Trip to the Mall

You simply gape at her for a moment before taking up the bright pink boyshorts. You kind of knew this was coming, but you'd allowed yourself to forget, just for a few minutes while Katrina was doing your makeup (a phrase that just yesterday you'd never thought you would EVER find yourself thinking), that your sister, doubtless the primary architect of whatever the girls have planned for you, was still in the house. You pretend to fumble a bit with the panties and bra but, not wanting to turn your first encounter today with Amanda and her gang of bullies into a confrontation, get "dressed" in the lingerie they provided for you last night rather quickly ... once you see Katrina frowning at you.

As you finish, you blush to notice Katrina staring rather pointedly at your crotch. She notices you looking and says, "Eyes on the floor, sissy. We've already talked about this."

You quickly avert your gaze and then hear her circling around you. You feel her hands gripping and squeezing your ass. "Let me make one thing clear, Marcie. Once one of us gives you an order, you're not allowed any mistakes. 'Mistakes' will be taken for disobedience and punished. Do you like this?" she finishes, giving both butt cheeks an extra squeeze.

The question startles you. "Y-yes ... Miss Katrina."

"Good. Just remember that I could just as easily beat those cute buns black and blue. So from now on, if a woman ... ANY woman ... addresses you, you direct your gaze at her feet. Or if you can't see her feet, say you're both seated at a table or something, at the space between you. Or just look away. But sissies like you do NOT look at your superiors ... women ... uninvited. You can ogle MEN as much as you like. Understand?"

You do understand, though that crack about "ogling" men is confusing. But then, so much in your life seems to have changed in the past twelve hours you can't seem to catch up. Nevertheless, you give the only safe answer, "Yes, Miss Katrina."

"Good. Now as I was about to say," she rounds in front of you again, "your little sissy clitty is creating an ... unsightly and unfeminine bulge in your panties. We'll be teaching you to DEAL with that soon. But in the meantime, let's go."

She takes your right wrist in her left hand and pulls you along into the hallway. "Remember where those eyes belong, girl," she reminds you, and then continues, "When you're walking with one ... or more ... of us, you're to walk two to four feet behind and to the left of whoever's in the rear."

With that, you're at your sister Amanda's bedroom door. Katrina knocks and enters to a mumbled "C'mon in."

You follow Katrina into Amanda's room, noting that all three of the other girls are sharing your sister's bed before realizing that you're looking at them again and dropping your gaze to Amanda's dirty-laundry-strewn floor. There's the sound of heavy footsteps, then Amanda's voice saying, "Eyes DOWN, sissy," as she lifts your chin.

You keep your gaze down, but she's so close you can't keep the floor in view as she lifts and turns your chin, inspecting your face and makeup, you assume. Instead, you keep flashing on different body parts: belly, calves, thighs, panties ...

As her panties keep entering your field of vision, you can't help but remember her forcing you to lick her ... down there ... while Lilly fucked you last night. The memory has a predictable effect on your libido and your prick, which begins to stiffen in your ... YOUR ... panties, which really don't have any room for you when you're soft.

"God," Amanda snorts, "she looks like a slutty version of ME. Nice work, Kat."

"Well, I had good raw material to work with. She really does have girly features ... and her bone structure is almost identical to yours. You sure that's a cock down there, and not just an oversize clit?"

You can hear Amanda's smile as what's left of your masculinity takes another devastating body blow. "Not at all."

"Did she fight the hook much?" Alex asks.

"Hardly at all. Remember, she feels 'pretty' when she's getting railed." Katrina grabs your ass and squeezes. "You were right, 'Manda. I think deep down, she wants this."

You want to object, but ... there are four of them again. Alex is an athlete, a basketball player known for her physical play style, and you've heard Lilly takes some kind of karate classes. You don't want them hurting you again, so you just keep quiet. You should've grabbed some clothes and run before Katrina even woke up this morning! You could have stayed with friends until your mom got back from her trip, right?

"What about her behavior?" comes Lilly's rough voice.

"Well, she's got a wandering eye and NO discipline where THIS is concerned," Katrina says, slapping your erection, still at half mast, through the boyshorts. " I think she's still thinking of herself as a man ... or at least as a male. I caught her watching me from the shower after I'd given her explicit instructions not to."

"Oh, really?" Amanda asks rhetorically, "Well, we'll deal with both if THOSE problems this afternoon. For now, we've got to get moving." She lifts your chin again and says, "Look at me, Marcia."

You do, realizing that she's right; you look like a flat-chested version of her, in heavy makeup.

"We're going shopping this morning. You need a new wardrobe; one set of underwear and a single slut dress ... aporopriate as it might be ... just aren't gonna be enough for your new lifestyle. YOU are going to BEHAVE, or WE are going to make the punishment you've already earned much, much worse. Understand?"

You suddenly discover that you just can't take any more of this ... ****. Some of what's been going on has been fun, you have to admit; you've discovered a previously unrecognized penchant for anal penetration and grown closer to Katrina than you'd ever hoped for ... at least in the past three or four years. But now they're talking about changing your wardrobe and your "lifestyle?" Long-term? Permanently? Publicly?

"Look, Amanda, you know Mom isn't gonna let you ..."

The slap is totally unexpected and nearly knocks you off your feet. In fact, it would have if Katrina hadn't caught you as you fell.

"Listen to me, you sissy bitch," Amanda steps to within inches of your still-clinging-to-Katrina form, index finger nearly touching one of your eyes, "First, Mother not only WILL approve our feminizing your sissy ass, she already HAS. Whose credit card do you think we're using today?

"Second, you will ALWAYS refer to me as 'Mistress' or 'Mistress Amanda.' Katrina and Alex are 'Miss' unless they decide on something else. Lilly is 'Princess Lilly ...'"

"Queen Lilly, I think," Lilly quips with a malignant grin in your direction, "I think we know who the princess in this room really is, don't we, Marcia?"

"In. Any. Case," Amanda continues through clenched teeth, "You will always ... ALWAYS ... speak to us or ANY woman or girl both respectfully and deferentially, or I promise, I will make your life a living Hell. Do. You. Understand?"

Head still spinning from the blow ... she hit you in the temple, not the face ... you nod and say, "Y-yes ... Mistress," face burning with shame and then paling in fear, until you begin to fear you might faint.

"Good. So let's get you ready to go." She pulls a pair of women's jeans from a dresser drawer. "Try these on."

Having NO desire to anger her further, you pick up the jeans and pull them up your legs. They're tighter ... more form-fitting ... than men's jeans, but your legs and, embarrassingly, your hips and butt fit into them just fine. When you try to close the zipper and snap, however ...

"They ... they don't fit ... Mistress."

Amanda looks at you appraisingly, circling around you like a vulture around a dead rabbit. "They fit just fine, sissy. You just need a girlier waist. Alex, get the waist cincher."

Alex pulls something that looks like a lacy, pink-and-white, heavyweight girdle from another drawer. She circles around you and wraps it around your torso from behind, then begins to tighten it. She pulls on a series of cords that feel like they could rig an old-fashioned schooner until you think you can feel your internal organs rearranging themselves to make way for the compression. Then she pulls tighter. Finally, she ties them off, reaches around, and closes the jeans' snap.

"Ca-can't ... breathe ... Mistress ..." you wheeze.

"Sure, you can," Amanda replies, "It's not like you're running a marathon today or something. Just take shallow breaths and you'll be fine,"

You really are having trouble breathing, but you don't want to anger her AGAIN so soon, so you just stare at the floor.

Amsnda sighs and says, "Fine, I'll let you decide: you either wear the jeans or we take you back into the bathroom, shave your legs and put you in one of my miniskirts ... with some nice hose and heels."

Heels? Miniskirt? In public? No, you'd rather asphyxiate yourself than appear anywhere in public like that. At least if somebody recognizes you in jeans there might be SOME chance of salvaging your reputation. "Jeans please, Mistress," you reply,

"Good. Now Lilly, why don't you pick a nice blouse for Marcia? And get those new sneakers for her, will you, Kat?"

Both blouse and sneakers are pink, hot pink for the sneakers and baby pink with lace trim for the blouse. After providing you with a pair of women's ankle-height athletic socks, the kind with the tiny cloth pom-pom behind the heel, they **** you to don the clothing yourself, struggling with the left-side buttons on the blouse.

The sneakers have a raised heel integral to the sole, sort of like those cork-heeled sandals you always found so sexy on girls in the summertime. It gives you a tiny height advantage on your sister, who's wearing flats, but you can barely walk in them as they lead you out to your mom's SUV and install you in the front seat, visible to God and everybody. You try to scrunch down in the seat, but Amanda orders, "Don't slouch" with a sharp slap to your thigh. "And keep your knees together. You may be a slut, but try not to look like one when you're around us. We have a reputation to maintain."

The trip to the local mall, usually a ten-minute drive, seems to take geological ages.