Peter was taking a long time in the shower again that morning. His mother pressed her ear to the door, and detected soft moaning.
Inside the shower, Peter stood, pumping his penis with his hand, eyes squeezed shut. He was a little underdeveloped for 18 – short for his age, and didn't seem to be going through the final stages of puberty just yet, but he was fantasizing about girls a lot lately. At this moment, he was thinking about Elizabeth, a girl in his senior high school class. Peter was always too shy to talk to her, but he loved to picture her naked in his mind. She had rather large, plump breasts for a young lady. Peter moaned and pumped, picturing her breasts and hips, as the soapy water ran down his body. "Mmm, Elizabeth," he muttered, and ejaculated onto the shower door.
His mother scowled, taking her ear from the door, and shaking her head as she walked back into the kitchen. She thought of her ex–husband, Peter's father, Steven. He used to masturbate in the shower, too! Her scowl deepened. 'In fact,' she thought, 'the bastard masturbated all the time, went to strip clubs, looked at pornography, and slept around, cheating on me. And then a few years ago, Steven up and left, leaving me and Peter alone.' She gritted her teeth.
'Well, Peter is an 18–year old boy now,' she thought. She reasoned that she probably didn't have to worry about him yet, but she hoped that he wasn't going to grow up to be like his father.
Later that day, the men broke into their home by kicking the front door down. Peter's mother screamed and ran for the phone in her bedroom, but by the time the Police came, they had taken Peter, and were long gone.
Peter woke up in a strange room, still a bit dizzy and confused from whatever they'd drugged him with. He was naked, in a bed somewhere, and his clothing was gone. He pulled himself out of bed, wondering exactly what was going on, and where he was. The floor was bare metal, as was all of the strange furniture. His naked feet felt cold as they pressed into the metal floor. He walked over to the full–length mirror, and looked at his naked self. He also tried the one door in the room, and found it locked. The place reminded him of a spacious prison cell, but with no windows.
He looked around a bit more. There were speakers, and several video cameras trained on various parts of the room. There was the bed in the corner, with sheets and a comforter. There was a dresser, table and chair, all metal and bolted to the floor. There was a metal toilet, and a faucet emptying into a basin. And then there was the large mirror, right in the middle. That was all. The walls, like the floor, were bare, polished steel.
He went over to the dresser, and opened the first drawer. It was all girl's clothing – bras, panties, all very frilly and soft–colored. The second drawer had stockings, garters, and lacey socks. The next drawer had very short skirts and frilly, sheer tops. Each piece of clothing shone with a sort of strange luster, as if they were interwoven with some kind of metallic fiber. The bottom drawer, the largest, had a collection of high–heeled and platformed shoes. They, too, seemed metallic and heavy.
'How strange,' he thought. He also noticed that the tags on the backs of all of the various clothing items bore a logo: the words "BoyTrainers, Inc." with a stylized outline of a girl in a dress. 'That seems weird,' thought Peter; 'the two don't seem to go together.' He wondered what this was all about. Fear was creeping into his mind.
Suddenly, he really, really wanted to be back home. Why had he been kidnapped? Where was he? Did someone want to hurt or kill him? He started to panic a little bit, and cry.
Still naked, he walked back over to the bed, and lay down on the covers. He noticed that the sheets and covers, too, shone with that same luster. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to relax. He curled up into a little fetal ball, and tried to stop himself from panicking. Without realizing it, his hand moved down between his legs. He often did this in his bedroom at night; it felt comforting to him. He cupped his privates, and rocked back and forth in the bed.
Suddenly, an electric shock ran through his body. It was stunning, and lasted for about three seconds. An odd robotic voice: "NO TOUCHING WITHOUT PERMISSION" blared through the room. It was coming from the speakers in the room. Peter immediately removed his hand from between his legs, and lay there in shock. "Who are you?" he whimpered. Of course, there was no response. Teary–eyed, he thought about the room, and he realized that the metallic sheen of all the clothing and bedding was so that everything in the room would conduct electricity – there would be nowhere to hide. After a while, the dizziness and confusion were too much, and he dozed off into a fitful sleep.
He was wakened by the robotic voice again. "GO TO THE DRESSER." Peter sleepily got up, and walked over to the dresser. "OPEN THE FIRST DRAWER." The voice was obviously not human, but being generated by a computer of some sort. It directed him to take several articles of clothing out of the drawers, and to place them on the bed. "GET DRESSED," it told him, and he stood there, stalling. After a few seconds, he felt another electric shock. He jumped. "GET DRESSED," it repeated. Peter sobbed. He didn't want to be shocked again. He'd never even seen lingerie before, so he wasn't at all sure what he was doing – especially with the garter belt and bra. But he hurried and did his best, and after several tries of attempting to figure out how they worked and which way they went, he was done.
"GO TO THE MIRROR" the voice said. Peter walked over to the mirror, and took in the image. He was dressed in pink thigh–high stockings with white lacy trim and little rhinestones. They were held up by very dainty garter suspenders, with ruffles around the waist and going down his legs. He also wore a pretty trainer bra, also pink, with a little bow in the middle. His shoes were white platform Maryjanes, also with little pink bows. No panties; his little soft penis and balls were dangling out in front. He gasped. He looked like a complete ... sissy. A boy that looked like a girl just wasn't right. It was laughable. Girls were ... weak, somehow. He had always been short and small compared to his classmates. He was teased for being a runt, but at least he wore the right clothes. Now, being faced with this was devastating. He didn't want to do this. He blushed, and a tear ran down his cheek.
"STAND IN THE CIRCLES."
Peter looked down, and saw that there were two blue circles on the floor, spaced widely apart. He spread his legs, putting one foot into each circle. He noticed that this placed him directly in the middle of the mirror.
"WHEN YOU HEAR THIS VOICE, YOU WILL REPEAT," the computerized voice said. Then, Peter heard a second voice. It said "~i like to obey~." It was softer, and not computerized. It sounded almost like a girl, but there was something about it which allowed Peter to determine that it was actually a boy, trying to sound like a girl. Peter was a little confused. What exactly was he supposed to do?
There was a small shock, and it repeated the soft voice: "~i like to obey~."
He figured it out. "I like to obey," said Peter.
Another little shock. "HIGHER PITCH. SOFTER. MATCH THE VOICE." Apparently, there were also microphones in the room, and they picked up his voice.
"I like to obey," whimpered Peter, raising his pitch and trying to sound like the girlish voice.
The soft voice spoke again: "~i like wearing dresses~"
Peter gasped a bit, but said it back, in his high–pitched girl voice. "I like wearing dresses." He blushed deeply.
"MOVE YOUR HIPS. SWISH AND SWAY, BUT STAY IN PLACE."
Peter began moving his hips back and forth, watching himself in the mirror. He moved them mechanically from one side to another.
"ROLL THEM GRACEFULLY"
'You've got to be kidding me,' Peter thought. He furrowed his brow and gritted his teeth. A sudden anger rose in him. This was getting to be too much! "No!" Peter cried, and ran towards the bed, losing his footing in the high heels and crashing to the floor. The electricity cut through his body.
He went crazy, scampering around the room, trying to climb onto the chair, toilet, table, dresser – they were all electrified. There was no escape. Finally, sobbing in defeat, the current still running through him, he crawled back over to the mirror. He stood up, and put his feet back into the circles. The electric current stopped.
"CONTINUE," the voice demanded.
Tears running down his cheeks, he started swishing his hips gracefully in front of the mirror.
"~i like being fancy~" the soft voice cooed.
"I like being fancy," Peter repeated in a sissy voice, choking back tears. He moved his hips in a graceful figure–eight.
"~i'm a little priss. i like putting on stockings~"
Peter repeated in his girl voice. His eyes fell down to the floor.
"WATCH YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR."
Peter brought his eyes back up to the horribly embarrassing image in front of him.
"BRING YOUR HANDS UP TO SHOULDER–LEVEL. LET YOUR WRISTS DANGLE."
He did as he was told. He swished, and thought that he looked completely ridiculous, dancing in front of the mirror in frilly girl's lingerie, his wrists dangling, swishing his hips. The voice told him to repeat more things. And when he didn't say it sweetly enough, or in the right pitch, he would get little shocks.
"I'm dainty and pretty. I like to prance and priss in the mirror. I'm a pretty pansy sissy boy."
"TOUCH YOUR PENIS"
The voice made him stroke himself while he danced, while he kept the other limp–wristed hand held high. It instructed him to use only his thumb and middle finger on his penis, and to stroke it. "SLOWLY AND SWEETLY," the voice said.
Against his will, Peter's penis started to get very hard. He stroked in rhythm to the dancing and swaying, taking his reflected image in as he did so. He didn't want to look, but he got little shocks when his gaze drifted elsewhere. Apparently, they were watching from behind the mirror, and wanted him to look at himself all the time.
"~uhhh!~" moaned the girly voice from the speakers. "~uhhh! uhhh!~"
Peter repeated it, moaning like a girl, touching and dancing. The voice made him moan over and over, and say more things. It made him sing his lines in a singsong fashion, raising and lowering the pitch. He had to say them with a lilt, raising the pitch near the end of the sentence, almost ending in a little squeal. He was told to smile wide as he danced, and move his head from side to side, wiggling his whole body in ecstasy. If he didn't smile wide enough or sing his lines in a pretty voice, he would be told, and get little shocks.
The voice also told him to giggle like a girl, which made him blush very deeply.
"I'm such a pretty princess!" cooed Peter sweetly. "Uhhh! I'm little miss prissy–pants. I'm a nice sissy. Uhhhhhh! I obey. I like to dance and swish in the mirror. (giggle!)"
After a few minutes, he got more excited, despite himself. Suddenly, to his horror, he ejaculated, moaning and gyrating his hips wildly in excitement. Several drops of his semen coated the mirror.
The voice let him rest for a moment, and then told him to clean it with his tongue. He grimaced, but did finally obey after a couple of little shocks. He then felt suddenly tired, and lay back down in bed. He was so exhausted now. He was disoriented and didn't know if it was day or night, but he slept.
When he awoke, there was some food and water on the table. He ate and drank, and felt a little better. He was still scared, but at least now he thought he knew what was going on. He realized the meaning of the words on the clothing tags – they wanted to embarrass him and make him act like a girl while he was here. Maybe it was a bunch of perverts, getting off while watching him. 'Maybe they were recording it,' thought Peter. 'Maybe it was some kind of weird cult that sells the tapes to gay men, or maybe they just wanted to blackmail me later.' But that didn't make any sense, because his family didn't have much money.
'Well, it was humiliating,' he thought, and the shocks hurt, but at least nobody wanted to physically hurt or kill him. It actually wasn't so horrible. As he thought, his eyes closed. He felt so tired, and crawled into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he realized that something was wrong. He didn't usually get so tired and disoriented. Peter was a smart boy, and he guessed, even in his delirium, that he was probably being drugged – perhaps so that he would sleep whenever they wanted him to sleep . But how? 'Maybe...' (Peter started to drift off) ... maybe it was the air ducts coming into his room.
As the days went by, there was lots more mirror–time and prancing. He was told to dress in different frilly outfits, and move and dance in front of the mirror in different ways. He moaned and giggled like a girl and repeated the things he was told in a pretty sing–song girl voice. He squirted lots of semen onto the mirror, and always licked it up after. He didn't like the taste, but began to get used to it. It was better than being shocked.
Each day, he awoke to the sound of the voice, and went to sleep when the sleeping–gas crept into his room. The gas would put him out for hours, and what happened while he was out, he never knew. He'd awake to find food and water, or to find himself washed and cleaned, but he never saw anybody come in or out. The only contact he had with whoever was doing this to him came in the form of instructions from the voice.
After a few days, he was given the task of assembling his own outfits, and the voice would tell him if they were acceptably girly enough.
Then, a new thing happened. During his prancing in the mirror, he also was told by the voice to come up with "pretty" things to say. Since he'd been repeating such things for such a while now, he was able to find suitable phrases, and said them in his best girl voice, over and over, until he ejaculated onto the mirror. If his lines weren't properly pretty, he'd get little shocks, and so he made them better and more embarrassing. Often, he shocked himself with how intensely he could humiliate himself.
"Pretty and fancy!" sang Peter, swishing and rolling his hips, coming up with his own lines. "I love touching my pretty little penis and swishing like a sissy! (giggle) I'm proper and prim. Uhhh! I like touching and prancing! I'm a nice little pansy. Uhhh! Pretty pink bows. Fancy stockings and shoes! I love wearing skirts! Uhhhhhhn!"
It was odd, but Peter had actually started to enjoy seeing himself in the mirror. It was almost like he was seeing someone else – not him, but a sexy girl – dance and wiggle for his pleasure. 'How could I complain about that?' he wondered. He did like girls, and guessed that it wasn't so different.
Occasionally, the voice had him mix in new things with his own lines. He was told to say that he wanted to prance in front of girls; "I want to show off! I like dancing and prissing for girls!" and soon after, the voice made him say that he liked boys, and wanted to have a boyfriend. This was difficult for him, but he did as he was told, saying that he liked boy's penises and wanted to suck them. He was told to lick his lips and bat his eyelashes.
Peter woke up one day to find that there was an additional item in his room: a pink penis–shaped phallus on a pole, in front of the mirror. It was between the circles, and slightly further away from the mirror, at about waist–height. It wasn't large: perhaps four inches long, and half an inch think, much like a finger. It glistened with lubrication. It wasn't hard for Peter to imagine what that was for.
The voice had Peter get dressed and sit on the phallus until it went in. He still had to dance and touch his penis, but instead of rolling his hips back and forth, he was instructed to squirm up and down on the phallus. Sometimes the voice made him stand on his tip–toes, and shift his weight from one foot to another while he moved up and down. Of course, he still had to moan, and say humiliating things.
"I like toys in my bottom!" squealed Peter, with a huge smile. "I'm prissy and sweet. I love dancing and swishing. Uhhhh! It feels good in my bottom! (giggle!) I want girls to watch me dance and prance. I love wearing skirts and stockings! Uhh! Sissy Peter wants a boyfriend! Peter wants a boy's penis cream in his mouth!"
As days went by, Peter got lots and lots of mirror training. The phallus was replaced with larger versions, until it approximated a nicely–sized cucumber. He squirmed up and down on it, smiling and giggling. He talked about being fancy and sweet, showing off for girls, and pleasing boys.
Even when he wasn't dancing in front of the mirror, the voice told him to say pretty things as he walked around in his room, went to the bathroom, or lay in bed. He had to make them up himself. If he went more than a few seconds without saying something like "Peter likes to please boys with his pretty pansy lips!" or "I like to wear pink ribbons, and dance around in front of girls" or "Pretty and obedient – sissy Peter likes the Sweet Cream from a boy's penis!" – or if they weren't sweet and embarrassing enough – then he would get a little reminder shock.
Peter tried to keep track of the days, but it really all became a blur. He wasn't frightened anymore, and things started to become routine – even boring. He woke, he had his mirror time, he squirted, he cleaned it, he ate, he used the toilet, he slept. And during all of this, he talked in his girl voice about what he was, and what he wanted to do. He would awake some days, realizing that he'd been muttering them in his sleep. By his estimation, about a month had gone by since he was kidnapped, and he started to wonder if he'd ever go home again.
Then, one day, it was over. He woke up with a start – not in the metal room, but in a park, on a bench, in his old clothing. He recognized it immediately – it was a park near his house. Peter cried with joy, and ran home, bursting through the door, where his mother was sitting and reading. In amazement, they both cried together, and embraced. The police came back, and all the information was given. He blushed a deep crimson when he had to describe to the police officer the swishing and dancing. Both his mother and the officer were very sympathetic, and Peter was told that they'd try very hard to catch whoever did it.
It was odd being back in his house, wearing boy's clothing again, speaking in a normal boy's voice. Peter took an additional couple of days off, but eventually went back to school. Everybody wanted to hear the details of his kidnapping. He particularly liked talking about it in front of Elizabeth – he enjoyed saying how he'd been brave, and had never given up hope. Of course, he left out the embarrassing parts; he didn't want any of his friends to know about what he'd done and said. According to Peter, he'd just been trapped in a strange room for a month.
As he was trying to work through a math problem halfway through the day, he started having intrusive thoughts. 'Pretty and sweet,' he thought to himself. 'Ribbons and bows.' NO! he immediately screamed inside his head, and suppressed the thoughts. He gritted his teeth, and focused on his work.
A while later, 'Proper and prim. Fancy sissy dresses' popped into his head. He was visualizing swallowing penis cream. He looked down at his pants, and noticed that they were tenting as he got hard. He mind drifted to fancy dresses and pretty shoes.
Peter left school early that day and walked home. He went into his mother's room and borrowed some of her lingerie from the closet and took them to his room, where there was a large full–length mirror. The lingerie he found was rather conventional – black stockings, a wine–colored bra. They weren't as fancy and pretty as his other things from the metal room. The shoes were also a little big for his feet. However, it would have to do. He considered getting a vegetable from the kitchen and putting it on a pole, but he decided against it: it might be too suspicious. He didn't want his mother finding out about this. 'Perhaps next time I'll do that,' he thought.