“Open!” Sister Constantia held the plastic teat of a large pacifier in front of Jacob Rossmann while Sister Voluptua held his arms at his sides from behind. Whether he wanted the pacifier or not, Sister Rosetta’s satin gloves forced his jaws apart and the teat squeezed in. She threaded its strap through the buckle and fastened it tight at the back of his neck. He found himself held again from behind on his stool of daffodil satin.

  “Don’t blame anyone but yourself,” she declared from the depths of her starched bonnet. “You have been committed to the control of the Nursing Sisters of the Satin Sheath, bound over for constantly stealing panties, petticoats and pantyhose from wash-lines. You are a menace to womankind, and we will make you pay dearly.”

  Jacob tried every possible position of his mouth to voice his objections but the pacifier was tight and it was huge. His cheeks bulged round its long, mouth-filling teat. The Sisters saw his efforts and forced him to cooperate.

  “Squeeze and suck,” ordered Sister Voluptua, her satin breasts resting on his shoulders as they cupped the back of his hair. “Do it!” added Sister Rosetta, and their hands were everywhere on his body, knowing just which spots were his weakest areas for tickling. Jacob moaned, hemmed in by their satin gowns, unable to wriggle, and succumbed quickly to their torture.

  In front of him, Sister Constantia unfolded a large disposable diaper and sprayed the heart of it in hormonal treatments. His nose caught the scent of baby-rooms with a flavor of girlishness. He breathed in deeply, sucked more strongly, and as he was lifted under the arms from behind, the diaper slid beneath him for his pink pantyhose to sink into its smooth softness. Voluptua held his hands out of the way for the others to wrap him in it and seal him shut.

  Why was he feeling so excited? Was it the long satin dresses that surrounded him? The arm-length satin gloves? The way they stood over him so that he felt overpowered and vulnerable between their deliciously attractive forms? Or was it the way their heavily made-up eyes peered at him in frames of pure white satin? Sister Constantia solved the mystery for him.

  “You are enjoying your sucks, boy. No wonder. Sissies like you want to be more and more feminine, and your pacifier is filled with oestrogen hormone. Every suck will bring you nearer to being a girl.”

  Jacob stopped sucking in alarm.

  “A BABY girl,” added Rosetta.

  “That’s what you are here for,” explained Voluptua. “The court has ruled that you will be treated with hormones, internally and round your genitals, until you become female.”

  Jacob would have swooned off his stool if he had not been held in place from behind. This was terrible. He was being changed medically – against his will. At least when he pinched women’s lingerie, it was his own choice. But –

  He was lifted again, and blue plastic baby pants slid under him, were pulled together, and the pop fasteners were matched and popped tightly up the insides of his thighs and groin. He found himself sucking again – he liked the feminine feeling of being held between women in satin as they turned him into a girl baby. In any case he couldn’t resist. His arms had become soft and heavy and he slumped more and more into Voluptua’s grip. Sister Constantia held a pink petticoat open for him, and Rosetta fed his hands into the puffed sleeves, then supported him as he sagged forward for Voluptua to fasten the baby buttons down the back. The ache of pleasure in his diaper was almost unbearable.

  “You will find,” said Sister Constantia as she unhooked his satin dress from its hanger, “that your greatest pleasure each day is for the Nursing Sisters to put you into your baby dresses.”

  “And your baby bonnets,” added Rosetta, supporting him against her legs as she engulfed his head in a white silk bonnet with deep frills. It focussed his eyes on the satin little-girl dress that approached him in Sister Constantia’s hands. “Little baby boys have to be put into powder blue dresses until they are girl enough for prettier colours,” she said, and as the dress sizzled over his petticoat, he knew from the depths of his bonnet that he wanted nothing more than to wear whatever the Nursing Sisters wanted to dress him in. The pleasure inside his baby pants was telling him he wanted to be a baby girl, and as his dress was fluffed out around him and his bonnet was opened a little for him to find the Sisters’ bonnets peering in, his future was sealed with squirts erupting into the soft, sweet enclosure of his hormonal diaper.