A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/Part One

by Marlissa



How did it happen? Gosh, it was four years ago. Well I could
start by saying that I knew it would be him. As soon as he
walked into my summer school class, I just knew he would be
the one. Dino Fazio thought he was God's gift to women,
including me, his remedial English teacher. Not that he was
offering himself over. He made it clear that Meg Hardy didn't
pass muster.

"What was that Mr. Fazio?" I was beet red at the comment he'd
just expressed loudly in the back of the room.

He sat there in his leather jacket and sneered. That he was so
good-looking made it worse. He wasn't tall being only 5' 6",
but his dark good looks, big brown eyes, high cheekbones, long
straight black hair and soft, flawless olive skin more than made
up for differences in height.

"I just said I don't like fried eggs." He stared back fiercely,
daring me to contradict him.

But that hadn't been what he had said. What he had said loudly
enough to be heard by the twenty other fifteen year olds was
"Check out Miss Fried Egg Tits up there." The other kids had
laughed loudly at my humiliation, double so because my blush
admitted that I had heard it too. Our eyes meet and I relented.

"Please keep your comments to yourself," I replied.

He didn't answer. Instead he looked around at his fellow
teenagers, nodding as if to say that he had met the enemy and
she was his. Jed Taylor and Frankie Farino, two fellow thugs-
in-training, smirked back, as did Samantha King and Beth
Simpson, both bustier at fifteen that I would ever be. Young
Master Fazio was obviously trying to score points with the other
kids and it was working. They giggled and whispered back and
forth the whole class and I was too mortified to say anything
about it.

I busily filled the board with sentence parsing for the remainder
of the class, until mercifully the bell rang. He waited till the
other kids had filed out. Then as Dino passed by my desk, he
leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"Try a push-up tomorrow. Maybe I'll be able to figure out if
you're really a boy or a girl."

He uttered this trash with such steeliness that for a minute I was
scared, really scared. He left without another word and I stayed
in the empty classroom shaking like a leaf.

When I got home I poured myself a glass of wine and thought
about the problem. Here I was, my first day on my first
teaching job and a boy ten years younger than me had taken
control of my classroom. And I wasn't even into the regular
school season yet. I had hoped the three month summer
remedial classes would acclimate me to a full teaching
schedule. What had I done to Dino Fazio? I wondered bitterly.
Nothing. I had done nothing to this kid. He was so resentful of
having to take this remedial class that he was making my life
miserable-- by referring to the one area of my anatomy that I
was still self-conscious of.

Look, I don't have any illusions about myself. I'm not a super
model. But I am good-looking. Friends tell me that if
Sigourney Weaver had short bright red hair, she'd look like me
and that sounds right. I have pale skin and freckles-- curse my
Irish forefathers!-- and bright green eyes. I'm in good shape and
stay that way by running three miles every day. And as Dino
shared with the class, I'm not exactly 'built,' though he had
exaggerated and turned a 34B into a 32AAA. Anyway, I know
I have a lean and mean figure that, in a pair of Guess jeans has
turned more than its share of male heads.

Which was another depressing topic. I drank more of the wine
as I contemplated my new job situation. I had tried not to think
about it, but now as I wallowed in self-made misery, I rolled it
over again. What would I do with my love life? This wasn't
the usual self-pity single gals resort to. I knew I could go out and
find a guy. The word was that there were several eligible
bachelor teachers on staff at Bentson High that would be
returning to the school in September. But what good did that do
me? You see, I'm a lesbian. And actively lesbian teachers at
suburban Florida high schools aren't very popular with school
boards-- not in the land of Anita Bryant anyway.

So there I was, in a strange town, already tormented by a little
creep on the first day and desperately lonely for some feminine
companionship. I remembered that night was the longest of my
life since the death of my parents when I was a sophomore in
college. I couldn't imagine how anything would get any better,
ever. But it did, and not long after.

The next day I arose with the determination to do something
about the Fazio kid. Luckily he wasn't in class. Normally
skipping the second day would have annoyed the hell out of me,
but I was just grateful not to have to face him. His cohorts, Jed,
Frankie, Samantha and Beth, kept their chatter down to a rude if
manageable rumble. Without their ringleader, they didn't have
the nerve to cross me openly.

After class, I checked in with Mr. Temple, the principal. He
had hired me and we got along well. I had the sense that he sort
of thought of me in a daughterly way, as he had gone out of his
way to help me settle in Bentson. My request for information
about Dino Fazio elicited only the mildest interest.

"Problem with the boy Meg?" he asked sympathetically. He
pulled out the file and nodded. "Looks like he recently moved
here, right after the school year was over. Was in," his eyes
widened, "the state juvenile facility for carjacking!" He pulled
his glasses down and looked up intently at me through his pince
nezs. "Be careful with this one Meg. He's trouble." Then
continuing to scan the file, he concluded "If he wants to go on
as a sophomore in September, he's got to get at least a C in your
remedial English class. Looks like he's stuck with you and
probably resents it. Meg, he's a new kid in a new town out to
score some points against a new teacher. It's going to happen
from time to time. I'm sorry it has to hit you so soon. Even in
Bentson, there are these bad kids."

I thanked him and assured him I could handle it. I left the
empty high school, jumped in my car, and headed toward the
address in Dino's file. I didn't have a plan really, but I was
curious about how this kid lived. Maybe I could talk to his
parents, try to get their help in curbing him a little.

As soon as I arrived at the trailer park on the edge of town, I
knew my chances of getting help were far less than even. The
trailer listed as Dino's address wasn't just run-down, it was filthy
in a way that gives benign neglect a good name. The place was
a sty. There were the hulks of at least four cars up on blocks in
the front yard, piles of uncollected stuffed garbage bags, dozens
of Old Milwaukee cans rolling round on what passed for a front
lawn, and a huge tv antenna that sprouted from the top of the
dirty white trailer.

I knocked on the door. An older man in a gray, once-white tee
shirt and oil splotched work pants shook himself out of a one
man snoring contest. He looked at me with suspicious,
narrowed eyes. He weighed about three hundred pounds and
reeked of beer.

"Wuz you want?" he demanded.

I told him and asked if I could come in to talk about Dino. He
didn't invited me in, but didn't tell me to leave when I opened
the fly-speckled screen door.

The inside of the trailer made me long for the fresh exuberance
of the front yard. The place was a dump, pure and simple. I
found a perch on an ancient legless sofa.

"Dino, he my neff-yew, y'all unnnerstan? His ma and pa done
run off-- bills yew know. And the boy come to stay heah after
he got out of the Reformatory. He come and go-- I don't care.
Some day I'll get up and he'll be gone-- wouldn't surprise me.
Ain't my problem. I got other problems-- I'm on the Disability."
He took a draw on a can of Old Milwaukee and looked at me,
clearly uninterested in his nephew's goings on.

His disability looked self-induced to me, but I nodded. "Look,
Dino needs to buckle down. His reading skills are below par."

With that, the uncle laughed. "Dino reads alright, Missy, see
hare? All them magazines he likes is all over." He pointed to a
stack of glossy girlie magazines with such gorgeous names as
"Bra Busters," "40dds" and "Hot Tips."

I shook my head in disgust and left without another word.
Behind me the fat old drunk man continued to drink and laugh.
So much for help there, I thought despondently. Now what?

That evening I did the only thing I could think of. I called up
Diana Weston, my best friend from college. I hadn't talked to
her since her wedding three months ago.

"Weston residence," the high pitched voice answered, "May I
help you?"

Polite, respectful and demure, just the way Diana liked it, I
thought. "Ginger, this is Ms. Hardy. Put your mistress on the
phone."

"Yes, Ma'am, at once Ma'am!"

Diana picked up a minute later. Before she could speak, I
complimented her on Ginger's phone comportment. "He's very
sweet, Diana. You've trained him so well!"

She responded with her wry low laugh. "Yes, well once
George Fielding came back from the Honeymoon, he had to be
taught that those dress-up games on our wedding night weren't
just games-- they were the way things were going to be. Little
Georgie girl here whined a bit when I made him change his last
name to Weston. And he put up a fight when he was told he
was going to stay home and keep house for me, just like a good
lil househubby. And he needed some good old fashioned
discipline when he was rechristened 'Ginger.' But he seems to
be accepting his new role quite nicely now. Anyway, honey,
how are you? How's the new job going?"

"That's why I called. I need your help with a problem. I
thought since you're in the Society--"

Diana cut me off. "Please, Hon, you know all references to the
Society need to be made in person. And if you're talking about
what I think you're talking about, you should come over at
once."

An hour later I was there. Ginger Weston, nee George Fielding,
opened the door. I couldn't believe the transformation. He had
been the class president and head of the biggest frat at our
college. At the wedding he looked every inch the man-in-
control as he swept Diana away in the limo. Little did anyone
know except for Meg, that Diana had very definite ideas about
how male spouses were supposed to act.

Poor George. Now he stood wearing a silk champagne
negligee and high heeled mules, his long dyed platinum blonde
hair cascading seductively over the spaghetti straps of the
lingerie and his bare shoulders. His skin was smooth and made-
up, as were his eyes. His long nails were painted a garish red.
If I didn't know better and except for the flat chest, I might have
thought that the person greeting me was George's younger
sister. But of course it wasn't. It was George now transformed
into Ginger.

"Hello, Ginger."

He looked sheepishly up. Like Diana's other close friends, we
had known George before she had trained him. The knowledge
embarrassed him acutely.

"Hello, Ms. Hardy. Uh, please follow me."

Ginger led me to the living room, where Diana was listening to
music. She rose and greeted me with a big hug. Marriage
agreed with her-- especially the kind she had planned on. She
was comfortably at ease in a flannel gown, so unlike the sexy
frilly thing her husband wore. Diana had a warm confident
glow, the kind that no doubt attracted George to her to begin
with. She had an angular sharp featured face that made her hard
to forget, a look that was emphasized by the modish short pixie
cut of her dark brown hair. Diana was thoroughly heterosexual,
though of the female-controlled variety, and her looks were too
hard for me, though she was an attractive woman. Since my
tastes run more to the feminine, so-called lipstick lesbian range,
there had never been the slightest sexual undertow in our
relationship, which made it all the more comfortable. We both
accepted each other's choices.
 
"Ginger, be a doll and fetch Meg a drink."

As the feminized househubby minced off to obey his mistress'es
command, we exchanged glances and began to laughed
simultaneously. Three months disappeared in thirty seconds.
  
"God, it's good to see you!"

I took the drink Ginger returned with and Diana gave him a pat
on his butt.

"Isn't he a sexy thing? Ginger, you'd be bored by all this
confusing women's talk. Why don't you be a pet and go warm
up our bed?" Diana winked at me. "Just think about all the
things I'm going to do to you, doll face. That ought to get you
hot and bothered." She dismissed him with a slap on his butt
and he scampered up the stairs obediently.

"Now, what's this about the Society? Tell me why you're
interested in the Black Rose Society all of a sudden."

I proceeded to tell her all about Dino Fazio, then as the wine
took hold, I began to admit just how unhappy I was. The
trickle which had begun with Dino Fazio now turned into an
emotional torrent. She listened carefully and patiently. She had
known about my sexual proclivities since college and if she
didn't share them, she at least sympathetically. Finally she
asked why I had brought up the Society after such a long time.

I wondered myself. Diana had told me of her membership in
this ultra-secret organization while we were in college. At first
I thought it was some kind of sorority, but there was never any
mention of it. Later she shared the Society's mission with me.

"The idea is that women should run things, not males."

"So it's political?" I asked naively.

But she shook her head. "Not quite." She wouldn't tell me
anymore about it but she had floated the idea once of me
joining.

"The sisters like you from what they can see. You know," she
added pointedly, "there are many lesbians in the Black Rose
Society. It's one place that prejudice doesn't exist toward your
choice. Tell me you're interested and I can tell you all the
specifics. The Society can be a real help when you graduate."

Diana had certainly done well for herself, landing a top job at
Artemis Investments right out of college. It was why she lived
so regally now and could afford to keep her man at home in his
feminized state. I adored Diana, but I begged off. It was all
too mysterious and melodramatic. I got the impression that
George's transformation was just the tip of the iceberg. And I
wasn't at all sure that I approved of dominating males either.
Until now.

"I don't know Diana. You know my folks are gone and I don't
have anyone. I guess I'm just vulnerable that's all. That punk
just made it all go to my head." I put the wineglass down. "I
should go."

"You know, I'm sure we can find a solution to your problems.
Males all provide it themselves, you know. If you're aware of
the signs, you can take advantage of their own instincts to make
them behave. Why, Georgie Girl was just crazy about Marilyn
Monroe. Thought she was the ultimate sex symbol. All he
wanted from a women was for her to be a centerfold. Fine-- I
turned him into one. Find out that boy's weakness and you can
do the same to him!"

Centerfold! The word made me think of all those disgusting
magazines in that trailer! A plan took shape. Diana could see
me getting excited, then the bubble burst.

"What's the matter?" she asked concerned.

I looked up forlornly. "Diana, with all due respect, I think your
life is wonderful. You've put George, I mean Ginger, in a
unique role in your life. But you're suggesting I turn that Fazio
boy into a Ginger. And I'm not a heterosexual. I'm into girls,
not cross-dressed husbands!"

Diana smiled. "Fine. You like feminine girls. You don't have
a lover right now and you can't have one openly because you'd
get fired. But what about a teenage girl, one that you would
train as a lesbian love slave? You could keep her as a little pet
to help pass those lonely hours at home."

I was growing wet between the legs at the thought. "I love the
idea, but...how? I mean how could I do it without getting into
trouble? And what does having a teenage sex toy have to do
with that little jerk Dino Fazio?"

Diana spent the next hour telling me exactly what the two things
had to do with one another.

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

All I told Mr. Temple the following day was that I couldn't
continue teaching the summer session. He was disappointed
until I explained I had some lengthy legal obligations to unearth
regarding my parents' estate.

"I inherited a house on the shore where I'll be staying for the
next three months. I'll be back though to teach in the Fall."
With that promise made, he allowed me to leave my remedial
English course and assigned another teacher to the class.

"I hope that Fazio boy hasn't done this! If he's causing you to
give up this course, I'll--"

I assured him there was no connection and with a thankful
handshake took my leave for the summer. I packed up a few
things and drove the two hours out to my parent's old summer
home on the eastern coast of Florida. Diana met me there,
smiling in a very satisfied way. She handed me a keychain on
which hung a small key and a black button the size of a dime.

"He's in the house. He's heavily sedated and probably won't be
up for a while. He's been fitted with the chastity belt I told you
about. Use this," she pointed to the black button, "if he gets out
of hand. It's called the Tutor. It will activate an electrical shock
that affects the nerve-endings in a nasty way. I've used it once
already today. Don't hesitate to use it. Remember, you need to
show him who's boss. The sooner he understands who makes
up the rules, the better a lover he'll eventually make for you."

The whole scheme suddenly seemed unreal and scary to me.
"Diana, are you sure about this? I mean, will he really turn into
a teenage girl? How can we get away with this?"

Diana nodded strongly in the affirmative. "Look Meg, I took
care of all that. Society sisters nabbed the little brat and left a
forged note for that fat uncle that said he was taking off with a
gang. The uncle could care less. As far as the changes, just put
him on the diet we talked about. You'll see changes at once.
Within three months, your Dino Fazio will be ready to take his
place as the hottest little cutie in the sophomore class of Bentson
High School. Just make sure he drinks the bottled water every
day. It doesn't affect females, just males-- makes them very
feminine in both appearance and manner."

I shook my head. "But what will keep him from telling anyone
about all this? I can't be with him all the time at the school."

Diana patted me on the back. "Honey, don't worry. The
Society CAN watch him all the time. You'd be amazed at our
presence. And what can he say anyway? That he's really a boy?
He'd be mortified to let anyone know women did this to him.
And even if he gets desperate enough, he won't dare say a
thing."

"Why?"

Diana's hard eyes fixed on mine. "Because I told him that if he
so much as acted like a tomboy, let alone say anything, that he'd
be castrated."

I gasped. "Are you serious?"

Diana nodded grimly. "Absolutely. I already told him that you
want him as a young lesbian lover, therefore you could care less
if he has a cocklet. At least this way, he'll keep his little thing,
even if it is under lock and key in his chastity belt for good.
What is it? You're still doubting this can happen? God, anyone
else would be thanking me. It's a fantasy come true. In three
months you'll have a hot little teen queen who will worship the
ground you walk on-- or else. Talk about the ultimate teacher's
pet! What's the problem?"

I sighed. She was right. But I still didn't believe it was possible
to convert a tough talking fifteen year old bully into the soft
sexy pretty young thing of my fantasies.

"Well, I can see how he could be physically transformed into a
girl, I guess, but can he really emotionally be turned into a
girl?"

Again, that Diana smile-- like a brilliant Cheshire cat. "I
already have a plan for you, one that should be quite amusing.
But I'll hold it for the end of August. Now go in and start
training the girl of your dreams! Good luck!" Off she went,
leaving me to my new charge and challenge of turning Dino
Fazio, high school tough guy into my new sweetheart.

Well, if you're reading this, I doubt you need to hear the details
of how Dino Fazio was transformed into Stacie Fox. Needless
to say the first two weeks were rough. Dino refused to accept
my authority and the Tutor was employed on a couple of
occasions. On the second day after all his sparse chest hair fell
out, he stopped eating and drinking, but that only lasted a day.
His diet of protein drinks and bottled water-- both containing a
secret chemical element prepared by the Society-- brought on
amazing feminine characteristics. His nascent boy beard
disappeared, never to return, leaving his olive skin smooth and
glowing. His body hair all fell out as well. His cheeks became
more pronounced, though more delicate. Even his hands and
feet grew smaller by two sizes. His nails and black hair grew at
an accelerated speed too. Dino really became alarmed when his
waist narrowed even as his hips expanded! He still had a
boyish figure, but it was certainly looked more like that of a
developing teenage girl than a boy. His new coltish prettiness
really perplexed him and he couldn't avoid it, because I kept
him nude now, except for the chastity belt. He finally gave up
his stubborn resistance to answering to his new name after
another shock from the Tutor.

The beginning of the third week we had our first conversation.
He hadn't accepted his new feminine fate, but the chemicals
rebalancing his metabolism were causing him to lose hope. He
listened as I explained to him the new challenges facing him.

"Stacie, you're turning into a girl now and there's nothing you
can do about it, is there?"

He reluctantly nodded, though petulantly. He drew his long
straight black hair back from his eyes and his full kissable lips
trembled.

"Well you know you have to start acting like a girl because
you're going back to school in a couple of months."

He looked up. "Like this?" he pleaded. His voice was a nice
high soprano now, able to hit all the sweet high notes.

I grinned. "Oh yes, indeed. Just like that."

His blue eyes were terror-filled. "But what if someone finds out
I'm a boy? Will that lady still do THAT to me?"

I nodded again. "Oh yes! If anyone even thinks you might be a
boy, you'll be castrated-- understand? So what will you have to
do all the time?"

He squeezed his thin shoulders worriedly. I have to start acting
like a girl, Ms. Hardy. Like Stacie Fox."

Good. We were getting someplace. I patted him on his lovely
head. "That's right, Stacie. We'll begin at once." And with
that, Stacie was introduced to his new wardrobe-- a bright
collection of Junior Miss fashions. It only took one shock of the
Tutor to convince him that he really DID want to put on those
yellow cotton French cut panties.

Within a week, Stacie was wearing all the kinds of pretty
clothes high school girls his age wore. Jean mini-skirts, tight
No Excuses jeans, hip-hugging short-shorts, cute lace-trimmed
blouses, smart black heels and girlishly pink running shoes,
darling lacy socklettes, revealing stirrup pants, and more. The
following week I taught him the joys of make-up and jewelry.
He was shaping up so well I was caught by surprise when he
tried to escape one night.

Poor thing never had a chance. Stacie thought that if he could
get out of my presence, he had a shot at getting some help in
reversing the process I had begun with him. Though I was
almost always training him on these long Florida summer days,
one day I decided to take a nap and sent him to his room. The
doorlock didn't catch though and Dino's bedroom was open.
Clever little thing waited for me to fall asleep, then actually
made a dash out through the front door. Of course he didn't
know that I put the Tutor on automatic whenever I was away
from him, thus ensuring that he could never get farther away
than I allowed him too. The shock hit him when he reached for
the door handle. When I awoke, I found him crouched in a
corner doubled over in pain.

I could have let him be at that point, but a lesson needed to be
taught. Suddenly I liked the idea of using physical force to
teach the supple girlish boy the price of disobedience. In other
words, I felt like being a bitch! I shook my head angrily and
told him I was so very disappointed.

"Over my knee Missy. Come on-- come get your medicine."

You'd have thought all I had done to the boy would have been
humiliating enough so that a mere spanking would be nothing.
But male pride is a curious thing. He refused.

I hit the button for the Tutor to deliver a lesson in impertinence.
He threw his head up in agony. I patted my knee again, without
saying a word. He dropped his head and sullenly draped
himself over my knee. It was the last time I used the Tutor.
From that moment on, all Stacie's 'lapses' in judgment were
corrected with corporal punishment and have been to this day
four years later. I still had the Tutor, but Stacie found my
method somewhat more bearable. Which was fine-- I began to
cast an eagle-eye for any small indiscretions that would give me
the opportunity to punish my pretty pet.

There were plenty, though nothing major. It was August and
Stacie had come to accept at least for the moment, his new
gender. He was dressing, making himself up as, speaking like,
even walking like a fifteen year old girl. He didn't smile much,
but I couldn't expect miracles. When Diana came up at the end
of the summer to inspect my "summer project" she was pleased
with my progress.

"You've really taken him in hand, Meg. What a cutie you have
here," she said as she watched Stacie mincing about the house.
he was cleaning, a task he performed daily now. "I'm sure by
now you're handling discipline without the need to resort to the
Tutor."

I nodded confidently. "Yes, Stacie's been behaving very
adequately lately. He still gets into trouble, but nothing I can't
handle," I said, tapping my palm with a hairbrush.

"Good. Now that he's almost ready, we can talk about
something you brought up at the beginning of the summer."

I had forgotten what she was talking about. "I thought he was
ready, Diana. What's missing?"

She wagged a finger in disagreement. "No, no, no! Not by a
long shot! Look, you have him prancing around in panties, skirt
and make-up, true. He acts and looks like a girl. But he doesn't
FEEL like a girl yet. Remember how I said that my Georgie-
girl really wasn't tamed into being a proper lil househubby till I
turned him into the woman of HIS dreams?"

I snapped my fingers, realizing what she was saying. "Marilyn
Monroe! Of course!"

Diana handed me a small bottle of water. "Remember what he
said to bother you earlier?"

I took the bottle. Yes, I had. I said I don't like fried eggs, the
punk had said.

"And you said he had all those girlie magazines?" she reminded
me.

I nodded and smiled. "I understand. I know what to do."