Discharged from the army as a sissy, mistakenly sent to prison to become sissy bitch—first to a manly convict and then the captain of the guards, Rick gets paroled and is hired by a sexy, twentyish heiress who has plans for the young sissy.

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Sylvia Grant was somewhere around twenty-five years old and filthy rich. She was totally the archetypal Malibu beach bunny, save for ginger red hair halfway down her back and vivid green eyes. At five-ten she was about two inches taller than me, and her golden brown tanned skin with absolutely taut, especially across her flat tummy.

She could kick your ass if she wanted to.

I knew this about her because she wore a bikini that left little to imagination: the tiny tricot cups were little more than covers for the large nipples that peaked her 38C breasts. The thong was just as scandalous—a tapered rectangle of cloth half the size of a business card that barely covered the split of her major labia.

She could have been a porn star.

She flashed an amused smirk and reverted to a more cordial, polite smile. She offered her hand to shake. In my nervousness I nearly took her hand and kissed it but managed to clasp it and allow her to control the shake.

“Sylvia Grant.”

“Richard Minius. Or Rick, if you prefer.”

“Rick it is then. Won’t you come in?”

As if an afterthought she picked up a small stack of mail from a small table in the foyer and then suddenly dropped it. Before I could jump in to help she bent over at the waist, her feet spread for balance, and picked up the mail. The back string of the thong was only a little wider than dental floss tape and gave me a view of her sexy, puckered asshole, which it didn’t cover at all. I realized she’d purposefully  shown off as much of her body as she could. But why?

She turned around as she straightened up, grinning as if she just played a special joke. “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m dressed so… immodestly.”

“I figured it was none of my business. I’m just here to work.”

“Good answer, Rick. That’s practically half the interview right there. I try to sun whenever I can in this outfit or even nude, and I’m not a huge fan of clothes around the house. I need someone who can work without being distracted.”

“We’ll go into the living room and I’ll describe the position to you.” She led the way, not bothering to look. She probably knew she’d catch me looking. Then she did look back and smirked again as my eyes rebounded. “You have such gorgeous, long, blonde hair.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I was planning to cut it next week.”

“Absolutely not! It’s beautiful and it makes you seem so much more... suitable.”

I was to do daily housecleaning on the handful of rooms regularly used in the large house. I would do the laundry, shop for groceries and supplies, run errands, answer the phone and take messages. When she went into “the office” I would go along as her personal assistant. Since I was to be available as needed, she explained that I would live in a guest bungalow by the pool.

 Three days later our dynamic was almost like female roommates. Most of the time, she wore only scanty tops and panties. It was as if she regarded me as just one of the girls. I struggled to not let her know she was driving me crazy with desire, never considering that maybe that’s what she was trying to do.

I gathered together the mail and headed for her office. I was almost at the door when she popped fully dressed out of the bedroom right next door, startling me.

“I’m going to get my nails done.”

“Want me to come along?”

“You’re going to be busy with another task I have for you. There is a large amount of handwash in the laundry that’s piled up over the last week. You know about Woolite, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, saluting smartly.

“I like that,” she giggled before she picked up her purse and departed. A moment later I heard the Jaguar fire up and drive off.

I returned to the laundry room where a nylon laundry bag sat in the middle of the counter. When I opened it up I couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Inside of the bag was a pile of dirty lingerie, mostly panties and bras, some thigh-high nylon stockings, but there was also a matching set: a lacy white garter belt, bra and thong panties. I tried to put it out of my head that she and I wore the same size, and I dumped the bag out on the counter. All of those lovely panties she’d worn, mostly thongs and French cut bikinis. I could smell her on them.

I picked through the pile and pulled out the white matching set, and some nude brown nylon stockings, and had them on in only ninety seconds minutes. I wished for a babydoll nightie.

I peered through the front window and made sure she was gone. Then I scooted to her bedroom, plopped down at her vanity and reached for the makeup. With all the practice I got under Mistress Simone it only took five minutes for me to paint a sexy girl’s face.

I sashayed to the far part of the bedroom where the big dressing mirror stood and admired myself. Damn, despite the head of my boner jutting well past the waistband of the thong panties, the girl in the mirror made for a hot, young chick!

“Don’t you look sexy,” Sylvia’s voice brimmed with self-satisfied amusement.

I actually shrieked at the sound of my sexy employer’s voice behind me. I stood in her bedroom, dressed in her lingerie—my cock as hard as it ever gets—and couldn’t bring myself to face her. Then I realized she could see me fully in the large dressing mirror. I blushed deeply.

“Turn around,” she gently coaxed.

After a pause I complied. “I didn’t hear you come back.” It was a huge relief that at least she wasn’t freaking out. Quite the opposite: she seemed to be enjoying this.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything… Rita.”

“A shockwave of mortification and fear rippled through me. “How… how..?”

“Do you think I’d hire somebody without doing a full background check? Need I remind you that with the money at my disposal there’s little that’s legal I can’t do and much illegal I can do—with impunity?” She looked me up and down with lustful appreciation. “You do make a very sexy girl, Rickie. Far more beautiful than I imagined you might.”

If it was possible to simultaneously blush with pride and humiliation I was doing it right then. “What are you going to do?”

“That depends on you, Rickie. Or should I call you ‘Rita’ now?”

“How… does it depend?”

“I understand from your parole officer that if I fire you for just cause—for instance, if I caught you trying on my clothes—then you would go right back to prison.”

“No, please! Don’t do that! I’ll do anything you say!”

“There you go, Rita. You just answered your own question of how it depends. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I shook my head, horrified where this was going. Her face told me she knew that I knew—such wicked glee and triumph!

 “On your knees, Rita.”

Numbly and yet still fully erect at my predicament, I knelt before Sylvia, whose expression told me she was my new mistress. I knew she understood her power over me. It wasn’t exactly the power of life and death, but I had to believe at the very least I wouldn’t be rented out like a whore or given out like a party favor at the whims of another like I would in Gaviota Prison.

I fought down the tiny voice that said I’d loved that in prison.

Looking directly into Sylvia’s intense green eyes I said, “Yes, Mistress Sylvia.”

She clapped her hands with delight like a girl who’d been given a special treat. For a second I was in love with her as if we were a regular woman-man couple. But no, I was now her playtoy, her very own Beverly Hills sissy slave to do whatever she wanted to. And isolated here in this mansion and by her money, what she could do to me…

“I’m so happy, Rita,” she bubbled. “Now follow me into the closet—on your hands and knees.”

As I was crawled behind her she unbuttoned and tossed aside her skirt, leaving only her tunic blouse like a miniskirt and that perfect ass for me to follow. Already I was getting terribly humiliating sexual ideas from looking at it.

“It’s so convenient that you and I are the same dress size,” she said, leading me into the big walk-in closet and flicking on the light. “Keep your eyes on my ass,” she instructed, “since I know you love looking at it so much.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, blushing.

“You probably want to kiss it, just like that Captain Janus, don’t you? Maybe lick my asshole too?” she said, flipping through dresses.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, shuddering. I couldn’t have blushed more deeply.

“Yes, I know about that, too,” she giggled. “I know what kind of a delicious pervert I hired. But you’ll have to wait for that privilege. First, you—yes!”

She pulled a thin, solid pink minidress off the rack and held it out for me. My eyes nearly bugged out at the exhibitionistic cut, a dress meant for afterhours clubbing and exclusive parties where decency laws aren’t enforced. She also pulled out a pair of white high heel pumps. She handed them to me with a malicious grin.

Keeping on her dirty lingerie I’d selected to model, she helped me pull the tank dress over my head, the scoop neck just revealing the top of the bra cups. The hem barely fell two inches past where my balls were now hanging out of my thong. The clinging weave of the garment showed off my boner in stark relief.

“Hmmm,” she said, studying me. “We can’t quite go out with you showing off your big clitty like that.”

“Out?” I gasped.

She slapped me firmly. “Mistress,” she reminded me.

“Out, Mistress?” I whimpered, my left check burning slightly.

“Yes,” she said. She rummaged though one of the chests of drawers and pulled out a small, white leather clutch purge only a little longer and wider than a paperback book. She handed it to me and then stepped back into her skirt. “Make sure you hold it down there so nobody sees your naughty boner. Now let’s go.”

Tottering on the unfamiliar heels I trailed her out to the Jaguar and got in. Soon we were headed toward Century City. I prayed to whatever deities there might be she didn’t take me into the office. Instead she hooked a howling turn onto Wilshire. Within a minute we’d pulled up to the valet parking for the Wilshire Plaza Hotel.

“Please, Mistress,” I moaned. “Don’t make me go in there like this!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she snapped as the valet attendants opened the doors for us. “If you don’t cooperate and stop whining so much, it’s back to prison for you. Now get out of the damn car.”

The rest of the book, many, many pages, is how deeply Sylvia takes Rita into subjugation and the devious plans she has for the young sissy! Hopefully there will be a positive response and I'll share some more of it!

Read the beginning of Ricky/Rita's story: Rita in the Army