Manageress Delia Watson called the girls from their places to join her at Barry Hardwick’s desk. “Look at what he’s watching. Isn’t that Pansy Barbara’s legs, having fresh stockings pulled up them – and clipped onto his garter belt? Ah yes, there he is, in your bra Petula: and he has to wear your panties too, doesn’t he?”

Grace Carruthers and Petula Shamesly got a fit of giggles as they watched his screen over the sissy’s shoulders. Now that Delia had allowed them to stop work, they knew they would have half an hour of fun, undressing their office pansy and putting him into his next office-secretary outfit. The wretched male in their midst sobbed with inconsolable tears.

“Ahhh!” sympathised Grace, “Does our little Barbie feel all embarrassed at the video of himself being dressed up and put into his fashion belts?”

“No wonder little Barbie is crying,” added Petula. “He’s been watching us dressing him all morning.

“It’s time for a wardrobe change, Pansykins,” declared Delia. “I think your panties are wet.”

“Wet or creamy,” said Grace, undoing the buckles at his arms while Petula undid his legs. “It’s so obvious you like us to keep you fastened in our skirts and blouses, isn’t it?”

“Blouses with pussy bows and billowing sleeves,” giggled Petula, “and high boots that zip right up your legs, sissy-boy.”

They got their fellow ‘secretary’ to his feet so that he tottered on the spot for them to unlock the back of his skirt and blouse. They slipped the silk off his arms to reveal the long-line bra of Delia’s that he had been wearing for the past hour and a half. His skirt unzipped to his ankles, releasing his thigh boots from the constriction of its acetate lining.

“Yuck! I’d say there are two climaxes in there!” said Grace, parting the skirt and peeling it away from his sticky, still-erect penis. “But no pee yet. Maybe he needs another baby-bottle, Delia?”

“No doubt. We can feed him once we’ve got him dressed again. Use this outfit, girls, and change that gag: look at all that slobber on his blouse.”

As the ball escaped his mouth, Barry Hardwick made his misery heard. “Please stop this! Please don’t keep me in your skirts – and these awfully silky blouses. It’s draining away my manhood! You’re turning me int- ”

His grumbles were halted with the help of a larger ball of shiny red rubber, which Delia buckled severely under his chin and behind his neck. Over it want the neck ribbons of his next pussy bow blouse, in glossy magenta pink, with the lock at his throat which she secured and kept the key on a chain down her blouse. “And seal him into this really tight skirt, girls. I think we’ve been allowing him an inch or two of leg movement. I want him utterly helpless as he is watching us dress him in his punishment videos. That’s the way to keep him conscious at all times that he is the weakest and most sexless individual in my office. And if he ejaculates again, so be it. He’ll be deepening his love of being locked into our clothes with no hope of escape before home time.”

A Prim story from www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com/feminization.htm