Condemned Into the Hands of Force Feminization    by Prim

"B-But Madame P-President, I promise - on my life - that I will never do anyth- " "SILENCE! Officer, gag the fool to stop him saying another word." President Flint rose to her full height in the desk of The Women's Supreme Rights Court and picked an imaginary loose cotton off the copious frills at the neck of her blouse. Enough. This pervert had been caught red-handed wearing women's clothes he'd bought on the internet. There could be no doubt he was one of those cross-dressing deviants who dare to wear women's clothes without their permission. The sentence must be harsh. "Lee Little, as the first part of your sentence, I ordain that your name will be Lilian Little for the rest of your life. I commit you into the hands of Force Feminization at their maximum security detention centre. There you will be de-sexed by a process of non-stop, ultra feminine dressing, until you helplessly beg the wardens to keep you locked into female apparel until you have become a genetic female. Take the prisoner down. --- NEXT!" Lilian Little was dragged, sliding on his knees from the courtroom, fastened into a rubber-lined bag of stiffened satin and transported directly to the correction centre at Corsett Island. He had no idea as he slithered blissfully in the darkness of his bag that he would never see the mainland again. "Bring him through here," cried Madame Fullblouse, opening every door along the way for the transportation team to wheel the slithering bag and its contents straight into the dress-closet wing. Madame Stretch was waiting for him, with luxury lingerie and satin clothing that would render his guilty cock helplessly stiffened and extended. It was to enter its state of permanent erection as soon as he arrived. They removed the ball from his mouth and allowed him a full minute of breathless recovery, lying naked between their heels and calf-length hems. Then they began. "Get up, you worm," cried Madame Stretch with repeated kicks of her sharp-toed shoe. "You've got a lot of dress-worshipping to do." Madame Fullblouse was more 'hands on'. She grabbed two handfuls of hair and hauled him to his feet. "How DARE you take so long to do what you're told, you SCUM!" She held him while her partner wrapped the deep white suspender belt round him and fastened its twelve hooks down the back. "W-What are you going to do to me?" he willowed. "P-Please don't hurt me." He was a picture of girlish delicacy as he cringed and cowered in their hands. It took a dozen slaps on his sensitive, hairless legs before he was strongly clipped into his stockings and locked into pink ankle-strapped high heeled pumps. Madame Stretch seized his cock and led him to the door of an impressive steel closet. She keyed a code into the pad on the door and locks clunked back inside the door units, after which they opened with surprising ease - to revel rows of dresses, blouses and skirts in glossy Milanese satin. A gasp of adoration emptied his lungs in a surge of desire. Such a display of all that he craved was ample distraction while he was hooked into his brassiere and slipped into his matching pair of panties in bridal satin decorated sweetly in feminine lace. The caress of the panty gusset added to the thrill of the dresses that glowered down at him from above and ensured a maximum stiffening of his genitals. They also added that eager glow of expectancy in all his adjoining places, from the aching of his testicles to the tingling of the walls of his anus. As the matching half-slip slid up his legs, his panty point longed for it with a flood of desire and nestled into its smoothness with a cry of pleasure from its occupant. "You can say good-bye to your sex, sissy-boy," declared Madame Stretch, reaching a pink blouse down from the closet rail. It was more slippery than she realised and the garment flowed from its hanger into a pool of latex-lined satin on the floor. She gathered it up in sizzles of sleeves and frills and together the women put him into its billowing sleeves, its buttoning cuffs, its bodice buttons from throat to penis and its spray of lacy frills from his neck. "The clothes we dress you in will suck out any remaining male hormones from your pathetic body," she said, "and replace them with a deep-rooted longing, a NEED, for feminine softness and graceful girl-sex." "It won't be long - I'd say three or four hours inside the closet - before you know you're a girl," said Madame Fullblouse as she lowered the overhead bracket with her remote. "And of course that will be the end of that. On Corsett Island there's no way back." "B-B-But you can't change my SEX!" squealed Lee, struggling in the arms of Madame Stretch. His struggles did nothing to impede the two women in their intent, which was to secure him to the overhead bracket with thick ribbons of doubled white satin so that as the bracket rose again he rose too, his stockings dangling beneath him and his heels twelve inches from the floor. "S-S-Stoppit, dy'a hear! You have to give me another chance. I CAN'T stay here for days, I've got work on Monday!" "Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!" roared his captors, securing his wrists to a cross-bar behind his ass. "For DAYS, he said," giggled one of them. "I'm sorry to tell you, sunshine, but you're here for YEARS!" "And you'll be inside this closet, or one like it, for ten hours a day, seven days a week. Your sex will be completely watered down into little girly weakness and sweetness, wanting nothing more than girl's blouses and skirts and panties." "And that's why we have to button your face up ever so sweetly into this lovely little girls' blouse, Lilian dear." A ball of squeezy rubber was forced into his mouth and his eyes bulged with horror as the sides of his blouse closed around his hair and his face, with his pink blouse closed up higher around it to ensure he was completely frilled and bloused inside. Lee Little had no idea how feminine his satin skirt looked as it was slid up his legs and buttoned at his hips and across his knees. He wriggled, as they always do in the maximum security wing of Corsett Island, but this only served to inflame his pantied and petticoated penis as it slid to and fro inside the latex lining. Wriggling is one of the best factors for ensuring the sissies become hopelessly ensnared in their program of clothes-fetish intoxication. Each surge of pleasure leads to a desire to provoke the next, and so it goes on as they wriggle their cocks into one explosive orgasm after another. Which is exactly how the high female intensity closet would go to work on him. Once he was dressed, his bracket was sent along its rail into the interior of the closet. Dresses, skirts and blouses surrounded him at front and back, and once Madame Fullblouse operated the cabinet, the walls started to slide - closing the satin apparel around him on all sides, ensuring that there is constant movement of glossy satin skirts and bodices around every part of his being, depriving him of his masculinity - to replace it unendingly with the femininity he always wanted. ***

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