Put in their Place

The girls looked at the scene of devastation with dismay.

All of their dolls had been decapitated. Their crockery sets had clearly been used as target practice with air pistols. The tyres on their prams and baby strollers had been removed and slashed, leaving the bodies of the vehicles resting on the muddy ground.

The girls knew who had been responsible. Ever since their brothers had decided...no...since a new boy, Darren, had moved into the road and had recruited their brothers into a gang he had formed, the girls had been the victims of raids and intimidation.

It had begun with demands for the girls to hand over their pocket money and had then escalated to thefts of some of the girls' underwear and clothing (mercifully from their bedrooms rather than in public) and now this latest incident where the boys confiscated all of their toys.

All of the girls were fuming. They had complained to their parents, who had punished their brothers by either corporal punishment or grounding them, but this had had no effect upon their behaviour. They immediately fell under the spell of their leader, Darren, again and the persecution continued.

After salvaging what they could of their toys, the girls held a council of war. Claire, their leader, gave a short speech "Girls, I don't know about you, but I have had enough. Reasoning with these boys has had no effect. Our parents' punishments have had no effect. We need to take matters into our own hands and teach the boys that they mess with us at their peril! I've had an idea."

The other girls looked at her expectedly. Claire stared at her sisters in arms. They were, like her, ten year old girls, dressed up in pretty frocks and wore hair ribbons in their long hair. But they also wore looks of determination and resolve on their childish features. They too, had had enough.

"Yes" continued Claire "Girls, we're going to put these boys in their place....."

Darren and his gang of six other boys were at the base they had set up in the woods near to where they and their victims lived. A pair of girls' frilly knickers fluttered from an improvised flagpole and Darren had stashed the money that they had stolen in an old sock that was hidden in a place known only to him.

Darren was pleased with himself. Since moving into the area only a few months ago, he had rapidly established a gang, a base, and good source of revenue. Before long, he would expand his operations to include neighbouring areas. The boys he led were chumps, dim and easily led, but that worked to his advantage. He had yet to meet a boy who was a match for him in either brains or brawn.

He gathered his gang together for another foray. It was pay day for most households and therefore pocket money day for the girls he preyed upon.

It was then that he saw movement, a glimpse of a girl's shiny pink frock and her white, frilled underwear just peeping out from beneath her short skirt from behind some bushes. Then the girl stepped out into a clearing and into full view.

The girl looked like a stereotypical little girl, with her cute ankle socks and shiny black mary-janes. Her creamy coloured, girlish, long legs seemed to go on forever until they reached the frills of her knickers and the skirt of the frock she wore. The girl had long blonde hair, tied up in bunches and barettes.

The things girls had to wear! Darren thought. He was thankful that he was a boy. Then he became annoyed when he realised that this girl obviously knew where his top secret base was! She would have to be taught to keep her mouth shut.

The girl smiled sweetly at the group of boys and bobbed them a dainty little curtsey - and then stuck her tongue out in a clear gesture of cheek and defiance. Darren was quick to anger and ordered his gang to catch the girl. But the girl had realised what the boys intended and took off with an astonishing burst of speed.

The whole gang pursued her. Darren marvelled at the speed of the girl as she dodged in and out of trees and bushes. An Olympic athlete would have a job keeping up with her. Then, as the whole gang entered a clearing, Darren thought he heard a feminine voice shout "Now!" and he and the rest of his gang suddenly felt themselves becoming entangled and then rising into the air.

Darren realised that he and his gang had been led into a trap. They were now all held within a thick rope net and they were swinging from the stout branch of a tree. Below, a group of girls were hauling at a rope and then tied if off, leaving the boys stranded and helpless in their prison.

Debbie clapped Sasha, the girl who had led the boys into the trap (and the best sprinter at school by a long way) on the back "Well done, Sash" and then, turning to all of her group, she said "Right girls. lets go and look at their base!" They walked off in the direction of Darren's base, ignoring the pleadings of the boys to let them go.

The boys remained suspended in the net for some time. A little later, the girls sauntered past them disdainfully, heading in the direction of their homes - and the homes where all of the boys except for Darren, who had no siblings, lived. They again ignored the boys' protests and pleas.

By now, the boys were becoming cold, hungry and thoroughly uncomfortable. They became very agitated as they saw their sisters wander past again, carrying some of the boys' toys, bikes and even their clothes and underwear. The boys howled in protest when they realised that their sisters had appropriated their possessions, including some of their more intimate possessions, and that there was nothing that they could do about it! The girls airily disregarded them and continued towards the boys' base.

The boys' stomachs were rumbling and they shivered. They then saw Claire appear, but she was no longer dressed in the little girl outfit that she normally wore. She was attired in her brother's clothes of shirt, jumper, trousers and flat, clumpy shoes. Claire held something shiny in her hand and was standing next to the taut rope that held the boys aloft.

The boys were at first puzzled by Claire's appearance. Then they realised that the shiny thing that Claire held in her small hand was a penknife that she had liberated from amongst her sibling's possessions. The realisation suddenly dawned on the seven male brains trapped within the net that Claire intended to cut the rope.

Seven voices tried to cry out "No, don't!" but Claire ignored them and sliced through the rope. The boys screamed as they felt themselves hurtling to the ground. The boys were stunned and bruised by the impact. But their ordeal was not over by any means, for the other girls, now dressed as their leader was, in their brothers' clothes, grabbed hold of the ropes that held the net closed and proceeded to drag the net, and its unwilling, helpless cargo, across the rough terrain, through bushes and even a stream.

The boys were bruised, scratched, dirty and soaking wet when their short journey ended. With one exception, all of the fight had spirit had gone out of the boys. Some of them were even crying. Darren, who was seething with anger and determined to gain vengeance, scornfully called them crybabies.

The girls had dragged them to their base. Now their former base, as the girls had taken it over. The girls had armed themselves with hockey sticks (which they did not hesitate to use when the need arose) and removed the boys from the net, one boy at a time, and leaving Darren until last. Each boy was taken out and escorted under a heavy guard of hockey stick wielding girls behind some bushes, where whatever happened next could not be seen by the boys left in the net.

Occasionally, there was a cry of pain and some blubbing, and Claire's voice, ordering her victim to go home, at which, in most cases, provoked more blubbing, which became quieter and then ceased althogether as the victim trudged home.

At last, it was Darren's turn. Intending to put up resistance, his spirit evaporated as he was confronted by seven girls, all armed with their hockey sticks and looking, not feminine or sweet, as girls should be, but threatening and aggressive.

Claire grabbed him by the shoulder "Come on you, time to get you out of those wet clothes and into something more suitable!" Darren was about to protest that if he hadn't been dragged through bushes and streams by these same girls, he wouldn't need a change of clothes, but judging from the looks on the faces of his guards, he judged that he would be wiser to keep his mouth shut.

Darren found himself being led behind the same bushes where the rest of his gang had been taken. "Get out of those wet things and get changed into these!" Claire ordered him. But Darren was stunned by what he was being asked to change into.

It was the complete outfit of a little girl. A pink gingham frock with lots of ribbons and lacy things, white frilly knickers, ankle socks and shiny black mary-janes.

"You must be joking!" Darren blurted out "I'm not wearing that lot!"

"We were hoping you would say that!" exclaimed Claire "Right girls! Bend him over and lets give him a richly deserved spanking!"

Despite struggling manfully, even Darren was no match for the combined strength of several girls and, humiliatingly, he found himself bent over with his bottom presented for a spanking. Darren decided to perservere and show these girls that he could take whatever punishment they cared to mete out to him. The girls took it in turns to spank him with a table tennis bat. Darren was able to endure the pain for a while, but fifteen minutes later, his bottom ached and Darren, to his shame, was shedding tears. He couldn't take any more and begged the girls to stop.

Claire handed him the little girls' outfit and told him to hurry up and get changed into it. Sobbing with not only the pain of his spanking, but with the humiliation of having to wear such a sissy outfit, Darren summoned up the courage to put the outfit on. Ten minutes later and Darren felt positively ridiculous in his frock and other girlish paraphenalia. The girls were in hysterics at the sight of their former tormenter dressed as a little girl.

They made him curtsey to them "like a good little boy". Sasha whipped out a digital camera from a pocket and snapped Darren as he performed a curtsey. Then, after saying how cute and sweet he looked, ordered him to go home, dressed as he was.

All of the fight knocked out of him, by his humiliating spanking and manner of dress, Darren set off in the direction of home, wondering how he was going to explain to his parents how he had ended up in his current predicament and hoping to avoid anyone seeing him dressed like this. It was too humiliating!

Five minutes into his journey and he ran into the rest of his gang. Darren's mouth dropped open at the sight of them. Steve was dressed as a ballerina, complete with a tutu and ballet slippers. David was dressed as in a nurse's uniform. Adam wore a saloon dancing girl's outfit, with fishnet stockings and full skirts. Robert was dressed up as a princess, in a flowing pink gown and a tiara. Mike wore a pink romper suit and a baby bonnet and looked to be on the verge of crying just like a baby and Nick was dressed as wonder woman, in his satin tights.

The worst thing was, Darren decided, was that they all looked very girlish and feminine in their new clothes. Himself included. The feminised boys stood shivering and wondering what to do and sniggering at Darren's altered appearance. Darren was shivering himself, as his legs and arms were fully exposed in his new dress, and eager to get indoors as soon as possible and away from view. Darren had never been so humiliated in his life!

As they were deciding what to do, Darren's heart sank when he saw a posse of mothers, including his own, striding towards them. The seven women stopped and howled with laughter at the sight of their sons dressed in their girlish outfits. They ordered their sons to take their hands and briskly marched them home, in full view of the residents of the street, who were in hysterics at the sight of the former bullies reduced to such a state.

Once home, each blubbing boy was made to blurt out how and why they had ended up dressed as they were. The mothers decided that the punishment inflicted upon the boys was fitting and appropriate. Since they had enjoyed bullying girls and destroying their toys, they could spend some time in dresses and playing with dollies.

So it was that it was the girls of the street who had become dominant and ruled the neighbourhood with a firm, but benign hand. Claire and her gang patrolled the streets, dressed as boys and armed with their hockey sticks whilst their brothers and their former leader, sat together in Darren's garden, dressed in frocks and their lace and frills and playing with their dolls. The other boys had become accustomed to their new clothes and had even become addicted to all things feminine, but a blushing Darren, hating his frocks and frillies and being made to play with dolls, scowled at Claire and her gang, who had usurped his rightful place and had turned him into a sissy boy.

Claire smiled sweetly at him and gave him a little wave "Hello Darren, what a pretty dress you are wearing today! It used to be one of mine actually, but you look so much sweeter in it!", and loving the way his face turned red at the compliments and the giggles of the girls with her.

Darren and his gang had been put in their place all right and Claire was loving every moment of it!

Boys and their Toys (1970-2030)

In the distant past, when the male was still the dominant gender, the toys given to boys in childhood reflected traditional notions that young males were to be brought up to be dominant and to work in the wider world.

Hence, boys were given toy soldiers to play with to foster their aggression and warlike tendencies, toy trucks and construction sets to emphasise that boys were good at building things and using their hands, toy cars and other vehicles and bikes and sports gear to make them more athletic.

Girls, on the other hand, invariably had to play with toys to prepare them for their future roles as housewives and mothers and their world was filled with the colour pink and with frills and lace. Dressing up dolls and having tea parties with them, baking cookies in toy ovens and dressing themselves up in pretty frocks and using make up was the lot of girls for many decades, as well as doing feminine activities such as sewing, ballet and baton twirling.

Boys were thus playing with toys to make them masculine and girls were engaged in activities to make them ultra-feminine, with the emphasis on being pretty, rather than practical and clever, as boys were encouraged to be.

This strict segregation between boys and girls began to change with the advent of feminism and the computer and information technology age.

By 2010, after decades of stunning success academically and the relentless advance of women in the workplace, girls were by now long used to believing that they were far superior in every way to a mere boy. Once upon a time, a boy could arrogantly boast that he was better than a girl both in terms of sheer physical power and also in terms of brainpower and academic success. The male of the species was better suited to lead, make the important scientific discoveries and protect and provide for his family held good for a long time.

By the early 2000's, the claim of boys to be superior academically to girls had become more a source of amusement to females than offensive or sexist. Boys, acknowledging their defeat at the hands of girls in the classroom, retreated and took comfort in new forms of games, provided for them on their computers and on their games consoles.

But this was a mistake. While boys remained competitive, such sedentary activity made boys lazy. They lost interest in sports and athletics, where they had still held the advantage over girls and, more importantly, began to lose masculine traits, such as motivation, determination. resourcefulness, aggression and risk-taking.

Girls increasingly took up sports and athletics and began to gain the masculine qualities that the boys were fast losing. They were not only becoming more assertive, more aggressive, more competitive and more inclined to take risks than boys, they were actually getting fitter and stronger than boys. At school and university, girls were not only outstripping boys academically but also on the sports fields where boys had once been dominant.

Meanwhile, in the wider world, the statistics showed the pitiful academic performance of males generally, of an economy that literally did not need any male input, except at the lowest and most menial levels, since its needs demanded qualities such as focus, patience, communication skills, networking, multi-tasking, as well as academic and professional qualifications, which women could generally deliver a whole lot better than men could.

By the 2020's, women had literally replaced men as the dominant sex. Men found themselves largely excluded from the workforce and had to take on the traditionally feminine roles in the home. Many men by this time had adopted, or had been forced to wear by their dominant mate, feminine clothing and accessories in tribute to the new dominant gender.

By the mid 2020's, it was no longer appropriate for a girl to have to wear a dress or skirt or to play with dolls. She was more likely to become a Doctor, Lawyer or Scientist than a housewife. Girls were already starting to play with "boys toys" earlier in the century, but by this point they had been discouraged from girly things and played exclusively with toy trains, cars and soldiers. The colour pink was a definite no-no for a girl, who wore jeans and T-shirts, wthout any accessories and without the long hair that traditionally characterised her gender.

At the same time, concerns were raised about the upbringing of boys. They had become lazy, unfit, unwilling to study and slovenly. They were addicted to violent computer games that encouraged aggressive and competitive instincts but which were unproductive. Many mothers, by now the complete mistress of her home, took their boys in hand. For punishment or merely for the amusement of the mother and the boy's sisters, boys were subjected to petticoat punishment and put into pretty frocks and frilly knickers. Some mothers even went as far as to put their son's hair into ringlets and tie bows in it.

For boys, who were more used to be a fictional soldier on their games consoles, engaged in a traditonally masculine role, their sudden feminisation was a deeply traumatic and humiliating experience. His world changed from a fake battlefield to a world filled with pink, frilly, pretty things that he had to live in and be shown off to the world in.

Finally, to complete the metamorphosis, boys were no longer allowed access to the violent games that had been their downfall. The computers and games consoles were replaced with toys more fitting for a boy whose destiny was more likely to be that of a father and househusband. The doll, the pram, baby stroller, dolls house and tea party set now became the staple items in a boy's toy cupboard and, having no access to any other toys, he had no choice but to play with them. In fact, he was forced to play with them by mothers anxious to ensure a positive change in his appearance and personality.

By 2030, it was common to see a boy, dressed in a pink frock, white frilly knickers that the short skirt of his dress did little to hide, and with bows tied in his long hair, brushing the hair of his dolls, or taking them out for walks in their pram. The new toys would, over time, make the boys more sensitive, more inclined to show emotion, to be meek, docile and submissive.

Girls would smile at their brothers as they played with the toys which had once been for boys only, but which she had now appropriated and at him becoming more and more feminised by his new toys, once meant for girls, that had been forced upon him.

The world is a woman's world, and also, a girl's world!

Fem-Utopia

Josh slowly removed one of his stockings from his long hairless leg and wrapped it around the neck of one of the members of the wholly female audience, much to her delight and those of the women around her.

In a deliberately lengthy performance in order to encourage the audience to purchase more drinks and nibbles, Josh took off his other stocking, his corset, his stilettos and finally his lacy thong, which sent his female audience into a state bordering on ecstasy.

Josh appeared confident on the outside, but inwardly he was shaking. This was his first time as a stripper. Luckily for him, he was only 17 and had a petite figure, with little musculature. He was the ideal male from the point of view of the dominants, the female sex, puny, hairless (since Josh had had to shave off his body hair), and weak.

Josh departed from the stage to make way for another stripper, with his clothes in his hands, along with bank notes and telephone numbers hastily scribbled onto business cards and scraps of paper. Josh had no intention of caller any of his suitors back.

He almost ran into Don, who owned and ran the club. Don was a huge, obese man, who wore a designer dress that did little to hide his sheer bulk. And, as usual, he wore far too much make up and perfume. Josh almost recoiled at the overly strong mixed odour of primrose and body odour. Don made a lot of dough out of this joint and as he WAS the boss, his opinion was important. Josh waited for his verdict on his performance.

Don took one of his hands and kissed it in an extravagent manner. "Good job, Kid! You gave the audience what they wanted and left them wanting more! You have a bright future here".

Josh's shoulders sagged in relief. Stripping made him much more than working the bar, his former job. If Don thought he was good, that was all that mattered.

Josh changed into his normal clothes. Bra and knickers, garter belt and stockings, petticoats and long skirt, a frilly blouse and high heels. Josh arranged his long hair into pigtails and tied bows around the tails and then put on his make up. After a few tweaks to his appearance, Josh was satisfied and left the club.

He had to go meet his girlfriend. And she was very particular about his appearance.

Melanie was waiting outside the club. In her chaffeur driven limo. She was tapping her foot impatiently. Boys! Why was it they took so long to get ready? She was about to order the chaffeur to hit the pedal when a breathless Josh opened the door.

"What the hell took you so long?" Melanie demanded.

"Sorry, Mel. The act took longer than I thought. And my eyebrows took longer than I thought to pluck."

"Pleeeeaase! spare me the gory details! Just get in the car already!"

Josh climbed in and Melanie told the chaffeur to get going. The limo moved off into the city.

As he sat beside her, Josh marvelled at how successful his girlfriend was. They had gone to the same school, yet he was living on the margins of society whilst she was an Executive Vice President of a major league company. She earned more in a day than he did in a month. had an expense account and a limo. Like all women, she liked her men weak and submissive and for her, Josh ticked all of her boxes.

Mel was tall and muscular and had short cropped hair. She worked out at a gym everyday and did weight-training, like most women did. She enjoyed demonstrating her physical as well as her intellectual superiority over her boyfriend by defeating him effortlessly at arm wrestling and other feats of strength.

Josh sat silently in the back of the limo. Boys were to been seen and not heard and could only speak when a female deigned to address him. That was a rule from early childhood. Josh remembered his own childhood, when he was obliged to wear frocks and frills and play with dolls whilst his sister wore trousers and played sports. "Boys were put on this earth to be pretty and to be pleasing to women" was a constant mantra throughout his life.

Josh thought back to his school days and, in particular, to his history lessons. Once, not so long ago actually, there had been a time when men had worn the trousers and made the big decisions. Now women did. Just how this turnaround had happened Josh did not fully understand. The official account stated that "female talent, suppressed by male authority for so long, came to the fore and proved to be superior to that of the male of the species. The myth of male superiority was exposed as a fraud and the natural leaders, females, took their place at the head of society. The male was relegated to his natural place as the servants of the new elite: womankind".

Josh (and all boys) had accepted all of this. Women were the naturally dominant gender. Males existed to serve. Hence his current career path as a barman, serving drinks to female customers in a short dress, stockings and a frilly apron and then as a stripper, ending up in the buff.

Melanie snogged Josh and fondled him as her limo cruised through the city. He was her plaything and hers to command. Josh submitted to her kisses and wandering hands like any good boy should do when in the hands of a girl.

The limo dropped them off at Melanie's apartment in one of the posher areas of the city. Josh dressed up in the dainty lingerie that his girlfriend had bought for him and presented himself to her, prettily packaged in a lacy bra and thong, seamed stockings and a pair of pink stilettos and allowed her to ravish him until his mind, on an emotional rollercoaster, succumbed to sleep.

Josh awoke alone in the bed. Melanie was furiously typing away on her personal computer terminal, her brilliant mind now preoccupied with work. That, Josh decided, was the thing with women these days. Work. Women felt committed to getting things done before having fun. Perhaps, Josh considered, that was that had made them become the superior gender. As well as exercising constantly in the gym so that they were fitter and stronger than their men.

With the male of the species, their priorities were slightly different. To be sure, there was work to be done. Mainly housework and childrearing for married men and, for unmarried men who had to earn their own living, menial jobs such as waiting table, cleaning or selling men's clothes, lingerie and accessories to other males. These tasks were the only jobs men were fit to do.

But beyond that, men were expected, even compelled, to be pleasing to women. They had to dress up for them in pretty feminine clothing and underwear, shave and perfume their bodies, wear their hair long and have their ears pierced and they had to wear jewellery and cosmetics. But looking the part of the modern male was not as important as acting the part.

Modern man was supposed to be docile, submissive and to follow the lead of the women in his life and submit to her kisses, embraces and her fingers exploring his body. He was supposed to put the women in his life first and be willing to serve them.

This was reinforced in every aspect of a man's life. By having to wear feminine clothing and do traditionally feminine jobs, he became feminine. The media presented men as sex objects, dressed in skimpy lingerie, stockings and high heels, or even naked. Scantily clad boys now draped themselves across the bonnets of cars to sell them to a female clientele.

Women were certainly not presented in the same way. Rather, women remained fully clothed and were seen in dominant roles in advertising. Nakedness in women, except in the privacy of their own homes, was actively discouraged in women. As was any tendency towards femininity. A woman who wore pink or an item of pretty jewellery was regarded as perverse and unnatural and referred to a therapist to put her back on the right track.

Everyone accepted that women were more intelligent than men (colleges and universities were now women-only institutions), better equipped intellectually, emotionally and even physically for the more demanding, but higher paying and higher status roles in society. Josh did not know, or had heard of, a single man who occupied a senior position anywhere in society. Only men like Don, who as a strip club owner lived on the margins of society, approached anything like the life and trappings that attended a woman. And even he still had to conform to traditional male femininity.

From his girlfriend's window, high up on the twentieth floor, Josh's baby blue eyes caught a glimpse of the all-female police force, striding about in her police outfit and swinging her truncheon about. The police tended to ogle young males like Josh and some of them even put young boys under arrest with the express intention of using and abusing them, or so Josh had heard from some of the other strippers.

But the visible police were not as scary as the so-called gender police. These were plainclothes female detectives who moved about the populace, looking out for signs of deviancy. Especially amongst men. An overly masculine gesture, wearing female dress or criticism of the Matriarchy, the sole governing party that formed the government, could land a male in serious trouble with the authorities.

Men lived constantly in the shadow, and in fear, of women.

Josh sensed from his girlfriend's body language that she wanted him out of her hair and so, after kissing her gently on the lips, he departed. He was quite used to his high-powered girlfriend dismissing him without words. She had important work to do and did not need a pretty boy distracting her from it.

Josh went back to the club and performed a few more acts to earn some more money before returning to his own apartment, located in one of the seedier areas of town. Mel refused to visit him there, saying it stank of male failure (95% of the inhabitants were male, after all, and they were mostly like Josh, living on the edges of society).

Josh lowered himself into a battered armchair and turned on the T-Screen, a large flat screen fitted into one of the walls. The news was on and it was, as usual, trumpeting the achievements of the Supreme Matriarch and the other matriarchs who formed the government of the country, which, in a more distant age had been called America (or so Josh's hazy memory of his history lessons recalled), but was now the Matriarchy of Fem-Utopia. Under their benign rule, the country was prosperous, peaceful and in harmony. Josh turned over and watched his favourite soap show, "It's a Man's World", about a group of househusbands, before returning to the club.

Josh went through his routine again. One lady, an older woman who seemed vaguely familiar, seemed to show a greater interest than was normal for a "client". The way she looked at him and licked her lips unnerved Josh and he was glad when the performance was over. To his great relief, when he went out to perform again, the woman had gone.

Josh thought nothing of it and, when his last dance ended, put on his coat, collected his handbag and walked home. His high heels clicked loudly against the pavement. He had not walked very far before he became aware that he was being followed. By a car. It was a black limousine. The type of vehicle used by members of the Matriarchy. Or the gender police! Overwhelming fear came over Josh as the limo drew up alongside him and stopped.

The rear door swung open noiselessly. "Get in, little boy!" a stern female voice ordered. Petrified and knowing that any attempt at refusal would be a grave, maybe even a fatal mistake, Josh clambered into the limo and the door automatically closed behind him, followed by the click of the doors of the vehicle locking. Josh realised that he was trapped.

He found himself alone in the back of the luxurious limousine. The female voice, presumably the driver of the vehicle spoke to him again, this time in a gentler, almost soothing tone "Relax kiddo, just sit back and enjoy the ride. There's a chilled bottle of champagne, some nibbles and even a T-Screen back there, so knock yourself out".

Josh did not want to relax. He demanded to know who the woman was and what she wanted with him, but she would not answer. Nervous, he helped himself to some of the champagne and drained the bottle during what he now realised was a lengthy drive to the matriarchal district, where the elite lived. Josh wondered what was in store for him.

The limo entered the compound of one of the many palaces that formed the residences of the women who ruled the country. The doors were released and Josh was ordered to get out. Josh climbed out to find several young, strong women dressed in black uniforms. Members of the bodyguard of one of the Matriarchs. Without speaking to Josh, the women surrounded him and herded him inside the brightly lit palace.

Josh wondered if he would ever leave the place again. He was petrified and intimidated by his opulent surroundings that reeked of power and dominance and by the strong, silent women who encircled him.

The bodyguard escorted Josh through gleaming marble and quartz corridors and through to what was obviously a study, filled with a huge oak desk, rare paintings and expensive furnishings. Josh's jaw dropped when he saw who was seated behind the desk.

It was the older lady from the club. Josh had failed to place her when she had been in Don's seedy, squalid club, but in these surroundings, he instantly recognised her as Matriarch Tabitha, whose responsibilities included justice, law enforcement and national security. She was one of the most powerful women in the country.

Tabitha ordered the other women in the room to leave her alone with "the pretty boy". Once they were alone, Tabitha ordered him to sit beside her on a chaise longe. Reluctantly, Josh minced forward and sat beside her. He was terrified of being alone with this powerful woman. She could have him executed or imprisoned indefinitely or beaten up by her musclebound bodyguards.

Tabitha sensed his nervousness and it seemed to arouse her. She kissed and fondled Josh, fed him luxury tidbits, washed down with more champagne. Josh was beginning to feel quite drunk from the bottle he had consumed during his journey here. Tabitha stroked him and told him how beautiful and sexy he was before leading him to her bedroom.

Once there, Tabitha ordered Josh to perform his strip tease act for her. By now too drunk to feel fear, Josh obliged, rubbing his stockings against the face of a senior member of the government and causing her to moan in ecstasy as he danced and stripped for her. There followed a night of high passion. Josh could hardly believe that a few hours earlier he had been stripping in a fleapit strip joint and now he was sharing the bed of one of the elite.

When Josh awoke, he found himself alone in the satin sheets. He guessed that his presence here was no longer required and so got dressed. He would have liked to have bathed or showered but this was certainly not his house and dared not take liberties. When he tried to leave, though, the female security force guarding the place ordered him to remain in the palace. He was ordered to take a bath and given clean lingerie, a designer dress and high heels to wear.

Once he was dressed in his new clothes, the guards took him to another room in the palace. This room was decorated in pink and white, with a four poster bed and vanity table. It was a man's boudoir, Josh realised, where he made himself presentable and entertained female suitors. It the dawned on him that he would never leave the palace again, until his new mistress chose to release him. He had gone from the frying pan into the fire, from being a stripper to being the sexual plaything of a woman who could either cherish him or crush him like a bug whenever she wished.

Dressed in the most expensive lingerie, heels and dress and living in a palace, Josh had never felt so powerless or so trapped. His very survival depended on his being able to continue to please Tabitha.

The female bodyguards were smirking, aware of his predicament. Once, a long time ago, long before any of them had been born, men had ruled and had used women as they saw fit. Now, in the Matriarchy of Fem-Utopia, the shoe was on the other foot. It was a delicious thought for all womankind.

The Academy for Maids - 2016

Michael stood outside the entrance of the building, his head down, reluctant to go in. It was the last place on earth he wanted to be right now!

His wife, Stella, gave him a none too gentle shove "Go on, get in there!" she ordered him "Or else!"

Michael forced himself to walk, ever deeper into his own version of hell on earth. He was right outside the door. His stomach churning and his brain filled with confused thoughts, he turned to his wife and sank to his knees.

"Please Stella, my love! I begging you not to do this to me! I'll do anything, anything, but not this!" To his surprise, Michael found that he was weeping. His blurred vision could make out the grey trousers that his wife wore and the smart heeled boots. He looked up at her face in hope.

Only, when his vision cleared, his wife's normally attractive features screwed up in a look of contempt. Michael looked for any sign of love or pity in his wife's visage and found none. He knew then that she would make him go through with this.

"Get up and stop making a spectacle of yourself you pathetic excuse for a man!" Stella snapped at him before moving past him and pressing the buzzer that was located on the right hand side of the double oak doors.

Michael made out a soft tingle behind the solid doors. Resignedly, he got to his feet, feeling wretched and miserable. Trying to beg had won him no favours from his wife.

Once Stella confirmed who she was and that she had brought her husband to start his training here, the doors swung open to show a smart, modern reception area. A young girl, probably about the same age as Michael and Stella's daughter, Pippa, sat behind a round desk bristling with telephones and a computer workstation.

"Welcome Mrs Harding" the girl chimed, giving Stella a huge beaming smile "I'm Rachel". The two women shook hands. Rachel turned to look at Michael "And you must be the new pupil!" she said, managing to give Michael a small smile of encouragement.

"Yes, this worthless specimen is my husband. Unfortunately for me! You're welcome to him!" said Stella. "I take it that everything is in order and that I can leave him with you?"

"Oh yes, Mrs Harding!" said "You have paid for a full training course for your husband. He will be a pupil here until he graduates".

"Which, considering his abilities, or lack of them!, will mean he'll be here for years!" spat Stella.

The girl looked slightly offended "Oh, no, Mrs Harding, we have taken on the most difficult of pupils and moulded them into perfect graduates in only a matter of months! You'll get your husband back soon - and as you want him!"

Michael shuddered.

"Very well" said Stella "Contact me when he is ready".

"Of course, Mrs Harding".

Without a word to, or a glance at, her husband, Stella walked out of the doors and back into her world, leaving Micheal all alone in an alien place that was about to become all of his world.

Once Stella had vanished from view, Rachel turned to him, with a hard look on her face and ordered him to sit down and be silent whilst she arranged for him to be "collected" as she put it.

Michael, confused and frightened at what lay in store for him, stumbled over to a chair and sat down. He heard Rachel talking to someone on the phone and saw her eyes glance over in his direction. Then she put the phone down, and without any sign that Michael existed at all in her world, went about her duties, merrily typing away.

Michael was looking at the floor when a large shadow fell across his field of vision. He looked up to see a large woman (she must be at least six feet tall and looked pretty strong too) dressed in a ladies business suit and carrying a clipboard. She was older than Michael by a good ten years he decided. Her hair was greying and she wore glasses. Her face wore the same expression as that of his own wife earlier, hard and pitiless and regarding him as a little worm.

She motioned for him to follow her, as if by deigning to actually speak to him she would be soiled or worse, and led him deeper into the building. Michael noted that unlike the elegant oak doors on the front of the building, all of the interior doors were solid steel security doors and that every window he saw was barred. It was like being in prison.

He was led upstairs to an area denoted by a sign as "Dormitories" and taken to a bathroom. The woman, who gave her name as Miss Roach, ran him a bath and once the tub was full, ordered him to take a bath. She then left him alone. Michael heard the lock in the door click and realised that he was locked in. The only window in the room had bars on it.

Michael decided that he had better get undressed and have his bath. It might even make him feel better. He had to admit that the warm water did make him feel warmer and more positive. The soaps and shampoos he had to use were, as he had guessed, for women, and his body and hair smelt of lilac and jasmine once he finished and dried himself off.

He felt slightly humiliated to smell the way he did, but that was the whole point of this horrible place. To humiliate men. He reached for his clothes, which he had folded and placed on a chair, only to find them gone. Someone had obviously entered the room whilst he was bathing and removed them.

The only article of clothing he found was a pink fluffy dressing gown with matching slippers. Just like what a woman would wear. Humiliated, Michael realised he had no choice but to put them on. He had nothing else to wear. I must look ridiculous!

There was a rap at the door, accompanied by Miss Roach's harsh voice asking him why he was taking so long. When Michael confirmed that he had finished the door was unlocked and Michael was ordered out of the room. Miss Roach looked at him in his pink dressing gown and furry slippers and nodded approvingly before ordering him to follow her again.

They walked a short distance to a door marked "Bluebell Dormitory", which Miss Roach opened and led Micheal through. As expected, the long room contained simple single beds, to be occupied by several pupils. Michael noticed how spartan the dormitory was. There was no carpeting, just bare floorboards, polished and scratched by innumerable shoe soles, and just beds and sticks of furniture. A hotel this wasn't. It was even more bare and sparse than Michael's old boarding school from his boyhood. An eternity ago from Michael's perspective.

There was no one else there, at present. Miss Roach pointed to a bed and told Michael that it was his. Then she went to a battered wardrobe and opened it up to reveal what Michael had feared it would contain.

Maids uniforms. Black dresses with frilly edging and a frilly apron, with a lace cap, stockings, suspenders, black high heeled shoes and a pile of bras and knickers.

"This is what you will be wearing from now on, little man! You can sort yourself out with a uniform. And you'll need several sets of underwear. I'll leave you for fifteen minutes and when I return I expect to see you in your uniform, standing by your bed". Miss Roach then departed.

Michael was shaking. This was so horrible and humiliating. To have to dress up as a maid! Steeling himself, he sorted through the clothes and underwear. It took him a while to find anything that fitted him and he struggled with the bra and suspenders but at the end of it he was dressed in his uniform, with spare underwear stored away, and standing obediently at his bed when Miss Roach returned.

Michael felt very foolish standing at his bed like a docile little girl, dressed up as a maid.

She wasn't pleased. She told him his appearance was a disgrace and that he had no idea how to even dress himself. Even small children could dress themselves. She ordered him to bend over. Michael reluctantly obeyed and then he felt the skirt of his dress being flipped up and his lacy knickers being pulled roughly down.

Michael knew what was coming but still screamed as his bottom was spanked with a paddle. After about half a dozen blows, he was told to stop blubbing and pull his knickers up. In much pain and greatly humilated, Michael adjusted his underwear.

Miss Roach ordered him to accompany her to the headmistress's office. Michael entered a large reception area where a girl who looked as young as Rachel manned the desk and announced that Miss Walker was expecting them.

Miss Roach walked past her, with Michael dressed in his maid's uniform, following in her wake, and moved into the headmisstress's office. Miss Walker, a woman slightly older than Miss Roach, sat behind a large teak desk, in complete command of her world.

"Is this the new pupil?" Miss Walker asked.

"Yes, Headmistress" answered Miss Roach "This is Michael. A useless, lazy husband. No longer able to satisfy his wife. Relies on his wife for his upkeep. Sinks into depravity by looking at other women. His wife wants him to serve her, but not as a husband and equal partner, but as a maid!"
Miss Walker regarded Michael with contempt "You are a pitiful specimen of manhood. We can make you into something more useful. To your wife. We will make you into the perfect man!"

Michael's head was bowed down in shame at appearing thus in front of these women and being denigrated by them and being treated as if he was of no account.

Miss Walker rose from her chair and walked towards Michael. As she walked past her desk, she paused to pick something up from it and then advanced towards Michael and pinned the item she had picked up to his false bosom. It was a blue badge with "Michael - Scullery Maid" printed on it.

"You will wear your badge at all times" Miss Walker told him "It not only tells everyone who and what you are, it also denotes the stage you are in your development. At present, you are the lowest of the low, an untrained male. As you learn and adjust to a man's true place and purpose in this world, your status will change. You can progress to a parlourmaid and then to a ladies' maid, if you are willing to accept your destiny. And this is your destiny. To be a maid to your dominant wife".

Michael was appalled at his fate "I don't want to be a maid!" he protested "I'm a man! Not a sissy girl!"

"Oh dear" said Miss Walker "he has an attitude problem. There's only one way to deal with such a poor attitude. The paddle please, Miss Roach".

In spite of his protests and amid much futile struggling against two women who were both stronger than he was, Michael found himself bent over, with his knickers down and being roundly spanked. Michael was sobbing by the time they had finished with and Miss Walker ordered him to be taken to take up his new duties as a Scullery Maid.

The pain was bad enough, but it was the humiliation of being treated like a child - and a girl child at that - which Michael hated most. He realised that he would have to do as he was told if he was to avoid any more punishment. His bottom, subjected already to two spankings, ached.

Michael was taken to the kitchens and put under the supervision of the cook, another older lady called, appropriately, Miss Cooke. Michael was made to scrub the kitchen floors, the ovens, the dishes and was told he would get another spanking if Miss Cooke found fault with his work. Michael found doing what he considered "women's work" humiliating and exhausting. It took him hours to get the work done and at the end of it he was dead on his high heeled feet. He didn't realise how much effort was needed and wondered for the first time how women had managed when they did this sort of work.

To his horror, Miss Cooke was not satisfied with his work and, once again, Michael had to drop his knickers and receive another spanking. He was sent to bed, with no dinner, exhausted and with a very red bottom.

Michael's co-residents other men who had recently arrived for training and who were scullery maids, as Michael was, although slightly further along in their development. For the most part, they were too exhausted and demoralised by their new existence to say much. There was an exception, a man named Peter, who, according to himself had once ran a large company but had had a mistress. When his wife found out she threatened to leave him unless he did this maid training thing. Losing his wife would effectively mean losing not only his home and access to his children. but also his business, so he had no choice. He hated everything about his new life.

"A fifty year old businessman having to wear a frilly apron and scrub floors! It's so humiliating!" he remarked. Then a look of cunning came over his face "But I'm not going to put up with it anymore cos I'm breaking out of here. Tonight! Anyone want to join me?"

The other residents turned over in their beds, too tired to move, let alone embark on a escape. Michael was tempted on the idea of escape but couldn't see that it was possible. The security in this place was like a maximum security prison. He merely got undressed and went to bed in his underwear.

Peter snorted in contempt "OK, if you want to be turned into sissies, it's your call, but I'm outta here!" and with that he left the dormitory.

Michael fell asleep immediately and was only woken up by his alarm clock, set to 5 am, since he had to be in the kitchen by 6 am. He was again made to scrub floors and dishes and treated as a skivvy, running around in a maid's dress and heels.

His routine was interupted by an announcement over the public address system that was in place that all maids were to report to the assembly hall immediately. Michael trooped along with the other maids to a large hall where all of the maids (fifty in all) and the staff were gathered.

In the centre of the hall was a set of stocks and imprisoned in the stocks was a red faced Peter, still wearing his maid's outfit. His escape attempt had obviously not turned out as he had hoped and he was in serious trouble.

Miss Walker stepped forward and addressed everyone present "Maids, please observe and learn from what is about to happen to this wretched excuse for a man, who had the temerity to attempt to escape the happy and harmonious environment which we have provided for you. We are deeply upset by what has happened and that this man has rejected us. Michael, step forward please".

Thoroughly alarmed at being singled out (Had Peter implicated him as an accomplice?), Michael nervously stepped forward. Miss Walker handed him a paddle "As the newest maid, you will have the honour of administering the punishment. Prepare the wretch to receive his punishment!"

Michael looked dumbly at the paddle. His first impulse was to drop it. He didn't want to spank another maid. He felt sorry for Peter, who was a victim, just as he and the other maids were, of these sadistic females.

Peter had meantime been prepared and was ready to receive his punishment. Miss Walker noted Michael's reluctance "Michael, if you don't administer the punishment this wretch justly deserves you will share it".

Michael couldn't face another spanking. His bottom still hurt from the last one. And there was no point in resisting. So he began to spank Peter, trying not to use too much force, but Miss Walker ordered him to put his back into it, unless he wanted to be spanked himself, so Michael laid it on and had Peter in tears by the time he was told to stop.

Peter was left in the stocks "to reflect upon his folly" indefinitely.

"Let that be a lesson to all of you" said Miss Walker to the maids "Put any thought of escape from your minds as no-one has ever succeeded in that futile endeavour. Accept your fate and learn to be better maids and you will save yourself much pain and unhappiness. You are all to return to your duties"

The maids, shaken by what they had seen, glanced at each other before departing. Michael, appalled at what he had been made to do, was trembling. He was no use at his duties, but Miss Cooke did not, for some reason, make an issue of it and for the first time, Michael went to bed with a full stomach and an unspanked bottom.

The next month went by in a blur for Michael. His days were spent doing the backbreaking work of a Scullery Maid, being spanked frequently for poor work, and sleeping. Michael was too tired to even think about protesting or escaping. He shuddered at the memory of what had happened to Peter. Peter had eventually been released from the stocks and demoted to being not even a Scullery Maid, but a cleaner. He had to clean all of the toilets and he would have to earn back his former status. Michael did not want to end up like that and so did not even think about escape.

Instead, he knuckled down to his work. Now that he was used to the work, he found it easier and even enjoyable. To his surprise, in the next assembly, Miss Walker singled him out again and promoted him to the status of Parlourmaid, for showing the proper attitude and applying himself to a maid's work.

The promotion meant a significant change in Micheal's status. He was leaving the dormitory and was given a room to himself. This was carpeted and furnished simply but it was a big improvement on the dorms. Michael now wore a different uniform. A long dress with a large frilled apron and a cap. Michael was also given silk underwear to wear underneath. The clothes and underwear was of better quality than what he wore before. His name badge was now pink to denote his progress and read "Michael - Parlourmaid".

His duties as a Parlourmaid were a lot easier than his previous ones. He still had to do a lot of cleaning but this involved sweeping floors and dusting ornaments and was nothing like as hard as the work in the kitchen.

On his first day, Miss Roach took him in hand. "Michael, now that you have progressed, it is important that your appearance and bearing are impeccable. From now on you will have to shave off all of your body hair and we will have to do something with your hair".

Which, after more than a month, was now shoulder length, Michael noted.

"And" Miss Roach continued "You will be corseted from now. A corset will give you a more feminine figure and improve your posture". Miss Roach then proceeded to introduce Michael to the mysteries of corsetry, lacing him tightly in a pink satin whalebone corset. Michael could barely breath once he had been laced in and was unable to bend over. The corset kept his back rigid.

Once he had put his maid's uniform back on, Michael had to admit that he had a very womanly figure. Miss Roach then instructed him to wash his hair and to style it in a girlish bob and then taught him how to make up his face.

By the time he had finished making his face up, Michael reflected that he made a convincing and good looking woman but inside he was cringing in shame. It seemed that although his lot had improved, the price was to be made to become more feminine!

He was then made to go about his parlourmaids duties, which had suddenly become more difficult when wearing a corset.

As time went on, Michael realised that having to wear female clothes, doing traditionally feminine chores and the fear of punishment made him more timid and submissive. In his former life, he had considered himself to be quite manly, but in just a matter of weeks he had been transformed into a docile maid, afraid to open his lipsticked mouth without permission, much less seek escape or rebellion.

Two months went by and Michael was now accustomed to having to depilate his body regularly, wearing silk frilly underwear and corsetry, and tripping about the building in his maid's outift, dusting and cleaning.

Michael was aware that the place was completely female-dominated and that any men in the place were there to be trained, to serve women and to be punished. A relentless regime of feminisation was pursued to turn masculine males into submissive feminine maids.

All the pupils were broken, eventually, and embraced their both their new status and their own femininity. Michael witnessed graduation ceremonies where sissfied maids, who had once been masculine, accepted their gold name badges before being handed over to their wives to spend the rest of their lives as her servant.

In his fourth month in that place, Michael had become not only used to his feminine clothes and role but actually found himself enjoying wearing pretty things, having soft, shaven skin, the smell of his own perfume, the feel of silks and satins on his skin and hosiery on his long legs, the frills of his apron. Even wearing a corset had become a delightful experience.

Michael reflected that they had won, but that where his old self would have regarded his current situation as a defeat of his male ego, the new Michael was merely resigned to his feminine fate.

Michael answered a summons from Miss Walker. He entered the room and was surpised to see his wife there. Stella looked no different from the last time he had seen her. Michael had obviously changed considerably over that period! He was about to speak when he remembered that he was not allowed to until he was spoken to. Remembering his place, he executed a curtsey.

Miss Walker ordered him to pour her and her guest tea. As Michael obeyed, he could not help but ovehear the conversation between the two women, who treated him as though he was not there.

"Your husband's will has been completely broken" said Miss Walker "He will be as putty in your hands. He is now a pretty and submissive maid. He has lost all tendencies towards masculinity and is very feminine".

"Good" answered Stella "For he was a poor excuse for a man. Having him as a sissy maid will be a big improvement for both him and myself. When do I get him back"

Michael handed his wife a cup of tea and for the first time, Stella noticed him and saw his name badge. She almost dropped her cup in shock "My goodness! Michael? Is that you?"

"Answer the lady, Michael" Miss Walker instructed him.

A whole range of emotions flashed through Michael's brain. His old self would have been filled with feelings of hatred and revenge for what this woman had done to him. But the new Michael felt fear of the power of women and adoration for a woman he still loved, deep down.

"Yes, mistress. It is I, your husband".

"I didn't recognise you! You look so sweet and adorable in that outfit! You look more like a female than I do!" Stella said.

"I am pleased that my appearance meets with your approval madam" answered Michael, submissively.

"Can I take him home?" asked Stella "I have a whole load of chores for him! I can't wait to see him scrubbing my floors and cleaning my house in his pretty uniform!"

"Not quite yet" answered Miss Walker "There is the graduation ceremony....."

An hour later, Michael went through his own graduation ceremony. He exchanged his parlourmaid's uniform for the short dress with frilly petticoats that showed off his long stockinged legs and his handsomely frilled knickers peeping out from the outrageously short skirt, and a pair of gold stilettos. As a tribute to his new femininity, Michael begged to be allowed to have his ears pierced and for gold studs to be fitted into his lobes, a request that was graciously granted by Miss Walker.

To the applause of the staff and students, a beaming Michael was awarded his new gold name badge that bore his new name, "Michaela" and his new title "Graduate Maid" before meekly following his wife to his new life as her maid.

Miss Walker watched her latest creation leave and allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. One more arrogant male successfully converted to femininity. The plans of her benefactor, a young billionnairess who believed in male femininity to make men the servants of womankind, were progressing well. More Maid Academies were being opened up across the globe. In fact, demand for the services the academy offered far outstripped supply. Women all over the world wanted to turn their useless husbands into their maids for their service and for revenge upon the male gender, which still assumed it was the dominant gender.

Times are a changing thought Miss Walker. I won't rest until all males are serving us as pretty, feminised maids and the myth of male dominance is finally put to bed!

The Project - 2001

"Gender Perception and Discrimination: A Study by Laura Newman

Blue is for Boys, Pink is for Girls. This age old mantra has defined gender and the roles that males and females are best qualified to perform within society. One sees a male and instantly identifies him as being a leader and doer. One sees a female and immediately perceives her to be a follower and a passive element.

From birth, males and females are pidgeon-holed into their gender roles and the self-fulfilling prophecy continues. Men become Chief Executives and Doctors whilst women serve them as secretaries and nurses as this satisfies society's expectations of them.

In this study, I intend to find out how gender colours perception and leads to discrimination - mainly against women. I could take the usual course, as a woman, and apply for male-dominated jobs and conduct a study on that basis, but I have decided on a different approach. Using myself and my twin brother, Lawrence, an engineering student at this university, as test subjects, we are going to assume each other's gender and identity and conduct a unique study to see how someone who appears to be male or female is treated by a supposedly equal opportunities employer.

The preparations are all in place. It only remains for the project to begin".

Laura stopped typing the introduction to her final year psychology dissertation and read and re-read what she had just typed. That, she thought, was as much as she was going to get done tonight as she had much to do. Laura had already packed her own stuff and a suitcase on wheels and a holdall sat near the door. She would, however, need to check in her brother and see how he was getting on and he lived on a different campus from her across town. Laura grabbed her cycle hat and high visibility jacket and headed out.

Lawrence Newman was packing his possessions into a holdall when the doorbell chimed. Guessing who the caller was, he went to greet his sister. Laura asked him how far he was from being packed and Lawrence explained that he had almost finished. Laura came inside and gave him a hand.

Watching his sister pack with a speed and certainty that he lacked unnerved him slightly. But then, Laura had often had that effect on him. Although they were twins, they were very different in character and abilities. Laura was driven and focused, whilst Lawrence was more laid back and less assured. From their early childhood, Laura had always done better than him at school and college. If Lawrence hadn't been interested in study or had been a poor student, this wouldn't have bothered him. He consistently got B's and the occasional A, but Laura was a consistent A student. Lawrence didn't know why this was, but it irked him to be the boy, and yet to appear to be the less successful sibling.

Luckily, when they attended the same university, their subjects diverged and so they were no longer in direct competition with each other, but Lawrence would bet good money that whilst he earned a good degree, his sister's would be just that little bit better, as always.

At that precise moment though, he wished that his sister was studying any subject other than psychology, for she had roped him into this madcap project of hers where she would become him..and he would become her. The possessions he was packing would be used by Laura, whilst he would be using the contents of the luggage she had just packed. He gulped as he realised that he would be wearing her clothes and even her underwear.

It was a scary thought.

As if reading his thoughts, Laura, gave him a little smile as she stuffed one of his jumpers into a holdall.

And it was not just a question of wearing her clothes. He would be assuming her name and identity. Tomorrow morning, he would be driving them out of town, still as Lawrence, to a different town where no-one knew them, to a flat paid for by the university that they would share and it would be there that they would make the switch.

This time, 24 hours from now, Lawrence would become Laura Newman and live as a young woman.

Laura announced that she had finished as she zipped up the final holdall. Lawrence suggested that, as the student bar was not far from where he lived, they should go there for a drink, for it would be more than a month before they would see the university again. Laura agreed and they walked over to the bar and purchased drinks.

"Having any jitters about all this?" Laura asked him, as she sipped her coke.

"A few" Lawrence admitted in a low voice to avoid being overheard. He need not have worried, as the student bar was busy and noisy "Being a woman and all....."

Laura reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly "Don't worry. It'll be fine. And this wouldn't have been the first time we've done this, remember?"

Lawrence's face went slightly red at this and Laura giggled "I see that you DO remember!"

Suddenly, Lawrence's mind was transported from the noisy bar back into his and Laura's childhood. Although they had emerged as different personalties, physically, they had been hard to tell apart. Without the clothes and hairstyles that defined the gender of the child and therefore made it easy to tell which twin was which, the twins had looked exactly alike as children.

When they had been aged six, at Laura's suggestion (for even at that age she was emerging as the leader of the two) they had switched clothes to confuse people for fun. Laura put on her brother's shirt and shorts and his socks and shoes and concealed her long hair under his schoolcap. Lawrence donned Laura's lilac dress, socks and mary jane shoes and styled his shoulder length hair like his sisters. It was impossible to discern that the two twins had swapped clothes.

When Laura's friends came to call, Lawrence went out with them and Laura went off to play football with Lawrence's friends. The twins successfully fooled their friends into accepting them in their altered gender roles, until Lawrence came unstuck when a fierce wind blew up the skirt of his dress to reveal that he was wearing boys' underwear. The mother of the girl at whose house he had been playing was not at all amused and marched him back to the house and told his parents.

When Laura got home from playing football, she and Lawrence got a real telling off and were sent to bed. But the game continued and, over the next couple of years, the twins exchanged clothes at school to confuse the teachers. This infuriated the teachers and Laura and Lawrence's parents.

Time and again the twins stood in front of their parents, Laura wearing a boy's school uniform and Lawrence wearing a girls' skirt and blouse, and were sent to bed early with the admonishment "How many times must I tell you? You are not to wear each other's clothes!"

As the twins grew older, though, the swapping became less frequent and then stopped altogether as both twins matured and became focused on doing well at school, rather than irritating the teachers with childish games. Once puberty set in, it would have been increasingly difficult for the twins to impersonate each other, due to the changes going on in their bodies.

Now, for the first time in many years, their game was beginning anew and in a completely different context.

Back in the present now, Lawrence and Laura smiled at each other, recalling the fun they had had so many years ago.

Laura squeezed his hand again "Thanks for doing this for me. I know it won't be easy, but your input will be invaluable. A man impersonating a woman and being treated like one will be a great asset to my dissertation!"

"How do you feel about becoming a man?" Lawrence asked her.

Laura smiled "A little nervous. I'm worried that I'll be spotted right away but I think I can pull it off. We should leave now. We have a big day ahead of us".

Lawrence had to agree. They drank up and headed back to their homes.

Early the following morning, Lawrence packed his cases into his car, drove over to his sister's house and loaded her possessions into the vehicle also. Then they headed off to what was to be their new home for the two months, a small flat in a town far, far away.

Diary Entry - Day One - By subject Lawrence Newman

"The flat that I and my co-subject will be occupying for the next eight weeks is a tiny, poky little dwelling and badly in need of a good clean judging from the layer of dust. We set to work to clean the place up and then unpacked our things. I, of course, got the luggage belonging to my sister. It was very odd to open up the luggage to find dresses and female underwear and realising that I would have to wear these things. I noted that the clothes and underwear chosen for me were more frilly and feminine than the clothes my sister normally wore, for she usually dresses in a more gender neutral style and rarely wears a skirt or dress. When I questioned my co-subject about this, she told me that I would have to dress in a more feminine style to make my presentation as her more convincing.

Once we had eaten and unpacked, my co-subject decided it was time to transform me into her. She ran me a bath and smothered my naked body with a foul-smelling cream. This served to remove all of my body hair and left me as hairless as a baby. My co-subject remarked that I had quite lovely legs that any girl would be proud to own.

I then had to suffer the discomfort and indignity of having a pair of realistic looking, but obviously false, breasts glued to my torso. My co-subject informed me that the glue could only be dissolved by a substance known only to herself and so I should expect to have a pair of breasts for the duration of the project. It was quite weird to suddenly find oneself with a pair of breasts and I noticed that they immediately pulled my upper body downwards until my co-subject fitted me with a lacy crossover bra that was a great relief to me at that time.

After making sure my bra fitted properly, my co-subject suggested that I should wear a corset. I took umbrage at this, for I knew for a fact that she did not wear a corset herself. Ever. However, my co-subject insisted that I wear one, to give me a more womanly shape and as always, she wore my resistance down and so I ended up letting her lace me into a white corset with frilly edgings. I gasped with pain and discomfort as my waist was gradually reduced to the same proportions as her own waist. It was very strange to see myself in the mirror with a pair of breasts and a small waist, the profile of a woman.

I was given a pair of frilly white knickers and something my co-subject described as a cache sex and which was designed to hide any bulges down below. Once I had these items on, I was a flat below as I was busty above.

I was given a pair of black stockings to wear and slid these over my hairless slender legs. I was handed a flower patterned blouse and it took me some time to put on with the fiddly pearl buttons. A denim mini-skirt followed and I stepped into this. It showed off about 90% of my admittedly rather good looking legs. My co-subject then handed me a pair of six-inch black high heels. I objected to them, as it was not yet necessary for me to wear shoes of such height but my co-subject again told me that I needed to do so for the good of the project. I needed to learn to walk in them. Reluctantly, I slipped them on and almost toppled over. My co-subject then taught me how to walk in what I thought to be a device of torture rather than a fashion accessory. I wobbled around in them, until I got used to walking around in them. I was still a little wobbly but had gained in confidence.

My co-subject produced some jewellery, a pair of pretty clip in earrings that were attached to my ears, a matching necklace was placed around my neck and I wore bangles on my wrists that clanked whenever I moved my hands. My co-subject then took a pair of tweezers from her bag and plucked my bushy eyebrows. It hurt like hell! When she had finished with my brows, they had assumed a thin, feminine arch. A wig in her style and both our colours (auburn) was fitted to my head and I was told that it would do until my own hair grew long enough to be convincing.

No make up was applied to me. That particular treat would come when I had to attend job interviews. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that I made a convincing looking girl. My co-subject had been right to make me wear a pair of breasts and a corset for I had a womanly figure. My face was not beautiful, but it was pretty and girlish. Even I became convinced that my new appearance would more than pass.

My co-subject's own preparations to assume my identity took far less time than mine. My co-subject bound her breasts and fitted a false penis to her lower region to give her the bulge down below that I now lacked. She donned a pair of men's underpants, socks, shirt, trousers, jumper and flat shoes. She then got me to clip her long hair short, which I did. The job was far from expert, as I was no hairdresser, but my co-subject seemed happy enough with her new hairstyle.

We stood together in front of the mirror and concluded that she now looked like a very boyish young man, whilst I looked like a pretty, slender girl. The swap had gone off perfectly.

Diary Entry - Day Two - By Subject Laura Newman

My co-subject and I rose early and got ready. I wore a man's shirt, trousers and shoes whilst my subject was dressed in the outfit he wore the previous evening, a pretty blouse and denim mini skirt with high heels. He makes a rather pretty girl. He is coping quite well with the situation, although he does moan sometimes about how uncomfortable his clothes and shoes are to wear. He'll get used to it. He IS still very wobbly in those heels, and we'll have to work on that, but I am pleased with his appearance.

My own appearance is pleasing to me as well and I'm adapting to my new clothes. After a girlhood in skirts and heels, male clothing and flat shoes are very liberating. My co-subject agrees with me that I look like a real chap. I feel like one too. Very masculine and powerful.

We had breakfast, which I made my co-subject do to break him into his new role as the girl of the house and therefore responsible for the cleaning of our flat, cooking our meals, shopping for groceries, and doing our laundry.

Then we got to work, searching local newspapers and the internet (via my laptop) for jobs to apply for. We struck gold by mid morning when my co-subject found two jobs in a local stockbroking firm, Abbotts. The jobs on offer were that of a trainee stockbroker and a junior secretary. These jobs were perfect for the purposes of the study, as the former job was a traditionally male job and the latter a traditionally female one.

We sent in our Curriculum Vitae's (CV's) and a covering letter. We each applied for both positions. As all we could do was wait for a response, I taught my co-subject how to walk and talk more like a female and introduced him to the mysteries of make up. I have to admit that my co-subject is a quick study and picked up his new skills very well indeed. After only a few hours of me showing him how to apply his make up, he was able to put it on with only a little supervision from myself.

Diary Entry - Day Four - by subject Lawrence Newman

The last few days have been very educational and also very confusing for me. I am finding that wearing feminine clothes and being made to do feminine things, like putting on make up, is having an effect on my perspective. Wearing skirts, bras, corsets, tights, high heels and other frilly, lacy things is making me more feminine. I am becoming more concerned about my appearance, more sensitive and more emotional.

But my focus today had been on my job interview. As related in my previous entries, my co-subject and I had applied for positions at a local stockbroking firm called Abbotts. Yesterday, we each received a telephone call inviting us to an interview. However, although we had applied for both positions, I was only offered an interview for the secretarial position whilst my co-subject was called to attend an interview for the more senior and better paid trainee stockbroker role.

My co-subject was pleased by this outcome, for it demonstrated her theory. Our CV's showed that we had roughly the same grades. We were both well qualified for the trainee position. However, I had not been considered for the role and my co-subject had not been considered for the secretarial vacancy. This was a clear example of gender discrimination at work.

In the meantime, I had had to prepare for my interview. I wore a silk blouse, knee-length grey skirt, with a matching jacket and a pair of black high heels. I wore a necklace and earrings and my make up was flawless, as it had to be. I of course wore my wig. For the first time in my life, I had to use a handbag. It felt very weird to have to carry this bag around with me everywhere.

Nervously, I set out for my interview, feeling foolish and very self-conscious. I was aware of the fragrance of my own perfume, the click of my heels against the pavement, the silky feel of my blouse and underwear against my skin, the hotness of my wig and my handbag bashing gently against my hip as I walked. I was terrified that I would be uncovered as the fraud I was at once, but no-one gave me a second glance. Actually, someone did, a boy my own age, who was checking me out but doing nothing more, much to my relief.

The offices of Abbotts were a ten minute walk but that walk seemed to last forever. I was assaulted by alien experiences brought on by my scent and the clothes and jewellery I wore and worried that someone would see through me. I was also nervous about the interview.

However, I eventually arrived and reported into reception. The girl receptionist glanced at me briefly, asked me to sign in as a visitor (it felt very strange to sign my name as Laura Newman) and made a quick call to let my interviewer know that I had arrived. I was asked to take a seat. I walked over and smoothed my skirt down before I sat, as I had observed women doing before me. After a wait of five minutes, an older woman, dressed in a trouser suit, came to collect me, introducing herself as Miss Farley, Head of Administrative Resources. We rode a lift to the twelfth floor, exchanging trite pleasantries about the weather and my journey, before it depositied us into an open plan office where lots of girls were working, furiously typing away.

Miss Farley explained that this was the secretarial pool, where I would start out if I was successful in my interview. Most girls started here until they were resourced to be the secretary of a broker, a manager or even a director.

I was led to Miss Farley's office. To my surprise, there was a man seated behimd her desk. He was in his late thirties, I guessed and his well cut suit suggested he was fairly senior in the company. Miss Farley introduced me to him as Miss Newman and his name was Brian Latimer and he was one of the account managers. He was, Miss Farley explained, not formally involved in the interview, but had expressed an interest to sit in.

He was there to drool over the girl applicants, I immediately guessed.

I took a seat when invited and the interview commenced. The questions fired at me were mainly about my secretarial experience (I actually had none, which they would have known already had they read my CV) and my personal circumstances. I confirmed that I had moved into the area recently and was sharing a flat with my twin brother, who, incidentally, was being interviewed for a trainee broker spot at Abbotts later today.

All the while, as I tried to not only deal with the questions, but talk in a feminine voice, I noticed Brian's eyes fixed on my breasts, which were prominent underneath my silk blouse, and on my long slender legs. I longed to tell him to stop looking at me in that way, but of course could not.

Miss Farly finished her battery of questions and asked if I had any. I asked if my lack of actual secretarial experience would be a problem. Miss Farley thought not. The position was an entry level position and so I would be learning on the job. I was tempted to ask why I had not been selected for interview for the trainee broker position, but had the sense to hold my tongue.

Finally, the interview was over and we exchanged handshakes. I was sure that Brian Latimer was checking out my skirted bottom as I left the room. I was aware that I had just been treated exactly like a piece of meat by a typical corporate lech. It was a horrid feeling to be objectified and made to feel self-conscious and vulnerable.

My co-subject arrived home from her interview two hours after me. She was pleased because her interview had gone well. She had been interviewed by a panel of three senior managers, who had been friendly. She had then been shown around the office and introduced to some of the brokers she would be working with if she got the job before being introduced to some of the directors. Her interview and the way she was treated when perceived to be a man contrasted sharply with my experience when I was perceived to be a woman.

My co-subject was so enthused that she did not ask me how my interview had gone.

We both got calls from Abbotts, letting us know that we had both been successful and that we would be starting tomorrow. This, my co-subject explained, was a cause for celebration and she suggested that we should eat out tonight.

This meant, of course, that I would have to dress up. I shaved my legs and armpits and put on a red dress with matching heels and made myself up. My co-subject, dressed in a tux, took my arm and escorted me to a restaurant. My legs were bare and I could feel the breeze under the skirt of my dress. I carried a clutch bag, envying my partner, who walked easily in a suit and flat shoes.

We went to "Maisies", not the classiest eating house in town, but a few notches up from our usual restaurant back home, and had an enjoyable time. But I was apprehensive, as tomorrow I would be a working girl, working alongside female employees who might spot that I was not a genuine lady, and males like Brian Latimer.

Diary Entry - Day Seven - Entry by Subject Lawrence Newman

I've been working as a junior secretary for Abbotts for the last three days and what an eye opener it has been as a male who is assumed by all to be a pretty young female and treated as such.

Dolled up in my silk blouse, seamed stockings, pencil skirt and high heels, and perfumed and fully made up, I report to the twelfth floor and spend the day typing general correspondence. My work is checked by one of the more senior girls and I'm made to do it again if it is not considered to be good enough. My typing speed and accuracy is increasing rapidly.

I get an hour for lunch and spend it in the staff canteen. When I started, I was assigned a chaperone to help me orientate myself. This was a girl called Cynthia, only a year or so older than myself, who had been with the firm for six months. Cynthia seemed to like me as she continues to lunch with me and passes me her magazines for me to read. I long to read an engineering manual or a serious book, but instead I have to read articles on make up, losing weight and celebrity gossip. However, I have to have some knowledge of these things to pull off my role as Laura.

The ambition of every girl on the twelfth floor is to become the secretary of one of the brokers or a manager or director, for the rise in pay and status is significant. They seek to attract the attention of these senior people, who are overwhelmingly male, and these girls openly flout the dress code to dress more sexily. The offices lechs, of course, including Brian Latimer, appeared frequently on the floor on the flimiest pretext to ogle us girls.

Some of the girls welcomed this, seeing it as their ticket out of the twelfth floor, but I positively bristled with indignation at being ogled. But, it seemed, the greater my displeasure, the more attention the lechs gave me. They came and sat on my desk, touched me on the arm uninvited and tried to chat me up. I was mortified and secretly terrified by all of the attention.

My co-subject came to visit me. Unlike me, she was having an interesting time being trained for her job and enjoying long lunch hours. She seemed happy and oblivious to my low spirits. Her visit was brief, as she was going out to lunch with some of the directors. I watched her with envy.

Diary Entry - Day Eleven - by Subject Laura Newman

What a fantastic time I am having! Seen by all around me as a feisty young male, I am learning how to be a broker and all of the brokers and most senior people have a high opinion of me. I lunch with them every day!

This all proves that perceptions of one's gender dictates how one is treated throughout life.

Look at my poor co-subject. As a boy he would probably be where I am now, but by presenting himself as a girl, he is given a girl's job to do and is even gawped at by other men!

I am finding that in my new male role, I have become completely dominant over my co-subject. I make him do all the chores in the flat to reinforce his new feminine role.

I'm loving this study!

Diary Entry - Day Fourteen - by Subject Lawrence Newman

I am trembling as I write this entry, as what I have feared most has come to pass!

I was touching up my make-up, something I find myself doing quite frequently, and an activity at which I am becoming more skilful, when the odious Brian Latimer approached me and asked me to fetch a client's file for him.

The client files were stored in a room in the back of Floor Twelve, so I had to leave my desk and mince along in my high heels across the floor. I knew that Latimer was watching my skirted behind wiggle as I moved. I went into the room where the files were stored and bent over to find the file that Latimer had asked for. After a minute, my french-manicured hand was clasped around the spine of the file.

But then I became aware that two hands were gripping my bottom. I gasped with surprise and shock.

It was Latimer who was fondling my bottom. He spun me around and began to grope and kiss me. I was too shocked to resist at first. This situation was completely outside my experience. In between ravishing me, Latimer was telling me how hot and sexy I was and that if I was nice to him, he could do a lot for me.

I was frightened and confused. Then his hands began to move down towards my crotch, and I knew that I had to act before he found out what I really was. So I did what any girl would do in that situation and kneed him between the legs. Latimer cried out, fell to the floor and was doubled up in agony. It was quite satisfying to see him in pain. I stepped over him and returned to my desk.

The other girls looked at me, trying to work out from my face what had happened and were disappointed to read nothing.

A few minutes later, Latimer emerged from the file room and left the floor. Outwardly, I controlled myself to be calm and cool, but inside I was a trembling, quivering mess. Some of the other girls asked me what had happened, to which I gave an answer of "nothing".

The girls looked at me, and then at each other, and shrugged.

Later, Brenda, the unofficial leader of the secretaries took me aside.

"Look Laura" she said "I'm going to give you some friendly advice as you aren't fitting in here. If you want to get on in this company you need to attract the men, not knee them in the balls! We know what happened in that room dearie, no matter how hard you tried not to show it. Let the men have their way with you and you'll have a good job as their secretary. And for goodness sake wear a shorter skirt!" was her parting comment.

My mind was in turmoil as I went back to my desk. Not only were the men allowed to have their way with us, but their activities were sanctioned by the women they were molesting. I was being treated like an outcast by the other girls because I wasn't conforming.

When I got home, I cried a little and then got on with the housework. A woman's work is never done.

Diary Entry - Day Eighteen - by Subject Laura Newman

It was my birthday today.

After work, I went out with the boys. They now accept me as one of them and are always clapping me around the shoulder and cracking jokes with me. This masculine culture is certainly different from my past experience.

What I didn't count on was that the boys had lined up a treat for me.

As we dined on steak, drank beers and watched a football match on the big screen there, a girl police officer approached me and asked if I was Lawrence Newman, which I confirmed.

Had I seen the boys' faces I would have twigged what was going on, but my eyes were on the girl cop and my mind was wondering what I had done to warrant the attentions of the police.

The girl told me that she had been told that I had been a very naughty boy and needed to be punished! It was then I worked out that she was no cop, but before I could say anything she began removing her clothes and went into striptease mode.

This was absolutely the last thing I wanted, seeing another girl strip for me, but if I didn't behave correctly, I would compromise my position and reveal who and what I really was. The boys were encouraging me to touch and kiss the by now scantily clad girl, who parked herself on my lap and began to kiss me.

To preserve my role as one of the boys, I kissed her back and ran my hands over her body. The feel of her wet lips and warm, soft body was not displeasing and so it was easy for me to play the guy's role.

Thankfully, the routine ended, with the guys none the wiser. They clapped me on the back manfully and bought me lots of beer. I fell into bed, quite drunk.

Diary Entry - Day Eighteen - by Subject Lawrence Newman

Following Brenda's advice, I now wore a mini-skirt to show off my rather good legs. The girls looked at me approvingly when I appeared in the office wearing it.

It was my birthday and the girls insisted on taking me out clubbing. I had to go home and change into a skimpy dress that showed off my legs, my shoulders and my cleavage, and stilettos that I struggled to walk in despite the fact that I had worn heels for over two weeks. I carried a clutch purse that was the same colour as my dress.

I met the girls, who were dressed pretty much as I was, in a restaurant, where we had a meal.

Much to my surprise, one of the waiters, a tall, black, muscular man, asked me if I was Laura Newman. I confirmed that I was. To my horror, the "waiter" slowly began removing his clothes, with the girls egging him on. I was trapped. There was no way I could refuse to go along with all this. As far as the others were concerned, I was one of the girls, and so they had treated me to every girl's fantasy, a male stripper.

My red face was thankfully hidden by a thick layer of cosmetics and so the girls did not see my embaressment. The stripper was by now wearing only his thong and insisted on my sitting on his lap. I awkwardly perched on the man's lap and, at the urging of the girls, ran my manicured hands over his large arm and chest muscles, marvelling at their size. The stripper finally removed his thong and invited me to stroke his thingy. I looked at the thingy, cringing with shame, but knew I had to play along and so, shuddering inwardly, ran my hands over the male organ, to the delight of the girls.

The ordeal suddenly ended when the stripper picked me up in his arms and gave me a long deep kiss before depositing me back on the ground. I was taken aback by the kiss and realised with shock that I had actually enjoyed being in a man's arms and being kissed! Was I gay? I was sure that I was not, but my feminine role was exposing me to new experiences, both humiliating and delightful.

The girls kissed me and made much of me and I realised that whatever doubts they had had about me before were now extinguished. I really was one of the girls now!

We went on to Solitaires, one of the city's many nightclubs. Ladies were admitted free of charge, whilst the men had to queue and pay, one of the perks of being a "lady" and the reason why the club had been chosen for our night out.

I spent the evening with the girls, drinking and chatting, and learning a lot about each of the girls. Luckily, the girls steadily got drunker and drunker, and took less notice of me, so I was able to relax a little. I was asked to dance by a number of boys and took to the dance floor. The stilettos were agony to dance in but the attention from the boys was very flattering. It made a nice change to be the prey rather than the hunter. Maybe being a girl was not so bad after all.

The girls at last became too drunk to continue and we got taxis home. I fell into bed.

Diary Entry - Day Twenty - by Subject Laura Newman

My training is continuing and I am gaining more confidence and experience in my roles, both as a male and as a stockbroker.

I am now fully accepted as one of the boys. But this has brought its own problems.

A girl secretary, Cynthia, has the hots for me!

Formerly from that pink ghetto, the twelfth floor, Cynthia was brought to our floor to provide additional secretarial support.

She hovers around me as often as possible and tries to talk to me. As a girl, I can read other girls. She is interested in me. Seriously interested. This is a real worry. If I can read her, maybe she will read me and work out that I am as female as she is.

Diary Entry - Day Twenty Two - by Subject Lawrence Newman

I have escaped from the twelfth floor temporarily. My rescuer is none other than my persecutor, Brian Latimer. Due to his heavy workload, he has requested an additional secretary, and asked for me.

I reported to his existing secretary, a much older woman called Caroline. She was older than her boss so I could see that I was going to be the object of Latimer's attention. Caroline was staid and very bossy and made me do most of the work whilst she supervised me. She sniffed in disapproval at my tiny skirt and my heavy make up. She thinks I'm a trollop, I realised. I suddenly yearned to be back with the other girls.

Worst of all, Caroline announced that she had to leave work early to visit her husband, who was in hospital, which meant I would be alone with Brian Latimer. Whilst Caroline was around, Latimer was courteous and polite to both of us. I sensed that that was about to change.

How right I was! Shortly after Caroline had gathered her things and left for the day, Brian called me into his office for some dictation, which I took down as he massaged my shoulders and stroked my hair (by now this was my real hair, which had grown out, rather than the wig I had had to wear intially). Once the dictation was over, he began kissing me. As I was seated, there would be no repeat of my performance at our last encounter. I guessed he had planned all this.

He whispered in my ear how sexy I was and that he would dump Caroline as his secretary in a heartbeat and let me replace her if only I would soften and let him have his way. I had no wish to be his secretary or for Caroline to lose her job and I told him so.

His face grew dark and he threatened to have me sacked if I did not co-operate. He kissed and fondled me and I did not resist. Like any junior employee, the threat of losing my job made me submissive and putty in his hands.

Thankfully, he was content with kissing me and eventually let me go. I was shaking with fright and humiliation. I was learning what it was like to be a sex object.

Diary Entry - Day Twenty Eight - by Subject Laura Newman

My position has been compromised and I'm being blackmailed by that little bitch Cynthia!

That wretched girl has become my nemesis. As I feared, she has "read" me. She ambushed me as I was leaving the office and told me that she had worked out that Lawrence Newman, hotshot trainee broker and one of the boys, was actually a girl. It was obvious from my small hands and body language that I was female.

I tried to laugh it off and tell her to stop being ridiculous but she threatened to march into my boss's office and tell him, which would lead to the very least in my having to undergo a medical examination. I panicked and begged her not to. I had to tell her that this was a project for my dissertation (but without revealing that my brother was masquerading as me). Cynthia accepted this but said that her silence had a price.

Half of my salary, to be exact. I would have to hand over half my wages to her. I had no choice but to agree in order to salvage the project. As a result, although my salary is nominally higher than any secretary, in reality I now take home less. My co-subject now brings home more than me, hardly the outcome I had expected.

Diary Entry - Day Thirty One - by Subject Lawrence Newman

My life as a secretary has become a nightmare as a result of Brian Latimer's constant attentions. The health of Caroline's husband has worsened, causing Caroline to ask for an indefinite leave of absence, a request that Brian willingly granted.

I was now his secretary, and required to dress more sexily. Brian has bought me expensive lingerie and jewellery, which I am required to wear. He likes his women fully made up and so has provided me with the most costly cosmetics to adorn my features.

He is always kissing and fondling me and whispering in my ear how gorgeous and sexy I am. I am scared of him. What would happen if he found out who I really was?

Today, I had to work late, at Brian's request, to finish off some urgent correspondence. The rest of the floor was by now deserted as the rest of the staff gradually filtered out. Brian called me into the office and told me to strip down to my underwear.

I tried to refuse, but he played his trump card and threatened to fire me. Reluctantly, I began to unbutton my blouse. Within a few minutes I stood shivering, nervous and feeling extremely vulnerable clad only in a bra, knickers, stockings and high heels.

I could feel Brian's eyes on my body, appreciating the swell of my breasts, the curves of my hips and my long, slender legs. He took me in his arms and kissed me all over. I felt quite disgusted by him, but could not resist. He let me go and enjoyed seeing me run around after him in just my underwear. I felt soiled and dirty as I put my outer clothes back on when I was finally allowed to go home. I was just eye candy, not a real person in my own right.

I cried as I lay alone in bed.

Diary Entry - Day Thirty Seven - by Subject Laura Newman

I now have a "girlfriend". Cynthia!

She has insisted upon this arrangement, in order to enhance her own standing in the company. To be dating an up and coming broker will improve her own prospects. She is aiming at becoming my boss's secretary and from that position would have a lot of indirect power and influence.

In the meantime, I have to go through the motions of "dating" her. I have to walk her home, take her out for (and pay for!) meals and entertainment. Kiss her in public and call her darling (when all I want to do is strangle the devious little minx!).

All this, in addition to the bribe, is costing me a fortune! The only upside is that, now I have a "girlfriend", my status amongst the boys has improved. With me dating an admittedly pretty girl like Cynthia, there can be no doubts about my masculinity.

Diary Entry - Day Forty Three - by Subject Lawrence Newman

Brian's attentions are becoming more frequent and more irksome. I now spend more time in his arms - and in just my underwear - than ever. To be kissed by another man is utterly revolting and I almost retch when he as much as touches me.

I have been degraded to being a sex slave to a misogynist lech. I don't know if I can take much more of this.

Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Laura Newman

I have decided to bring the project to an end, as I have learned that my co-subject's position has become, if anything, more intolerable than my own.

I am being blackmailed. My poor co-subject has been reduced to a sex object.

We have both agreed to leave our jobs.

My method of leaving was dramatic. My first action was to dump Cynthia. She, of course, threatened to expose me and I told her to go ahead. She was taken aback by this. She clearly wanted our "arrangement" to continue for as long as possible and was disappointed that I wanted to bring it to an end.

She hesitated, then begged me to reconsider. I told her to get stuffed. She was getting nothing more from me. This, as I anticipated, made her angry and she stormed off in the direction of my boss's office.

A short time later, I was called in by my boss and told that certain allegations had been made about me. I would have to attend a medical examination to prove my "maleness". I told him it was unneccessary and undid my shirt to reveal my breasts, which I had released from bondage.

Stunned, my boss took some moments to find his voice. When he eventually spoke, he said that I was fired with immediate effect and that I would be sued for misrepresentation

Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Lawrence Newman

After suffering a crying fit and disclosing to my co-subject full details of the living hell that was my life under Brian Latimer, we agreed that the project should end.

I went into work fully dressed, but once in the ladies powder room, stripped to my underwear and nonchalantly went about my secretarial duties, raising quite a few eyebrows. Caroline, whose husband's health had improved enough for her to return to work, was scandalised and told me to put some clothes on.

Brian was mortified too and asked what the hell I thought I was doing. I told him outright that I was a boy. I dropped my knickers to reveal my thingy. The look on Brian's face was priceless and the women present burst out laughing. Brian, the skirt chaser, was chasing a boy! Brian, thoroughly humiliated, threatened dire retribution. He'd sue me.

Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Laura Newman

We were marched into the office of the CEO, Marcus Jenner, who was told that he had two employees that had obtained employment by deception.

We were fired immediately, but that went without saying. We had deceived our employer, after all.

As to being sued, luckily that would not happen. Lawrence countered that if we were sued, he would present his own lawsuit of sexual harressment against Brian Latimer and Abbotts.

This would cause Abbotts (and Brian Latimer) much embaressment and unwelcome media attention, so it was agreed that neither side would be suing the other. My dissertation would not mention the firm involved in the study, I promised. We would leave quietly. We were escorted from the building.

We heard later on that Brian Latimer had been dismissed for misconduct towards female employees and that the company's equal opportunities policy was more rigourously enforced. There were more women brokers and more male secretaries, so this study had a positive outcome.

My dissertation was written and, as my brother predicted, whilst he got a good engineering degree, I got first class honours. Women totally rock!