A Boy's Bra Training And Discipline/Part Two

by Marlissa


We dropped the subject, though I would ask her for advice in
the matter as school progressed. Diana stayed for dinner, all the
while drinking in the sight of my pretty teen queen pet. Dino
shivered whenever her eyes fell on him too long. Only once did
she ask me loudly and in his presence if she would need to
"spay" him. He turned ashen white, waiting for me to reply.

I paused for a dramatic moment or two, then shook my head.
"No, not now anyway. He's really trying hard. Ask me again
when he starts school though. If he doesn't pass, I'll need to
reconsider it."

Diana left that evening with specific instructions on how to use
the bottled liquid. "Just like before, except one dose should do.
Give it to the dear tonight and watch him drink every drop. In
the morning he should be ready to take back to Bentson with
you."

I followed her instructions, and watched the skirted boy sip
every drop without so much as a peep. He was of course quite
used to obeying my every order at this stage and did so now.
After drinking it, he fell into a deep slumber. He had grown so
light-- he weighed all of one hundred-seven pounds now-- that I
easily picked him up him and placed him in his bed for a what
would be a very strange night of beauty rest.

I knew the next day the bottled formula had worked because I
could hear Stacie whining to himself behind his locked bedroom
suite.

"I have tits! I have tits!" He didn't sound happy about it.

I opened the door. He sat on his big pink girl's bed wearing a
nightie. He was holding the pink lace nightie up, inspecting
what was underneath resting high on his chest. They were a
smallish pair of perky breasts, about the size of cut lemons! He
dropped his nightie and looked up in alarm. Tears were
streaming down his dark, wan cheeks. His full lips were
opened up in a silent scream.

"Aren't we growing up!" I cruelly chided him. He didn't say a
word, but big tears continued to fall down those soft cheeks and
I left him alone to collect his thoughts.

Later I realized that poor Dino's worst nightmare had occurred.
It was one thing to change the shape of his body, to make it sift
and acceptable to my tastes for a young, taut teen body. The
long hair, the soft skin, the make-up and dressing-- that was one
thing. He had never expected this though. Now he had what he
had so often lusted after-- a pair of teenage girl's breasts--
except these breast were smaller, much smaller than anything
that might have attracted him. I think even a whorish pair of
pumped up melon-tits would have been easier to take than the
tiny nipple-teats he had sprouted. For the diminutive little
things my girl-boy had now were more nipple than breast. As I
searched for and found the raised dime-sized nipples underneath
the sheer nightie, I guessed that at most, that my teeny-bopper
would wear a 32AA brassiere at most. But that was the point
Diana had made. It was precisely how I would turn the half-
boy into the totally girlish lipstick lesbian teen lover of my
hottest, wettest fantasies.

The night before school was to begin, I took Stacie home from
the beach house, along with all his pretty new clothes. As I
drove, I told him the story that Diana and I had worked out.
Stacie Fox was my niece. HER parents were traveling
extensively and I had agreed to let her stay with me for the
coming school year. I would be responsible for her. SHE
would also be in my homeroom class, and HER courses had
been chosen by me. Mr. Temple had been informed already.

Stacie listened, increasingly more depressed and withdrawn.
He looked up in fear when I told him there would be some new
rules to follow when we got home, rules that would be followed
or else Diana would be paying him a call with a scalpel. I didn't
say anything more but gave him as hard a look as I could. He
squirmed and kept his full lips pursed, afraid to utter a word.

The next morning I watched as Stacie Fox, my new niece,
dressed. I picked out the outfit-- a pink velveteen miniskirt, a
sheer white buttoned blouse, white knee socks, Maryjanes and a
floppy pink ribbon to wear in his hair. Simple pink heart-
shaped ear studs, pink lipgloss and pale pink nail polish
completed the young lady image I wanted for him. Underneath
his little flared a-line miniskirt, Stacie wore a pair of pink
French-cut Hanes For Her panties.

He was tucking in his blouse when he realized his breasts were
clearly visible through the material! He looked up, confounded.
"May I put on another blouse?"

I shook my head firmly. "No. You look very pretty in that
blouse and you're going to keep it on."

He bowed his head, then gathered all his courage up. The
moment he ashamedly made his shy request, his bra training had
begun.

"Then may I have a bra to wear, please?"

"Why do you need a bra, Stacie?"

He blushed. "Because you can see my breasts through my
blouse, Ms. Hardy. Maybe I could borrow one of yours?" he
pleaded softly.

I laughed. "There's no way. You couldn't fill it out by a long
shot. Besides you need a special kind of bra. The kind girls
wear when they start to get their little breasts. What kind is
that, Stacie? What kind of bra do you need?"

He looked at his Maryjanes humbly for a moment, then forced
the answer out. "A training bra, Ms. Hardy. I need a training
bra."

I nodded approvingly. "That's right, Stacie. And I bought one
for you-- just for your little breasts." I pulled it out of my
briefcase and handed it to him. "Go put on your very first
training bra Stacie. We're going to be late for our first day at
school."

Stacie took the packaged training bra, the tag still hanging off it.
The disconcerted expression on his prettified and softened face
told me that it would take my Stacie a while before he would
comfortably accept the unfamiliar feminine garment's new role
in his teenage world. I could only look forward to his journey
toward girlhood with pleasurable anticipation!

He returned, ready for the drive to school. I noted with
approval that Stacie had donned his training bra quickly and
without questions. Good-- he could dress himself without
questions. I could clearly make out the training bra underneath
the sheer white material of the blouse. It was a darling
contraption made of soft snow white cotton, with wide straps
and full chest covering cups. It was almost a half-chemise, with
pretty white lace trimming that gave only the barest hint of
budding breasts under the too-generous cups. In fact, the
training bra didn't even hook in the back, but was worn by
pulling it over the head. The whole effect was to announce that
the wearer was ready to begin her real girlhood, but still
underequipped for the new stage. Stacie scrunched his
shoulders, his fingers constantly straying to position an errant
strap or scratching his back where the big backstrap offered
unneeded support. It was so cute!

As we drove, I informed Stacie that he would be expected to
obey certain private rules I had already formulated. The reason
for this was that I needed to be convinced that Stacie was being
a very good girl and therefore didn't require my brand of
discipline. As I told him the first rule, he turned pale.

He looked up at me, a nervous wreck. "Oh, must I, Ms.
Hardy? Shan't I be drawing attention to myself?" I had taught
him to speak as a properly brought up young lady over the
course of the past summer and to always use a frivolous
charming turn of phrase.

"That's the point, Stacie. You'll do as I've instructed because it
is important that everyone be aware of your concern for your
appearance." I added, unnecessarily, that he knew what would
happen if he didn't obey this rule. He gave me a short nod,
though his full lips were tightly shut.

Stacie was surprised as I assigned him a seat that was
surrounded by his former summer school chums-- Jed Taylor,
Frankie Farino, Samantha King and Beth Simpson. He must
have hoped against hope that the four would recognize him, but
I watched that hope die as the kids looked him over as dully as
they did their required reading. It was as if they had never
known him at all. I knew that Stacie was reeling at the shock
and was pleased. I wanted my darling girlie Stacie Fox to
understand that Dino Fazio may as well have never existed.

I introduced Stacie to the class, though made no mention of our
relationship. I had suggested to Mr. Temple that if the other
kids knew Stacie was my niece they might suspect me of
favoritism. Stacie was so informed as well and told to keep the
relationship secret. Samantha and Beth couldn't have taken
cared less about the new "girl" but I saw a brief predatory leer
from the Stacie's two male neighbors, Jed and Frankie.

All was preceding normally when I decided to cue Stacie. I had
told him the signal would be my taking off my glasses and
putting them in the breast pocket of my jacket. To the rest of
the class, this would be a meaningless gesture, but to Stacie it
would begin the most memorable era of his bra training.

At first his frightened expression concerned me. My back-up
plan would be to activate the Tutor and he knew this, which was
probably why he grudgingly raised his hand. I stopped my
lesson, a discussion of grammar rules, and recognized him.

"Yes, Stacie?" I asked archly, acting annoyed at being
interrupted in the middle of my discourse.

His pretty made-up face blushed a crimson red. He opened his
wide lipglossed mouth and spoke demurely. "May I be excused
to go to the Girl's Room, Ms. Hardy?"

I hid my smile. "And why, Stacie?"

His face darkened in shame, but he knew he had to continue.
He had no choice. "I must adjust my training brassiere,
Ma'am."

As the class erupted into laughter, I couldn't help but join in.
"Yes, Miss Fox, you may go adjust your training bra-- by all
means, young lady!" Beth and Samantha were doubled over in
chuckles and Jed and Frankie gave Stacie cartoonish "hubba
hubba" looks. All the girls in the class were healthy sixteen
year olds with nicely shaped chests and the request only
emphasized how flat Stacie was compared to them. That a
sixteen year old girl still wore a training bra absolutely shook
them into gales of derisive laughter-- a laughter I freely shared.

Stacie scampered out of the class, completely humiliated and
returned a few minutes later. As he resented himself, careful to
keep his skirt close to his legs, Jed stage whispered "All set,
Dolly Parton?" and the class broke into chuckles all over again.
Stacie sat and kept his head bowed down.

That was the beginning of the bra training I subjected Stacie to.
He was required per my rule to utter the phrase "my training
brassiere" at least once a school day for two weeks. He had to
say it in my presence at my cue loud enough to be heard by the
entire class. After the first time, it was up to him to come up
with ways to use the phrase that made sense. To be honest, his
ingenuity impressed me. The next day, at my cue, he raised his
hand. We had been discussing adjectives. How would be make
a connection between his training bra and adjectives? I
recognized him.

"In a way, adjectives are things that make others things pretty, is
that right, Ms. Hardy?"

"How do you mean Miss Fox?"

He blushed again. "Like my training brassiere makes my figure
prettier? Like that?"

Again, the class broke down. And it was like that for the next
two weeks. Every time Stacie raised his hand, the class began
to get the giggles, though by this time the girls were getting
disgusted. Stacie had no self-pride to keep bringing up her
small bust, they said. She was clearly doing it to get the
attention of boys in some weird way. But the boys thought the
whole thing was hilarious.

Another affect of what was seen as her odd behavior was that
Stacie was unable to make any friends. The girls thought she
was too strange and the boys couldn't care less about a girl who
thought so little of herself, though Jed and Frankie seemed to
have a private joke about their feminine classmate that made
them eye her with special interest. In any case, Stacie was
isolated which was precisely what I wanted. I hardly needed
him getting chummy with some boy or girl and sharing the story
of his ongoing training, let alone his biological sex.

Two weeks had passed and Stacie had obeyed my rules
thoroughly. I complimented him at home, though he responded
only with a wan sad smile. I knew he dreaded getting up in the
morning, hated being put in such humiliating situations
constantly and that school for him was more literally a prison
for him than any of his classmates could imagine. But
regardless of how I knew he must feel inside, I could find no
fault whatsoever with his behavior. He dressed in his schoolgirl
wardrobe without so much as a cross look. His walk was
graceful in his Maryjanes and saddle shoes and his makeup
applied ever more expertly as days progressed. No-- Stacie
was acting like the perfect little lady at Benson High.

And that was why I decided to reward my little Stacie. Sunday
evening I told him I wished to speak to him. He put down his
Glamour magazine (he was responsible for reading at least one
fashion magazine a week now) and looked up demurely. By
now he had learned the tricks of the teenage girl of how to look
pretty without too much work, which his casually ponytailed
black hair demonstrated. He looked up, not directly at me, but
down at my shoes-- an acceptably respectful demeanor.

"You've been a good girl, Stacie."

He continued to look down, but I saw the wince. He still didn't
like being referred to as a girl, even though he made such a
convincing one by now.

"Good girls get rewards."

He looked up hopefully now, batting his lashes excitedly. Then
he saw what I had in my hand and all his anticipation collapsed.
He took the gift pettishly, his brown eyes clouding in pouty
anger.

"What do you say, young lady?"

"T-thank you, Ms. Hardy." There was a trace of hurt in it but I
let it pass. He held the garment doubtfully.

I instructed him to put it on. Sluggishly, he pulled off his pink
blouse. Without effort he slipped the training bra off over his
head. But now his hostility was softened by curiosity. He
shyly toyed with the soft wireless cups of his peach colored
cotton bra.

"It's a Missy Petite, an Olga For Girls, size 32 AAA-- the
smallest they make. But it is a real bra. What do you think
Stacie?"

His curiosity was winning the better of him. "It has a hook in
the back, Ms. Hardy-- not like my training brassiere." He was
fingering the soft cotton, playing with the hook.

I nodded. "That's right, Stacie. You'll have to hook it in the
back. Put it on." I watched as his trembling fingers drew his
small bare breasts into the snug comfort of the new bra. Unlike
the training bra, this one gave his small bust small but visible
shaping. He now looked like a girl- a flat chested girl, but
definitely a girl with a pair of petite breasts! Almost
instinctively, he slipped the bra on, hooking the bra skillfully in
the back and pulling the thin shoulder straps up to give his
boobs a tiny shelf-like look. Against his will, I could tell he
enjoyed admiring the new figure my gift gave him.

"Better than your training bra, hah?" I teased.

He gave me a sphinxlike smile and a pretty little nod.

"Good. You'll wear your new bra from now on. You may
retire your training bra to your undies drawer. We'll keep it--
and if you ever start to act like a little girl, it will go right back
on." He blushed and I continued. "But for now, your behavior
has earned you the right to wear a real bra. In fact, you should
be so happy about your new bra, that you shouldn't hesitate to
tell everyone about it."

Stacie's face fell. As he must have suspected, his gift would
have strings attached.
 
"So tomorrow in class, I'll expect you to follow a new rule." As
I explained the rule, he grew more despondent. I left the room,
leaving him to think about how he would follow the new rule in
school tomorrow.

As we drove in, Stacie remained silent, though he offered a
smile now and again. He had clearly reached some decision as
to how he would fulfill the new rule I had laid down the
previous night. As he took his seat, I saw the boys that sat next
to Stacie were looking over with new interest. I had dressed
Stacie to draw this kind of attention by putting him in a cute red
form-fitting bolero top over a ribbed white shirt and a matching
red skirt. For the first time Stacie had a bust and the boys
noticed right away.

I was dying to see how my teen pet would obey his mistress'
new rule. But throughout the class, he remained demure and
quiet as always. Finally I knew he needed a push. And I gave it
to him.

"All right class. Let's use some of the vocabulary words in real
sentences, shall we? Use the work 'exquisite' in a sentence. Now
who haven't I heard from today?' I paused and searched around
the room, my eyes landing on Stacie. "Stacie. Stand up and
use the word 'exquisite' in a sentence."

He looked up, his courage screwed to the highest pitch.
Without missing a beat, he skipped up on his heels. "Yes,
Ma'am." He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, then said "I
look exquisite in my first real bra."

The class again broke out into uproarious laughter. As the
students bellowed, I could see it was taking Stacie all he had to
hold onto his composure. Beads of perspiration were forming
on his smooth forehead and he patted his black bangs down
nervously, until I told him to sit down. "Fine, Stacie. And
thank you for informing us of your new bra."

And so it was that Stacie was required to use the phrase "my
first real bra" every day in front of the class just as he had been
required to say "my training brassiere" the previous two weeks.
By now he had figured out a way to do it, slipping the humbling
phrase in whenever he could get away with it. He obeyed the
new rule with complete resignation now, enduring the laughs
and jibes of the other kids without a word. But Frankie and Jed
were eyeing him now in a way that made him uncomfortable.
He brought this up as we drove home one night.

"They both look at me, at my breasts! I hate it, Ms. Hardy!
Please move me to another seat!"

I shrugged. "Please, Stacie! As a pretty young thing, you'd
better get used to the stares of boys. With such a small chest,
you think you'd be happy to attract them. Why Beth and
Samantha are even getting a little jealous!"

He looked at me with frightened eyes. "But I'm not a girl! I'm
not! I don't want them to like me that way! I'm not gay!"

I looked him over. "Really? Well, what are you then?"

"I'm a boy!" he claimed in his squeaky-high soprano voice. But
the absurdity of that concept was obvious even to Stacie and he
looked down at his shiny Maryjanes in deep depression.

I let it pass for a moment. "You're a boy?" I pressed. "Really?
You know how I feel about lying. Thank about that before you
answer me Stacie!"

He pursed his lips. "Well, I may not be a boy anymore but I'm
not gay. That's for sure!" he seemed so proud of this complex
thinking.

I smiled. "Fine. You don't like boys. Do you like girls?"

He shook his head, his long black tresses shaking wildly. "Oh,
yes, Ms. Hardy!"

"Tell me why."

He fell into a rhapsodic explanation of why he found girls
attractive. "Girls are soft and sexy, so smooth and pretty. They
have such nice curves and they're so much nicer that boys. So
much more attractive. They wear the prettiest clothes, the most
precious make-up, the sexist perfume. They're just so dreamy!"

I let it go at that. I was pleased that Stacie was so in love with
his budding femininity. That he had no interest in males was
perfectly fine-- I wanted Stacie as my lesbian lover, not as a
plaything for the teenage boys in my class. And he was
developing so nicely, which made the next new rule even more
fun. As we drove home, I explained to Stacie what was
expected of him next. I handed him the tiny ruler he would
need.

"But why?" he demanded shrilly, though taking the ruler
obediently. "Do I have to?"

"As if you have a choice, young lady! As for why, it is
important that we track your development. Perhaps you're just
in a holding pattern and your growth may kick back in. You
never know at this age. And stop acting as if your small breast
size doesn't bother you-- I know the boy and girls make fun of
you, don't they?"

He nodded, a teardrop descending down his soft made-up
cheek. Just that day, Stacie had returned to his locker to find
written on it in indelible ink, "Stacie Fox is a carpenter's dream-
- flat as a board." Before this his breasts had been so new to
him that he couldn't have cared less about size. He had resisted
accepting that he even had breasts at first. Then he had grown
used to them, his attitude swinging between indifference and
curiosity. But now the constant comments had driven him to a
self-consciousness that was almost painful to watch. He had