Saturday, July 13, 2002

Fiction: Feminization School, Case 221

Case 221: First Day of School

My sexy little escort leads me through the Institute’s front gates.  The place is swarming with gorgeous little sexpots, all of them clad in the scantiest, sexiest outfits.  I can’t believe that my girlfriend would willingly have sent me here.  It must be a temptation test or something.  She wants to test me, to know that I won’t cheat on her again.  I’ll make an effort, but I may not be able to resist.  Tina here might even be coming on to me.  What else could I do?  And maybe I’d rather be with her anyway.

She brings me into a classroom, where another 20 guys, all accompanied by equally sexy girls, have taken their seats.  Then the teacher walks in, and locks the door.  Tina grins at me suggestively.  The teacher is incredibly hot, and she knows it.  She coolly breezes past all of our wolf gazes to the front of the class, shaking her cute little ass.  Her skirt is so short, you can actually see, but just barely, the tops of her stockings.  She’s doing it on purpose.

“Welcome to the Feminization Institute, gentlemen,” she says.  “I’m your first grade teacher Miss Gardner.  Now, I know that most of you have no idea why you’re here.  You may even be wondering if I really did say ‘Feminization.’  Suffice it to say that by the end of this 10-week course, you’ll all be eager to be just like me.”

We are all struck with awe at her beauty.  It takes a while for it to sink in.

“Uh, feminization?” says one guy.  “You mean, you want to turn us into women?”

The class gets a little unruly about this.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we mean to do.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or yell.  Most of the others do one or the other.  But suddenly, Tina’s got me by the neck, and I can see that all the other guys’ escorts have engaged straps to disable their men.  None of us can move.  

“The purpose of this course is to get you all thinking like girls.  You will learn about the rest of the curriculum, and become familiar with every step of your upcoming womanhood.  If you follow the course outlines, and do your homework, you’ll eventually be fortunate enough to be full-fledged women.”

Some of us struggle, but we are too tightly bound.  We can’t put up any kind of fight.  It’s incredibly pathetic to see 20 burly, aggressive men, easily subdued by delicate, gorgeous girls half their size.


Miss Gardner looks shocked at the tone of my answer.

“221, you will show me respect at all times.  I will not tolerate any kind of rebellion from you, or from anyone else.”

“What are you gonna do about it?  Three quarters of this class won’t stand for this bullshit.  We’re walking out, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”

“The door is locked.  You can’t get out without this key.”

“Then give us the key, or we’ll have to take it from you.”


I signal to Watson to get the key from her.  She stands at the front of the class, one hand on her hip, holding the key up in my direction, taunting me.  We’ll kick the shit out of her and take turns raping her ass before we go.  She picked a fine day to wear a miniskirt and 3-inch spiked heels. 

Suddenly, as Watson gets within 2 feet of her, she sweeps her leg under him and sends him crashing to the ground.  She looks right at me, and says, “221, you’re going to call this off, or I’ll have to completely humiliate you.”

Before I can even give the command, we’re rushing her.  But she’s far too fast.  She’s not even the least bit afraid of us as she punches and kicks every man that comes near her.  She has practically subdued the entire class when she gets to me.

Now, I’m no slouch when it comes to fighting.  I’m an expert in three martial arts, and I’ve won competitions.  I’ve never seen anyone take out 10 men in less than a minute, as she just did.  I prepare to face her.
I attack with a flurry of punches and kicks.  She blocks and parries everything I’ve got as if I’m a wimpy little child flailing my arms at her.  She’s already toying with me.  She hasn’t even taken off her spiked shoes.  I don’t know how she can walk in them, much less fight.

She catches one of my flying kicks in mid-air, twists my foot, and has me squirming in agony on the floor beneath her.  “Have you had enough yet?” she asks.

I ably flip her off of me and throw her across the room, but she lands square on her feet in a fighting stance.  She rushes at me and pummels me with a whirlwind of fists and feet.  I crumple to the ground in front of her, stunned.  I caught a glimpse of her panties as she crushed my jaw with a roundhouse kick.

She crouches down to me, and seductively raises my head with her index finger.  “I know you want to be a girl, 221.  I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention what we’re going to do to you.  Stop fighting, and you might actually enjoy your lessons.”

She takes my hand and runs it along her waist, her hip, her thigh, and up to the top of her stocking.  “You know that I wear these stockings just for you, don’t you?  I know you like them.  You’ll like them even more when you’re wearing your own.” 

She pushes me back down to the ground, where I pass out, into a gender-twisting nightmare world.


Ever since my beating, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Miss Gardner’s stockings.  I imagine them clinging to my own legs.  I imagine them attached to a lacy black garter belt, concealed by a tight black miniskirt.  The thought of becoming her intrigues me to no end.  I find myself listening far more attentively than I should to her lectures on feminization theory.  I cannot allow this to continue.  But part of me wants to test her theories, wants to see the course through to the end and see if it truly is possible for me, of all people, to become female.  I want to prove her wrong.  But there’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on, something that I don’t want to think about.  

If only I could look at her and not imagine myself wearing her outfits!

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