Ashleigh Andrews had everything ready for her son's important day. It had been her secret and the rewards were about to come her way. It's not every day that a mother earns full time membership of the Crop and Leather Ladies' Club, watching with delight as her own son is made aware of the life of servitude that awaits him. Slipping into his bedroom she woke him at 6 o'clock.
"Mama, what time is this? Where's my phone? I left it here by the bed."
"Guess what, honey... you won't need your phone until further notice."
Graham felt a jab of unease. It was barely light outside, his mother had taken his phone and she was showing an unusual turn of activity in his bedroom... putting things out on his chair.
"Mama, where are my clothes? Why won't I need my phone?" His feet hit the cold floor. "Why are you dressed like that this morning?"

  She was wearing clothes he had never seen her in before: a leather zip-up jacket, open so that he saw her white blouse, and a narrow leather skirt, with boots disappearing under it, all in jet black. Her cold hands clamped him by one arm and brought him to his chair.
"This is the most important day in your life, Graham my boy. School is behind you now; I've arranged a job interview for you. Sit on the bed."
He was not used to his mother removing his pyjamas for him. It made him feel like a child. But what was this? A girls' garter belt, with lacy bits! He was told to present his foot for a nylon stocking. The wispy gauze hissed around his flesh and held him tightly when the clips were done. He was an obedient boy but this was more than belittling, it was a humiliation.
"Mama, what kind of interview is thi...Hey, not panties!"
"Stand up and put your foot in, Graham."
The boy knew to fear his mother when her voice took on this tone. His stockings went into the panties, which were pink and soft and unbelievably shameful. Oh no, he couldn't stop his little bit from stiffening and pushing into the panty gusset.
"Arms in," barked his mother. The shirt was slid up, over his shoulders, feeling alarmingly slippery. Yikes! It fastened the girls' way!
"Mama, this is a blouse. You've made a mistake!" The neat collar had prettily rounded points, and everything was smooth and slippery like silk.
"It is a blouse," said his mother in a flat tone. "It's what you need to get this job. And you had better get it, or you'll see how furious your mother can be."

  This was horrifying. Not only was his mother being unbelievably cold this morning, but his blouse had long cuffs almost up to his elbows, with her fastening four... five... six perl buttons along each cuff! She turned back to him with a silky white waist slip in her hands and held it down by his feet.
"You're being auditioned at the Ladies' Club, Graham," she said as she drew the slip up around his panties. "The ladies have certain...requirements, and they have to like what they see or you're out on your ear, and so am I. But that is not going to happen." Her son shuddered as a skirt of dark grey terylene slid up his legs and sizzled into position for her to fasten it at one hip. It barely covered his knees, and was followed by a similar jacket. He was wearing a women's suit, neatly tailored in to his waist and hugging his hips. His blouse collar was arranged prettily over the jacket collar. He was put into a pair of shoes with heels he would not be able to walk in, followed by a pair of charcoal kid gloves and a matching shoulder bag which felt like it had nothing in it.

  Graham was powerless to stem his tears as he stood for his mother to comb his hair into a style over one eye. Then she produced a charcoal grey beret and placed it correctly in his hair, sloping it over one ear. When she stood back a yard or two, she beamed with pleasure. "You know," she said, "I think you'll be given an audition."

  "Ashleigh darling, welcome." Madame Ventra was a thoroughly rounded woman but she seemed to swell visibly as she met them in the semi-lit foyer of the club. "I'll take him from here," she said, her bulbous, crimson lips smiling across flashing teeth. "A big day for you, hon: seeing your own son auditioned and, who knows, maybe sold."
"It's been a long time in coming," said Ashleigh, turning her son round to present his back and bringing his wrists together. The chrome handcuffs clicked into place and he was helpless. "But good things come to those who wait."
Graham's youthful spirit shuddered, as much from the change in his mother's tone as from the cold steel of his bracelets. "Mama... Mama!" he called as he saw the back of his mother's dress disappearing and the door close behind her, without as much as a farewell. Before he gathered that she had left him, his hair was seized at the roots of his crown and he was doubled forward to look at his skirt.
WHOP!
"Oww!" came his cry as a riding crop measured a warning stroke across the widest point of his skirt.
"Hurt, did it?" chuckled Madame. "Try this." WHACK!
"Oooowwwwwwwwww!" The seams of Graham's stockings burnt like a strip of fire.
"And this!" WHACCCKKK! The boy let out a howl, still held low by the hair, and wished he could use his hands for protection.
"Mama... I want my mama. Please... g-get her for me."
"Why? Do you want your rump to be beaten by her?" Madame pulled him upright and his eyes gathered immediately the hatred that blazed in the face that almost pressed into his. "Your 'mama' has given you to us, pea brain... to see if any of the ladies can find a use for you. But first you've got to be accepted." She pulled Graham's head back so that her face scowled over his. "Shall we go and meet the nice ladies, pantywaist?"

  A thousand moments of his life passed before Graham's eyes as he bewailed how yesterday had turned into today. Or was this a nightmare?
The crop whacked again, across his knees. "I asked you a question, scumbag," sneered the lips above him.
"Oh yes... yes."

  Madame twisted her hold in his hair, which was almost rooted out. She led him through an empty room with little care for his stumbling high heels, and came to a door with sounds of female laughter coming from the other side. She opened it and they walked into a crowd of women, gossiping and laughing, until a chorus of "Oooohs" and "Here's another one" brought every face gathering round to ogle Graham as he was led into the middle.
At last his hair was released, stinging his scalp as he found himself alone with a gap of two yards between him and a circle of women. What was he to do? They were all in elegant suits and dresses, with full make up and well groomed hair. He was a sheepish boy at the best of times, but in a women's suit and blouse, with stockings and high heels, and his wrists behind him in handcuffs, he felt a perfect idiot. His face wilted to one side and his chin sank onto his white silk collar as each grinning woman in the room explored him silently with her eyes.

  He was about to speak... to say hello or something, when the silence was shattered by a scream from another room. A man, by the sound of it, or maybe a boy. It came again, in agony, and again, punctuated by sounds of whipping, and all round Graham there were crimson lips breaking into laughter.
"Oh dear... someone isn't doing as he's told," said the woman in front of him, tall, with blond shoulder length hair and in a sleeveless taffeta frock.
"Are you going to do as you're told, ducky?" asked the woman beside her, a brunette in a sheath-like sundress.
The screams and whipping continued and Graham's heart was racing. What could he do? What could he say? As his head scrambled for answers, a woman behind him lashed her riding crop across his calves. The shock almost threw him off his high heels. "Answer your superiors, piglet," came the rebuke. "Or do you want to be beaten into a heap?"
He righted himself, just, and lost control of his lips as he tried to comply. "I w-w-want to g-g-g-go home... perleeeeease."

  The laughter burst out again. It was wide-eyed, delighted faces that surrounded him now. Another cut of a crop slashed at his legs, and a third bit the rump of his skirt.
"I want my mama. Please call her for me..." came the pitiful cry, to be met with laughter more delirious than before. Then the noise subsided, the women parted in front of Graham, and into his view stepped... Ashleigh Andrews.
Not the mama who had left him minutes earlier, but the new 'mama', with her leather skirt replaced by netted stockings reaching up to her black satin panties, and her blouse replaced by a leather basque that failed to cover her breasts. Her hair swung round her face with alarming spirit and she whisked a leather crop so that it smacked across the black leather of her boots.

  "Was it me you wanted, sunshine?" she asked, her lips pursed with sarcasm. "What do you want me to do? This?" and she lashed her crop across the side of his leg almost cutting her son to the floor. But that wasn't enough, she fell to beating the back of his skirt again and again with deliberate venom as every woman in the room looked on and laughed until their sides ached. It was Ashleigh's girlfriend who stopped her in the end, hugging her in a breathless embrace and calming her with a long, tongue-filled kiss.
"Yes, we'll have him," echoed the response from the gleeful women around them, and a wailing Graham was dragged from the room by an equally gleeful Madame Ventra.

  Half an hour later the wretched boy had been given a pill and calmed enough to be displayed properly. As he stepped into the archway of the catwalk, his impression was indirect lighting behind blood red velvet drapes, with gilded cords and tassels. The footlights showed the way for his now childish Mary Jane shoes, which he placed with care, one in front of the other with their lacy anklets, the instruction ringing in his ears: "Mince... sashay... wriggle... grind!"
His sheer stockings pulled at the garters of his basque, sizzling with each grind inside the rayon of his sissy panties. It came home to him very quickly why his hose was so sheer. As he came on line with the first seat beside the walk, its occupant sprang to her feet and lashed her crop across his undefended thighs.
He squeaked with pain, as per instructions, and equally required, turned to the good lady concerned and curtseyed, with a respectful "Thank you for your kind attention, Ma'am."
There was much hilarity as the new maid progressed with pain from one lady's view to another, but the bidding was lively and the price rose quickly. Ashleigh's girlfriend Augusta hugged her sweetheart with delight, and as he was sold for a handsome sum, the two of them knew they could look forward to a well-earned recompense for Ashleigh's having to bring up a disgusting male as far as his late teens. The last she saw of Graham was Madame Ventra and a tall, buxom club memeber hauling him off-stage, soon to become the maid of his new Mistress, with no doubt personal and very demanding specifications.