Babbette Bimbo-ette
by: Karen Anne Summerfield
© December 1998

 

"I didn't invite you to sit!" Aunt Lorraine barked as I moved toward one of the chairs in her huge office, "Just stand there, and facing us."

I knew of no reason why she was in the apparently very angry mood. Seated to the left of her huge walnut desk was Jonathan Phelps, Sr. VP of Legal Affairs. Seated to his left was Ms Millicer, GM of Human Resources. Seated on the right of my aunt was the office sexpot, receptionist, Karen Miller. She was the only one not staring at me.

My aunt, Lorraine Parker, was Chairman and CEO of Parker Associates Limited, the very successful firm started at the dawn of the computer age, twenty-seven years ago by my grandfather, her father. Seven months previously, I had graduated from high school and had asked my aunt for a loan to go to a computer technical school. Aunt Lorraine had answered my request with a job offer instead.

"Out of respect for my late brother, I'll offer you an opportunity in my company. If you work hard and apply your energy well, learning here, I'll finance your education to improve your worth to the company, but you'll start and be treated, not as my nephew, but as any other employee. Have we a deal?" Eagerly, I had accepted Aunt Lorraine's offer, seeing it as the way toward fun and games.

"David, I..., we, have a major problem - two, major problems, as it is." She frowned at me. "You seem to be involved with both." I wondered what she was talking about and what warranted having been called into her office shortly after work had started that Monday morning.

"First, there is a very serious matter of some things missing from the office, a very expensive computer and the peripheral hardware to accompany it. These all disappeared from here a month ago. Can you shed any light on this matter that you might choose to share with me at this time?" I was suddenly beginning to sweat, despite the cool temperature that she required the air conditioning to be set to all of the time.

"No. Why should I know anything about that? All of this was gone over when the police were here, Ms. Parker." Despite her being my aunt, everyone below the level of manager, which included me, was required to address her that way.

"Yes, we did... didn't we?" Her sarcastic tone indicated she no longer believed me about the computer that was set up in the living room of my apartment.

Picking up a form, she scanned and read from it aloud, "Dual Athelon two gigahertz CPU's, two gig of RAM, four, fifty gig hard drives, cable modem, one hundred twenty-eight bit, wavetable card... CD-RW, DVD, video capture, two hundred fifty-six bit video graphics with two hundred fifty-six meg of video ram, twenty-one inch monitor, preloaded with oodles of software, forty-two bit scanner, color printer. Quite a system. What's it total?" Her red nail skimmed down the paper before her. "Here. eight thousand, eight hundred seventy-three dollars and twenty-six cents, with tax, shipping, insurance."

She'd laid the paper flat then turned it so it was facing right side up towards me. Aunt Lorraine put her hands together with the tips of her nails under her chin.

"Quite a system.... Have you learned to utilize all of its capabilities yet, David?"

She knew! How? How could she know? Very nervous, I tried denial and offense, "You can't go accusing me of taking that computer. You have no proof... Ms. Parker." I definitely wasn't as confident as I'd tried to sound.

"Haven't I?" Opening the thin file in front of her, she lifted a few papers and drew one out to place it on top. "This is a notarized deposition. Jonathan has assured me that it is sufficient to obtain a search warrant along with other things. Its signed by..." leaning forward, acting as if she was reading, "Dara Verdi." She leaned back in her huge leather chair. "I think you know her.

"Do you also know that Ms Verdi is the first cousin of a Ms Karen Miller, David?"

Oh shit! I'd picked up Dara three weeks ago in a lounge and taken her home, hoping for something more than sharing coffee before she left.

"Ms Miller has told me that she and Ms Verdi were not so close that they shared details of their intimate, personal relationships with each other, but - seems when Ms Miller was relating a work related matter with her cousin, your name happened to... just... come up. Isn't that a coincidence?

"I said at the beginning, there are two major problems that caused me to call this meeting this morning."

Aunt Lorraine fanned out three papers from another file across her desk. "There is a problem with these. One is a letter complaining of sexual harassment, here... in my firm. This is a report from Ms Millicer concerning a meeting that occurred between her and one of my employees. Last, I have a letter from Mr. Phelps advising me of his legal opinion regarding the first two.

"Ms Miller's name appears on these documents along with the name of another of the employee's here. Any idea who that other employee is, David?"

Forgetting what she'd just charged me with for a moment, I glared at Karen. "You can't accuse me of harassing you!"

"I have!" she shot right back, not letting me finish what I was going to say. "You look at me, stare all of the time. That's never enough, you have a perverted need to touch me, always maneuvering close enough to rub my ass, then quote, complimenting, unquote, on what underwear your hand has told you I have on under my skirt or dress.

"You, almost daily, tell me once you've checked me out, how I would look even sexier if my heels were higher, my hem shorter and if I wore more or different makeup.

"You creep, you even told me how much better I'd look with really 'big boobs' because, a 'girl like me', should be 'proud to jiggle her big tits for a guy to admire', even outright telling me to use my vacation to get a 'boob job'. That, Sir, is sexual harassment!" Karen spit her words at me.

I couldn't face her angry glare. What she was accusing me of was, unfortunately for me, true. A few of the guys who'd heard me say those things, had even counseled me to 'cool it' before things got out of control. Rick had even warned that I could be slapped with a big lawsuit if I didn't stop. I had not heeded their advice, but even kidded Karen about suing me, laughing at her, flaunting that I was the 'owner's nephew' when I had.

"Do I need to spell out the very serious nature of the situations you have created for me, along with yourself, David?"

"I'll quit. I'll leave right now, Ms Parker." She laughed, it was not a joyful one, but seemed mocking.

"Ummmph. It is not that simple. You will wish that it was... soon.

"I wish to avoid all of the time and expense of being involved in a lawsuit. Jonathan advises me that my company and I are, under the law, just as liable as you, because we either 'knew or should have known' just what you were doing and took no action. Dealing with the facts, Ms Miller has received the same advice when she discussed this matter with her father's attorney, acting on Ms Verdi's suggestion.

"I have offered Ms Miller financial compensation to avoid my firm's possible involvement in her possible lawsuit. My offer has been rejected, even after I raised it considerably. Ms Miller has some, how shall I say, rather interesting ideas about just how this matter might be settled so that a lawsuit will not be necessary. Would you like to know now, what you are going to do?"

"I haven't done anything wrong and I'm not going to do anything now or in the future to settle charges that have no substance!" I wish I believed what I just said, but, inside, I knew Karen's charges were as true as my stealing the computer.

Mr. Phelps spoke quietly, in the measured tones he always used. "Mr. Parker, I am going to provide you with some free legal advice. Listen.

"The stolen computer is in your apartment. You know that. Conviction there is a certainty. The law allows the sentence of up to five years in prison for Grand Larceny then there are the lesser charges of giving false statements to the police, hindering an investigation, et cetera. You will not enjoy life in prison or life as a convicted felon when your sentence is completed. All you probably have heard about prison life is worse in reality.

"Sexual harassment is a civil matter, not allowing for a prison sentence to be imposed, however, a guilty verdict, and there is more than sufficient evidence to bring one, will result in a huge fine, more than you could ever earn in your lifetime. That is, if any reputable firm would offer someone, guilty as you are, a job, let alone offer one to someone convicted of stealing from their relative or employer.

"You are in very deep trouble and you are not going to get out of it. I strongly advise you to accept the offers and avoid these matters by admitting your guilt to what you have done and accepting the resolution that Lorraine will offer."

Facing her and drawing a deep breath, "What must I agree to, Ms Parker?"

She grinned at me, "First there is the matter of admitting that you are guilty, David. Did you steal my computer?"

Knowing it would be simple to prove if the police got their search warrant, "Yes."

"Now, that is a very good start. Are you equally guilty of sexually harassing Ms Miller or are you going to require me to iterate all of the specifics?"

"Yes." I sighed

"Yes, what?" she demanded.

"Yes, I sexually harassed her, Ms Parker."

"My, we are making very good progress! I will not press charges of larceny, if you accept the sentence Ms Miller has suggested. If you, at any time renege on the agreement, I will. Sign this." She turned a paper toward me and thrust out a pen.

"What am I supposed to be signing?"

"A rather simple letter of understanding and admission of your guilt." Mr. Phelps answered.

I scanned the few paragraphs; it said just what had been explained. They all signed it and Ms Millicer notarized it.

"Now, the terms of Ms Miller's offer of settlement...."

 

*****

 

I'm running late, traffic had been backed up, delaying my bus that morning. As I push my way up the crowded aisle of the bus, someone pinched my soft cheek through the form fitting, dark green, knit sheath I was wearing. Descending the steps to exit the bus, my short dress rode up exposing the tops of my black stockings, some of the garters holding them to my tight corset and the tattoo on the front of my left thigh; it's a picture of a tiny waisted girl with big breasts, arms invisible behind her, wearing a corset, collar, stockings and ultra heels. In ornate script beside it is, 'I'M BIMBO'.

I can't see down over my huge breasts to smooth my dress back down, having to do it instead by just feel, carefully avoiding my stockings with my ultra-long, two-inch red nails so I don't put a run in them.

Mincing, that's about the only way to describe my walk in six and a half inch, spike heeled sandals, my ass and breasts bounce and jiggle. I hurried to the elevator in the lobby. It's always crowded just before eight and two people rub my cheeks. I can feel a finger trace the contours of my steel chastity belt that I know must be clearly visible through the tight knit fabric.

"You look really hot today, Babbette." It's Karen's voice next to my ear. I'm sure it's her finger that slips under one of my garters, pulls it back then slips out so it slaps into my cheek with an audible 'thack'

On the fifth floor, I stepped aside to let anyone else get off first, before I follow her into the office. Just inside the double glass doors, where any in the hall can see, I stopped when she softly said, "Inspection, Babbette."

At any time that she says these words or anyone else in the office does, I'm to stand straight, my legs parted, extend my purse to her and raise my dress or skirt to my waist. That day, she took her time; first examining the contents of the small black shoulder bag I chose that morning. It may contain, tissues, makeup to fully duplicate what I'd applied that morning, nail polish, emery boards, hairbrush, bobby pins, safety pins, pen, steno notepad, no more than twenty dollars in cash and the key to my apartment. Nothing else may be in my purse.

Ten months previously, I'd surrendered my driver's license; credit cards and other ID to her then watched her cut each into tiny pieces.

All of my shoes have heels no less than six inches high and are fitted to lock on my feet; today they've ankle straps fitted with padlocks. The key to these hangs on a chain fastened to the wall in my tiny apartment. I had better not have any key other than to my front door with me when I'm out of the apartment. I do not have a key to the rubber lined, two inch wide, snug stainless collar that she locked about my neck and have never even seen the one to my chastity belt.

Handing me my purse, Karen took a cloth tape from her own, wrapped it around the red satin corset I'm wearing and measured. "Nineteen and three quarters. Very good, Babbette! Let's get it laced down to nineteen and a half by the end of the month." It is an order; one that I must obey.

Going behind me, I felt her unhook the garters on my left leg, straighten the prominent back seam of my full-fashioned stocking and re-hook the four of them.

"Smooth down your dress." My manicure and makeup were inspected. The nail of her pinkie traced where I penciled eyebrows.

"I know I told you I wanted just thin, sharp lines here, but I think these can be thicker and about a half inch higher. Redo them before you start work, Babbette. Otherwise you look fine."

Five minutes after going to the office, I sated on the stool behind the console in the lobby, ready to work as the receptionist at Parker Associates - it was Karen's former job.

Karen was promoted to Aunt Lorraine's personal Assistant and Office Manager. The duties of the 'new' receptionist are minimal. I'm to answer the phone in the specified manner, "Good morning, Parker Associates. This is Babbette Bimbo-ette. How may I serve your pleasure, please?"

I'm the mail girl, collecting it from every desk, weighing and processing it through the postage meter behind my desk, sorting the mail when it is delivered and then distributing it. I serve coffee or whatever, whenever asked. I greet all visitors with a deep curtsey and similar words that I must use to answer to phone then handle them as is appropriate.

Otherwise, I have almost nothing to do from eight to five, except sit on the stool behind the glass slab with the telephone switchboard on one side, looking like I do; very attractive, as in, attracting lots of attention to myself.

There is no modesty panel in front of my desk; I'm not allowed to be modest. My desk is nothing but a three quarter inch thick slab of clear glass supported by a bent chrome tube fastened to the floor on one side. On the front edge of it is my desk plaque telling everyone that I'm 'Babbette Bimbo-ette, Receptionist', the name Karen chose for me. My desk is centered inside the double glass doors so any can look through them at me.

Around the office, they call me 'Bimbo' or refer to me as 'The Bimbo'.

My corset forces me to sit very straight on the backless stool, my collar keeps my chin up, my short hemlines make me always conscious that I have only polished steel underwear on to cover my crotch. I try to keep my legs and feet together throughout the day.

Everyone in the company knows who I used to be and what I did to get into my present situation. I'm fair game for any games they may wish to play. Fair game, under other circumstances, for clear "sexual harassment" both verbal and physical and I do get it every day.

I'm teased about the way I look, dress and must carry myself, for being Karen's slavegirl, for formerly having male genitals occupying the place where a very sensitive clit and slit are now inaccessibly locked under stainless steel.

Karen gets my full paycheck, every two weeks. From it she pays my rent and all the utilities, except the phone, for the tiny, one room apartment she'd selected for me. I'm given eighty-five dollars per week. From my allowance, I have to spend four dollars ninety cents a day on bus fare, buy my food, pay the phone bill (I don't use it much anymore), buy my cosmetics and care items, pay for laundry and dry cleaning and replace any stockings I wear out or put a run in. (Karen selects and buys all of my other clothes and shoes.)

Otherwise, I can spend my allowance on whatever I want; there's not very much left. I have no idea how much Aunt Lorraine pays the receptionist - I never see the paycheck.

As it might have been if the theft charge had gone to court, my sentence is five years, plus an additional year, each, for lying to the police and hindering the investigation, seven years total. I'd begun to serve my sentence after I'd left the clinic where Aunt Lorraine had them perform the sex change and begun the first implants to put huge breasts on my chest. While still there, all my facial hair was permanently removed with electrolysis.

My ears are pierced in six places on my right and seven through my left. A month after I'd begun work, Karen had permanent rings placed through my septum, thick, permanently erect nipples, each eyebrow, vertically through the center of my lower lip and a thick rod, with three quarter inch rings on each end, through my tongue.

Most of the jewelry that Karen has bought for me can be described as 'flashy/trashy', lots of rhinestones, CZ and tons of bangles. One pair of earrings, everyday, must touch my shoulders, at least. All pierced holes in my ears must be filled. I must wear at least one ring on every finger, and a minimum of six bracelets on each wrist. I can't change the permanent rings in my body, they were welded to stay there. Everything is either silver, silver-tone, or in the case of the permanent 'jewelry', polished stainless steel. I wear a sterling anklet of medium thick chain with its double heart plate that's engraved: 'KAREN'S'. My stainless collar says more, "KAREN'S PROPERTY, SLAVEGIRL BABBETTE BIMBO-ETTE" in deeply engraved, black filled letters.

Nothing in my wardrobe is capable of even partially concealing my collar, no turtlenecks or shawl collars. Most don't begin to cover any more than my ringed, thick, protruding, erect nipples of the GG sized breasts that I've been given.

The worst thing that they had surgically done to me, not that being transformed into a bizarre, exotic, erotic female would be my choice, was to amputate both of my thumbs while I was under. I'd been told that all else was part of the sentence I was to serve that morning in Aunt Lorraine's office, but not this - it had been thought up after.

Using your hands to do simple things with unbreakable false nails extending two inches beyond the tips of your fingers was hard enough, but try to hook the busk of your corset, lace yourself into one as tightly as I'm required to, tie a bow in laces, buckle on your shoes etc., without having any thumbs and having nails as long as mine at the same time - all of the, time.

The amputation was justified in their minds by telling me that in Muslim countries, they whack off your whole hand at the wrist for stealing and that I should be very grateful that I only lost my thumbs while under anesthesia and not having had my hand chopped off with an ax without any. Whoopee, thanks.

******

 

I'm ahead of my story. The afternoon after I had confessed, I was taken by Aunt Lorraine in the company of two, burly, male 'guards' to a clinic about three hours North. Obviously expected, a syringe went into my arm before a word was said to me there.

When the drugs and sedatives were finally allowed to wear off, I never learned how many days I was unconscious, I was strapped to my bed in a tiny, dimly lit room, with IV tubes in my arm and leg, a catheter up my rear and another up my newly relocated urethra as well as an assortment of strategically placed wires. I was very sore in several places, especially my crotch. They administered enough of whatever, to keep me from feeling any real pain during my stay.

They occupied my time by completely removing all my facial and chest hairs, permanently, with electrolysis. Once a day, a speech therapist worked with me to relearn how to talk, as they had done something to my vocal cords, shortening them I guess, to create a very high, squeaky, little girlish voice.

None of the hardware that is in my body had yet been placed. I'd 'enjoy' having, most of that done publicly after my release.

Something else went on, but I could never put it all together, how, or while they were doing it. My brain was started on reprogramming. I guess they used a combination of drugs, hypnosis and subliminal conditioning using the speakers bedside my bed that played continuously and the video tapes I'd watch for several hours a day. Only when I reflect back, did I conclude they made me think more and more like a girl. Today, I have never forgotten my past, but I am unable to ever vocalize anything about it, nor ever say what gender I once was. These reprogramming techniques would continue for some time, even after my release.

After I had mostly healed and much of my initial soreness and discomfort had dissipated, at least I was pronounced healed by the doctors after six weeks, Karen visited me for the first time. She carried a garment bag, medium sized suitcase and her large shoulder bag when she burst into my room unannounced one morning

"Good morning, Babbette!" all smiles and looking prettier than I'd remembered, dressed in a thick red sweater, topped by a black leather blazer and tight black, matching jeans.

"Good morning." I smiled, feeling better for the first time in weeks as she sat on my bed.

Unable to contain a severe fit of giggles for several minutes then mincing my voice, "Oh you talk positively scrumptious. I love it, Babbette." I felt like crying. Her hand lightly stroked my forehead, brushing my long, medium brown hair back.

"You ready to begin your training, Babbette?" Training? Before I could respond, "The staff, I'm told, did a wonderful job on your body and even without makeup, you look pretty. Now it is time to get you to be more of a girl than just looking like one. Can't do that the way they've kept you all strapped tight."

Since the drugs had worn off, I'd realized I was strapped by my wrists and ankles, spread on the bed the entire time, only released one limb at a time, to be washed, my bed to be changed and the real shower I'd been given that morning.

"Please, Ms Miller?"

Patting my belly and standing, "Good girl." She reached and pushed the call button, pinned near my left hand.

Two attractive girls, suppressing giggles of their own, came into my small room, "Tammi, Jenni, this is Babbette. Please get her dressed and pretty?"

Facing me, "Just keep quiet. No questions. Nothing! Understood?" I nodded. Actually I was glad I wouldn't have the chance for them to start giggling again, because of my voice. It wouldn't last.

Tammi and Jenni settled into calm teamwork, having no more fun at my expense as they removed the padded leather cuffs and pulled me to sit on the edge of the bed to begin dressing me. At the time, I was wearing just what I had worn my entire stay, nothing, nothing except bandages and the sanitary napkin between my legs that held the plastic stent in my new vagina. The last of the bandages had been removed and not been replaced the afternoon before.

The first item was a pair of brief, white panties that they worked up my legs. I wondered why, having gone to so much trouble and expense to make me a girl, they had not shaved nor otherwise removed the body hair that still covered my legs, nor the thicker bunches under my arms.

While Jenni helped me into my first bra, a white cotton one whose B cups my new breasts filled, Tammi had knelt to work a pair of opaque, very pale, almost white, pink tights up my legs. These were curiously followed by another pair of white panties and a pair of thin white anklets with large sheer ruffled cuffs. I was startled to hear them crinkle and rustle as they were lined with stiff plastic and covered with row upon row of ruffles.

The first item from the garment bag was a stiff mass of crinoline gathered in layers. It had a satin top like a full slip's and the area over my bra was full of gathered ruffles too, making them appear much bigger. After slipping my arms through the thin shoulder straps, I found the petticoat was so full and stiff, that my hands floated inches above my thighs when I lowered them to my lap.

Having pinned my hair back, it had been bra length before I entered the clinic though I'd never before thought of it that way, Jenni began to rub a light colored, cream foundation all over my face. Her fingertips felt nice as she smoothed it on.

One of the girls on the clinic staff had regularly manicured my nails while they were still cuffed and restrained though I never appreciated why before Tammi commented.

"Jen' look at these." Holding up my four fingers. I noticed my rounded nails extended half an inch beyond my fingertips.

"Really nice, Babbette." She resumed applying my first makeup, dusting pink powder on my cheeks with a big brush.

My nails glistening bright pink and rested atop my stiff petticoat, I was warned not to move them until the polish had completely dried and that they would tell me when that was.

Both Tammi and Jenni worked to tease, spray and brush my hair into whatever coif had been decided upon.

My dress was extracted from the garment bag and, seeing it, I realized just what sort of costume I was being dressed in for the first time. They were dressing me as a little girl! A little girl of five or six, in a bright pink and white taffeta, party dress! As it loudly approached, my eyes pleading, met Karen's.

"Please remember to stay quiet, Babbette? We have very effective and very uncomfortable ways of assuring that you do, if you do not obey such a simple order."

The full skirt lifted over my head to settle on my petticoat. I'd raised my arms, not needing to be told to and stuck them through the short, large, spherical sleeves. Tammi gave me a very nice smile, "Good Girl, Babbette."

The sleeves were filled from underneath to be almost as big as my head. They and the top, to just below my breasts were white, the torso and skirt were stiff, shiny pink. The two girls worked to close it up my back to the high stiffened collar that reached to under my ears and chin, with closely spaced buttons.

Still sitting, the last item in the garment bag was placed on top of my dress, a stiff, crinkly white, sheer pinafore with huge ruffles all about. The strings were not tied until after a pair of white patent, flat pumps with thin ankle straps had been buckled and I was helped to stand.

My legs were weak from my long inactivity. As I moved my foot for better balance, it skidded on the tiles, making a metallic noise as it did. Metal plates, tap dancer's taps, were nailed on their soles and heels.

While Tammi smoothed and adjusted my dress and pinafore, as Jenni did the ties into a huge stiff bow behind my back, I was startled by the loud noises my panties, petticoat, dress and pinafore made. It was a noise I'd learn was called frou-frou. I would make lots of frou-frou with the slightest movements dressed as I'd been.

A white satin ribbon went under my hair, close to my neck in back and over the top. Sheer, white, wrist length gloves with ruffled cuffs, like on my anklets, covered my hands. They had been made to accommodate nails, much longer then those I had then and without thumbs. I stared, turning them and the full impact of never again having thumbs to use, hit me. My eyes misted as I started feeling sorry for myself

Karen stood and faced me, her finger brushing the corner of my eye. "No crying, you'll ruin all the makeup Jenni worked so hard on."

Extending a small, white patent, boxy purse, "You may carry this." Instinctively I opened my hand to grip the two loop handles as I would have done for the past eighteen years, but without thumbs, I had to settle for making my remaining fingers curl around them to hold the purse.

"You may speak again. Just no complaints and don't go asking really silly questions you probably already know the answers to, Babbette. We are leaving here. Your stay is complete.

"Now. there are two ways you may behave. We can have your fullest cooperation or we can do some really nasty things to you. Either way, you are going to do exactly as you are told. I would prefer the former, Babbette. We really do not want to hurt you.

"Think about it. Tammi, Jenni and I will be very close to you and I doubt, even before your surgery, you would be any match for three of us. Even if you could, where would you go and just what would you do? You need my help, Babbette. What is your choice?"

With my eyes down, I asked, "What do you want me to do... please?" I was smart enough, you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know she was one hundred percent right.

"Good girl. We want you to walk, very nicely, out of here to the car then get into it."

My thoughts were, In this stupid get up? Looking Like this? Of course. Karen had already stated she did not want stupid questions like that, ones I already knew the answers to. I, briefly, lifted my eyes and nodded slightly.

Tammi opened the door, looking to me to go out first. Remembering how slippery my shoes were, I took tiny steps and, with loud frou-frou, exited into the corridor. Karen moved on my right, Tammi to my left and Jenni, carrying everything, was behind.

Despite my tiny, careful steps, I was still unsteady, as much from my weak legs as the shoes. I moved my hand to brush Karen's, seeking it for support, mental support too. Thankfully she accepted it with a warm squeeze. "Good girl, Babbette."

Before finally leaving, I had to stop by my doctor's office. She wasn't in, but came quickly after her assistant paged. She wished me good luck and gave me several papers, already filled out for prescriptions. I was escorted out.

Before allowing me to get in the back of the car, Karen gave a demonstration of how to accomplish getting in and out wearing a dress like I was, despite her being in jeans. When I maneuvered to try, just how short and full my dress was and that it did not fully conceal my ruffle-covered bottom, struck me hard. There was no point in thinking about smoothing it under me as I had thought I should, instead, Karen had demonstrated both, I lifted it high up, behind. She sat next to me.

As Jenni drove out, "How would you like a treat for being such a good, pretty girl, Babbette?" Karen asked.

I'd no sense of where this would go, but thought I should answer cautiously, instead, "What must I do, please?"

I knew she stared at me before answering softly, "Get your ears pierced."

Having spent so much time, with nothing to do, but think, I concluded that this was just one tiny part of what she had, could and would do to me, to make me as female as possible. If they wanted my ears pierced or anything else, it could have been done much easier than about anything else they had already accomplished in the clinic. Piercing my ears was one heck of a lot simpler than what they had done in my crotch and about everywhere else.

 

The End

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© 2001 by Karen Anne Summerfield. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.