewing,  and  other specialties in order for you  to  efficiently
        serve your mistress."

        "This  training will consist of learning implicit  obedience  and
        the proper way to address your mistresses and superiors. It  will
        also include lessons on makeup, skin care, hair arrangement,  and
        grooming.  You  will be taught how to present a  proper  feminine
        appearance and adopt feminine mannerisms so that they will become
        your  natural behavior while serving her or passing in public  if
        she wishes you to accompany her."

        "You  will be one of the first males to undergo our  new  hormone
        treatment to permit you to grow natural breasts and more feminine
        curves.  Since  Miss Irene has indicated  that  she  occasionally
        enjoys  sex  relations with her subject, we will make  sure  that
        your male potency is retained."

        "Also,  during  this time, you will be shown the  advantages  and
        benefits of cooperation and obedience, as well as the  discipline
        and  punishment reserved for recalcritant slaves. After that  you
        will become Irene's personal maid and companion."

        "Yes, Mistress Circe."

        "One  other thing, Gretchen. Who gave you permission to stare  at
        me?"

        I  immediately lowered my head in an attitude of  submission,  at
        the same time anticipating and dreading an unexpected future.

        I  must say that the thought of another lovemaking  session  with
        Miss Irene would be worth anything these women could throw at me.
        To  cap  it  all off, I'd get to  wear  pretty,  frilly  feminine
        clothing, even in public.

        I  was interrupted by Miss Irene saying, "Come on,  Gretchen,  we
        have  to leave here now. There is another  prospective  candidate
        scheduled  to arrive here tomorrow night. My best friend Lisa  is
        going to greet him."