NOT THAT BAD/Part One

by Marlissa


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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