We are prisoners of war. Hundreds of us. Maybe thousands. The enemy army has proven to be far better equipped than ours, and most of us have simply surrendered out of sheer cowardice.
We are imprisoned in a large army base in the middle of nowhere. There are no nearby towns – at least, none with any population left. The war has devastated the countryside. This is an extremely isolated bastion of humanity. And 99 percent of it is male.
There are five enemy troops here for every one of us prisoners. And they’re horribly lonely. There are virtually no women to rape, or rent. It’s barren.
The prison commander has an idea. He decides to transform all of the prisoners into girls. Not pretend girls, but real, curvaceous, pretty, delicate, slender, sexy girls. So our conditions change dramatically.
The first thing he does is assemble all the prisoners in a public area. He announces his plan: "You have all been chosen to service the sexual needs of our troops. You will all be reassigned to the new pleasure division of our army."
All our standard assigned prison clothes have been confiscated, except for the clothes we’re wearing. Each of us now has a small wardrobe of colourful panties, brassieres, skirts, dresses, stockings, swimwear, and other unequivocally feminine attire. We are told that we will all enter an exhaustive training programme that will teach us how to be girls. The clothes we are wearing are taken from us at our mandatory shower time. Each of us is left with nothing but a feminine wardrobe.
Of course, none of us puts on a stitch of it. We’d rather walk around naked than compromise our dignity and our masculinity. But that doesn’t bother the prison commander. He promises that each of us will eventually be forced to have surgery anyway, due to sheer demand, and that the training and clothing is a courtesy, to allow us to get used to our new gender. He offers to grant incentives to anyone who actively participates in his transformation. Primarily, those of us who become female will be freed from prison, and enlisted in pleasure corps. We have the choice of either remaining male and remaining prisoners of war, or becoming female and becoming free.
The first info session forces each of us to consider how we’d prefer to enter our new gender role. The simple truth is that we will all get surgery and hormones eventually, on specific dates, and join the pleasure corps as soon as the stitches heal. We are to become female sex slaves, whether we’re ready or not. What would we want to help us prepare for our fate?
Some would prefer to enjoy their manhood until the very end, and then take in the shock of becoming female head-on. Others would prefer a careful training, so that they could make the transition easily. Others still would prefer some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion to learn to like it. However, the vast majority are skeptical about the plan, that it’s even possible that the prison commander can do such a thing.
Naturally, the prison commander makes an example of a handful of prisoners. He chooses ten volunteers at random, and has them roused in the early morning and hauled off for surgery. They emerge a few days later with their penises in jars, and vaginas between their legs. To prove his point, these ten men are immediately assigned to pleasure corps. They are strapped spread-eagled to a bed in the middle of the square, and each of the prisoners is allowed to inspect them to his heart’s content. All ten even have orgasms as they get fingered and fucked. After a certain time, they are removed from the regular prison population, and sequestered in their own area where they can learn to become more properly female for the army at large.
King: The battle was one-sided. We were surrounded by a much bigger and better-equipped army. We had no choice but to surrender. As the ranking officer among the decimated battalion, I gave the command to raise the white flag. The worst they could do is imprison us. They would never dare to massacre five thousand defenseless soldiers. Eventually, our side would surely win our freedom. Or perhaps the war would end soon. It certainly wasn’t going our way of late. Anyway, prison camp was certainly better than death. We’d live to fight another day.
It is now three years later. The war continues on as a stalemate. The countryside has been ravaged. The only form of civilization within a thousand miles is this army base and prison camp. I am the ranking officer among eight thousand two hundred and twelve prisoners of war, surrounded by an ever-changing army of some forty thousand soldiers. Only a handful of the staff around us are female. The sexual frustration is palpable, among both prisoners and soldiers.
Today, the new prison commander has rotated in. She is fantastically beautiful. Every man in the compound, let alone all the prisoners, wants desperately to have a piece of her. She, however, has a different agenda.
"Due to the low morale of the troops under the command of General Smith, I have been charged, in addition to my duties as prison commander, with providing the soldiers at this base with anything they might like to increase their morale. Primarily, these soldiers need sex, so I have created the Pleasure Corps, a division consisting entirely of women, whose sole objective is to provide sexual services to the men. Pleasure Corps will include an elite platoon, which will service the officers and conduct special missions.
"As you can see, the supply of women is woefully short. Therefore, as a way to rehabilitate the long-serving prisoners of war, I offer a programme that will both staff Pleasure Corps and reduce our support costs for the prison population without having to conduct massacres and other atrocities.
"Operation Butterfly is a choice given to the prisoners: pledge to abandon your masculinity, and undergo a transformation to enable you to join Pleasure Corps, and thereby become a free-serving member of our army, or remain imprisoned in the squalor of my jail.
"The method of joining is simple: I will personally choose some of you to become free based on your level of femininity. Those who make themselves girlish enough to pass my tests will be pardoned and enlisted in Pleasure Corps, thereby gaining their freedom. Those who remain masculine will continue to languish in my prison.
"Of course, it is all relative: I must meet a quota to fill the ranks of the Pleasure Corps, so the ten most faggy of you will be chosen each week, even if you all refuse to participate. Remember, however, that the best of you will join the elite squad, and live like queens. And surely fucking all day is better than being a prisoner.
"I pledge additional incentives to those of you who wish to participate. You are all encouraged to join. Those who make themselves feminine will be rewarded. Those who do not will gain nothing. Those who interfere will be punished.
"You will discover upon returning to your cells that your clothes have been replaced with more appropriate attire. The clothes currently on your backs will be confiscated as soon as you report for mandatory showers.
"The selections begin in one week from today."
Naturally, the first week saw a few of the prison bitches snapped up. Most of the men tried to put on the least feminine outfits they were given, but it still made them look feminine. We’re all gaunt and thin from the poor conditions, and look like anorexic runway models in these dresses. Some of them were clearly enthusiastic about the idea, and started prancing around immediately. Others refused entirely to participate, and walked around naked, in spite of the chill. I am one of the latter.
I cannot participate, or else I would be branded a traitor by my country. Also, I must consider the morale of my men. They look to me as a leader, and I cannot allow them to humiliate themselves for some faint dream of freedom. I urge my men to go naked in protest. I promise them that the whole program is a terrible game of humiliation, and that they couldn’t turn any of us into girls, even if we wanted them to.
The first week, the prime sissies were plucked away from us, and returned to us a few days later with their penises in jars. They wore lingerie. Some wept. As a public display of the commander’s honesty, they were each strapped spread-eagled to upright beds, with their new genitals in display, and fucked by eager enlisted men. I couldn’t tell if they howled with pain or with pleasure. At least a few of them quivered orgasmically. I must admit, even I wanted a piece of them, hideous and manly as they were, just for their tight new pussies.
So she was serious. Who knew?
Meyer: Those of us who are left have split into two factions: the traitors and the men.
The traitors prance around in lingerie and swimwear, under the protection of armed guards. They get better meals, better beds, and clothes to wear. We men shiver in cold dank cells, surrounded by gorgeous lace and satin and silk, eating bread and water, naked.
I long for my freedom. The traitors make me horny. I want to fuck a girl. I want to fuck the commander. But no, I must remain naked and imprisoned and unsatisfied because of my principles. No more!
It’s still difficult to go ahead with it. I don’t want to be killed or harmed by the men. I don’t want to lose my penis, but being a girl can’t be all bad! The Pleasure Corps gets special treatment around here. They walk freely and are loved and admired by all the troops. They fuck like minks. They’re all so proud. I toy nightly with the idea of trying on some panties, just to see what they’re like. But I must resist. I only wish I still could.
Thankfully, it’s night time, and nobody can see me. So I try on some stretch lace panties. I’m sure that I’ll immediately be disgusted by my crime and take them off. But they feel like freedom! They mould my hips into some unfathomably feminine shape. They are utterly exquisite. A moan escapes my lungs. But no, I must stay true to my country. I quickly slip them off, and go to sleep, knowing that I could never give in.
The next morning, drowsy from lack of sleep, and in everyone’s view, I slip into those same gorgeous panties, and strap on the matching bra without a moment’s hesitation. I stride out of my cell confidently and proudly, proclaiming my new allegiance with every graceful step. I turn up my nose to the men who all glare at me contemptuously. A few of my friends make moves to attack me, but the guards who appear at my side to escort me keep them away. Today, I eat with the Candidates. We can all chat about our underwear and what we’re doing to make ourselves more feminine. I can’t wait to lose my virginity!
Johnson: I can’t help it. I’m a coward. I can’t take this stinking prison anymore. It’s not even a question. I’ll wear the stupid bikini if it’ll get me out of here.
I cower when I cave in like this. I don’t like being out in the open, wearing something so feminine. But damn it, I love the food they give me when I do this. Some of the guys who do this more regularly seem to get better food. I think if you wear stuff for 3 straight days, they let you take a warm shower. I’ve never done it for more than two in a row.
This guy Meyer has totally flamed out. He was one of the pillars of resistance at one point, but now he’s been prancing around like the biggest sissy for a couple of weeks non-stop. It’s been the worst betrayal yet. He held out longer than any of us – including King, who gave in every now and then just to get a decent meal. He never gave in at all. Until the other day. Now he’s a prime candidate to join the Corps. Cripes, he almost looks like a girl already.
Now he’s sitting next to me, all pretty, and chatty, and generally a pain in the ass. He strikes up a conversation with me.
"Johnson! What a nice surprise! You were here yesterday, too, weren’t you?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"Well, maybe you’ll come back tomorrow, too?"
"You know, they’ll treat you right. Don’t you worry about all those dickheads out there. You just enjoy yourself and enjoy the ride."
I can’t take this. "What the fuck, Meyer? What happened to you? You were the only real man left in this place, and now you’re acting like you can’t wait to have a dick in your mouth. Let me eat in peace, and I won’t be seeing you tomorrow."
I swear he blushed when I spoke of sucking dick.
"Come on, Johnson. I’m not doing this to be a traitor. It’s actually a lot of fun if you let it get into it. Look at all the perks I get!"
You’re just a weak-willed coward and a traitor. Fuck you!"
"You’re one to talk. You’re wearing a bikini, too, bitch."
"Keep talking and I’ll fuck you up, you fucking pansy."
"I'd like to see you try."
I knew I couldn’t do anything, or else I’d lose my meal privilege, and possibly get punished on top of it. I couldn’t afford it.
"I thought so," he said, tauntingly.
King: Meyer came to talk to me early in his transformation. He was all aflutter, and wearing a cute little white dress with red flowers.
"Captain," he said, "I'm so sorry I let you down."
"It's OK," I answered, knowing that he was ready to snap the whole time he was resisting. It’s always the extreme resistors that you know are going to cave the worst. They always overcompensate out of fear.
"You know I still love my country."
"I know, Meyer. You just couldn’t take this shithole anymore. I understand. I wish it weren’t so, but I understand."
"It's not even that, Sir."
"I know. No need to explain."
"Still, I feel like I need to explain." He pressed his knees together and looked at the floor. "Thing is, I really like becoming a girl."
"How's that?" I had never heard anyone admit it before, including all the obvious homosexuals who had turned pretty early.
"I just love the way these clothes feel on me. I feel so incredibly sexy. I love it!"
"I can see that."
"I can imagine myself as a girl. Oh God, this is so embarrassing. You know I was totally straight until five days ago?"
"I never imagined you weren't," I replied, honestly.
"Well now I’m flaming gay. I want to feel a penis inside me. I can’t wait to get changed!"
"Good for you."
"Anyway, glad you’re OK with it."
[god that went nowhere]
Johnson: I thought about what Meyer was going through, and I decided to risk going another day, just for the clean shower. I wore a one-piece bathing suit this time. Sure enough, Meyer came by to gloat as I was getting ready for my shower.
"Johnson! I knew you’d be back today!"
"Whatever Meyer. I just needed the shower."
"That's what they all say," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Whatever. They’re about to let me into the shower now."
He grabbed me by the arm as I was turning away, and looked me straight in the eye. "Isn't this your third day?"
"You know you don’t get rewarded with a shower on your third day, don’t you?"
"Of course not. They wouldn’t want people taking advantage of the system unless they really wanted to join the Pleasure Corps."
"So what’s my incentive? They told me yesterday it was a shower."
"Yeah, they lied. They lie to everybody. But trust me, this is better."
He let me go, and I was ushered into the showers. But not to a shower stall, as I expected.
It was a changeroom, filled with racks of fancy lingerie that only advanced pansies like Meyer get to wear. But I knew that even he hadn’t been allowed to wear anything like that for at least a full week. The guards told me to pick out the prettiest thing I could think of. It was a very difficult choice. I found a black baby doll with matching g-string. They made me put it on.
It felt quite different the way the cloth lightly brushed my hips. I thought of how Meyer wore this stuff all the time. As did the commander.
"Do you know that you're going to be completely female someday?" asked one of the guards.
"It doesn’t matter how masculine you are. All the damage done to you by your testosterone is reversible. You’ll become a complete girl, indistinguishable from any supermodel."
"Nope. You get effeminated more and more every time you wear women’s clothes you know. You do it once, and you’re fucked. Fucked!
"You didn’t choose that outfit by chance. You committed yourself to it because it turned you on."
"Careful with that!"
I realized now that I was rubbing my crotch and feeling all sexed up. After I came, I was disappointed when they asked to have the babydoll and g-string back.
"That’s your third reward," they said. "A taste of things to come."
Meyer: After the fourteenth day, I was given a very tough choice for my reward: suck a real man's dick, or take a pill of female hormones. I was angry that the commander hadn’t chosen me yet. I was more feminine that most of the Pleasure Corps! Part of me wanted to prove my dedication by giving a blow job, and another part of me wanted concrete improvement to my feminine physique. I already knew by now that the clothes were loaded with estrogen, and that every time anyone wore them it rubbed into their skin and made them female. I wanted more. I was ready.
So by my 28th day, I had already started filling out my bra. I held off on sucking dick, even though something in me craved to swallow loads of semen. So I celebrated my latest denial by smoking a pole.
By the following week, I had gone to great lengths to suck more dick, outside the bounds of my candidacy. I had been sneaking blow jobs to the guards just for fun. My waist was shrinking. I was taking it in the ass.
So when they finally chose me, and performed the surgery, I was rewarded with the best news of all: I had had to wait simply because I was being tested for membership in the Elite squad.