BoyTrainers, Inc.

He went crazy, scampering around the room, trying to climb onto the chair, toilet, table, dresser – they were all electrified. There was no escape. Finally, sobbing in defeat, the current still running through him, he crawled back over to the mirror. He stood up, and put his feet back into the circles. The electric current stopped.

"CONTINUE," the voice demanded.

Tears running down his cheeks, he started swishing his hips gracefully in front of the mirror.

"~i like being fancy~" the soft voice cooed.

"I like being fancy," Peter repeated in a sissy voice, choking back tears. He moved his hips in a graceful figure–eight.

"~i'm a little priss. i like putting on stockings~"

Peter repeated in his girl voice. His eyes fell down to the floor.

"WATCH YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR."

Peter brought his eyes back up to the horribly embarrassing image in front of him.

"BRING YOUR HANDS UP TO SHOULDER–LEVEL. LET YOUR WRISTS DANGLE."

He did as he was told. He swished, and thought that he looked completely ridiculous, dancing in front of the mirror in frilly girl's lingerie, his wrists dangling, swishing his hips. The voice told him to repeat more things. And when he didn't say it sweetly enough, or in the right pitch, he would get little shocks.

"I'm dainty and pretty. I like to prance and priss in the mirror. I'm a pretty pansy sissy boy."

"TOUCH YOUR PENIS"

The voice made him stroke himself while he danced, while he kept the other limp–wristed hand held high. It instructed him to use only his thumb and middle finger on his penis, and to stroke it. "SLOWLY AND SWEETLY," the voice said.

Against his will, Peter's penis started to get very hard. He stroked in rhythm to the dancing and swaying, taking his reflected image in as he did so. He didn't want to look, but he got little shocks when his gaze drifted elsewhere. Apparently, they were watching from behind the mirror, and wanted him to look at himself all the time.