I was joined by another naked womanlike man in an hour's time, and then a third in a few more minutes. I'd not seen any of these men, but both of them had head brands that ended in FS. I tried to figure that out, coming up with Female Slave, Farm Slave, Factory slave. I knew all to be possible, this complex clearly full of both cramped dorms and fully functional businesses. I could see old time smokestacks, and I'd even seen a line or two of naked men being shuffled into one factory-like building on my way over. I couldn't imagine how much money these women were making with all of this free labor.

Anyway, we, the three of us, were made to stand, completely unguarded, at the Maid entrance for awhile longer before being shuffled inside the low and common back door.

As I turned in, last to enter, I yearned to be back home, a man, with a real dick, and off to my sister's to meet that girl, Ellis I believe, she'd said she wanted to introduce me to. Or even taking on the offer from my ex to shack up and take a common job as her handyman seemed acceptable, under the circumstances. At least it paid, and she'd maybe even let me keep myself housed in her granny house. It's humiliating taking on a job from an ex, but comparatively speaking .

Anyway, I had, had lots of time to reflect, and almost anything was better than this. So, why did I wait and not try to escape? For one, I knew that the women in charge had seen it all before; I'd not escape easily. Further, I'd already been a lab rat, and been put down as a Kavorkian candidate, compared to that, anything was escape, even slavery. And, of course, if I tried to run, they could sell my body off as parts, and they would if I was trouble, I knew. Shit, whatever was in the door I was ducking into was sure to be better than being hunted down and slaughtered for eyeballs and kidneys. I knew that it was better than being a test animal. Hell, I walked in eagerly.

Then, as I let my eyes adjust to the lesser light of the room, it struck me that my ex-wives and my sister knew where I was, or could at least try to find out. My sister did care about me, and my one ex, Florence, might want to look me up too. Even that counselor, Lisa, well, she'd seemed like she liked me. Once I got clear of the hopelessly controlled lab, they might make an appearance and get this mistake taken care of for me. All I needed was an agent to rectify the error of making my vacation into a holy nightmare!

"Morning ladies, my name is Madam Cloe. When I've taught you how to speak, you may simply call me Madam," was the first thing the severe looking woman said as she paced in front of us with our folders in her mitts. She passed within inches of the three of us, we three unadorned in any fashion other than our brands, naked as the day we were born; well, not exactly as we were born, but naked none-the-less. We stood side by side, touched and remained connected, each on one of the five white X's facing an old, wood veneer desk in a small, dingy, back room that was adorned by hung mops, brooms and one overhead bulb.

"I am to congratulate each of you for excelling and success at your previous temporary assignment; your excellent marks in tests and in internet activities, as well as your excellent physical development. All of this has earned you the right to step up to a much steadier position as your next assignment, as one of our Hotel Maid candidates. Believe me, this is a job entrusted to only our most deservedly patient slaves. Though you will never fully achieve female status, we do consider imitation to be better than the disgusting male package. Of course, all of our guards, teachers and guides here, like well over half of the general female population, are nano enhanced lesbians, so appearances, superficial or not, help enormously in how you are viewed."

"The first step in that program is what we affectionately refer to as our Bimbo Wannabe programming and of course, appearances and profiles. You all have a wonderful head start as, I must say, surprisingly successful subjects for our nano technologies. One of you, in fact, was a test subject for our latest model of nano."

She looked at me, and lifted my right nipple with the same finger that had pointed us to our X's. Letting it go after an inch of lifting, my breast warbled like the succulent jug it most certainly had become. A good quarter of my much starved and nano-altered body weight must have been contained within the fat of my knockers. The other two men secretly broke protocol and glanced over at my breast as well, neither of them more than a B cup; making my double D's obscene by comparison. She smiled, and added, "It is amazing that the cat brings in . usually."

The lecturing woman was wearing a dark grey suit, not quite of the tailor of a business dress, but almost; white socks, black, sensible shoes with reflective quality. She seemed more Sergeant, like a butler, perhaps, in this enormous mansion that I found myself assigned. I'd been told to wait outside by something much tinier than this two hundred pounds of fully wrapped, fifty year old, thin-lipped woman who had finally allowed the three of us in when the other two had arrived. We'd been shown the X's with an authoritative finger, and we'd, of course, figured out that the proper stance was attention.

"Now, I do understand that the cat has also had your tongue for the past few months, and I personally feel that this alone has set each of you at an advantage over those who come to us from the regular ranks as a first assignment. You will pass many of those in your duties here, but pay them no mind, it is my responsibility to see that they are as quiet and obedient by nature as you older girls. And, for those rare moments when a response is asked of you, we'll be soon teaching you all of the words that you'll find useful in your next line of employment. We'll start this job like any other; with the paperwork . oops, I'm sorry, you've all filed everything we need, it appears. Oh yes, very nice, we have all that we need indeed to do as we wish," she said, having been glancing at our folders from the time we'd arrived.

They had us mute and all signed up for whatever they wanted; I'd already found out that when I'd been introduced as a lab rat six months earlier. I'd been frightened that I'd not make it out of that alive, and so, with an odd sense of both fear of losing my last ounce of masculinity, and with hope born on the knowledge that some fates are worse, I endured the realization that I was now stuck in yet another trial. It all made me clammy to think that I seemed continually too scared to even think about objecting to the authoritative woman addressing us and introducing us into yet another seemingly long term project of self removal from our whole sense of identity and dignity.

I was on the far right, near the now locked and tiny wooden side door. The skin of the woman-slash-man to my left was smooth, clammy and starting to match mine in sweat. I'd stolen glances too, and was amazed to note that he still had the most of a dick; four or so flaccid inches in fact, and with the hint of a pair of exposed balls; the new nanos I'd been given were indeed far better at reducing my manhood; my dick was almost nonexistent, my balls sucked into my body several inches, and from the feel of them, probably as mushy and minor as anything else I could imagine inside of a pussy. My penis (or was it a clit?) was an inch at best, on the rare occasion that it woke up and found its way outside of my triangular pussy patch. That's not to say that I didn't get horny even while flaccid. Hell, I'd been constantly horny and unrelieved since I'd arrived. Still, in present company, men who still had most of a wiener and women who seemed intent upon extracting every last shred of masculinity out of us, sex was far more of a threat than a promise for me, I understood.

The other men, still mostly men, had stolen glances at me since we'd been lined up outdoors, and they made me more uncomfortable than the Mistresses. Of course that made sense, since I'd been one of the first new nano recipients and thus, very successfully changed. As for the guys, they'd not been laid since getting here either, I assumed, and the only naked pussy in this outfit appeared to be me. In fact, reflecting back to my one glance at my own reflection, I was about the most attractive looking women I'd seen since arriving. I even wanted to fuck me. It even struck me that with my hands free I might even be able to fuck me, given that my dick hovered mostly hidden in a stripper's patch of hair and right over my new testicle retracted pussy. Thinking that weird and perverted thought sent me into another tailspin of self loathing when it also occurred to me that my dick wasn't even long enough to do that, in spite of the short, one inch reach it would need to make the journey.

Someone could tell me to go fuck myself, and I'd have to answer then, "I want to, but I can't."

With so many of the women letting themselves be advertised into taking nanos and becoming lesbians, everyone here was sure to be into women. At no time since my arrival did I covet clothing more. The other men had been feminized, sure, but one look at the crotch told otherwise - not true in my case, I thought with much shame.

"Right this way, girls," demanded the stately butler-like Madam Cloe. We followed into a much larger room, this one with a blackboard on the wall and several chairs that had been shoved aside so that we had a bit of a floor.

"You may stand at ease in a row. I trust that you airheads can manage without markings on the floor. Now, clasp one hand with the other, fingers interlaced, relaxed at your lap, heads slightly down, but eyes attentive. Very nice. I can already tell that our resource people were correct in assigning you to us; you were almost certainly maids in a pervious life. Of course, back then they didn't have hotel cleaning specialists and foreign women doing the jobs; but actual American women who did these services for minimum wage. One can hardly imagine the barbarity of such a thought as imposing such a thing upon a valuable lady when we might have caught on decades earlier. I mean, after all, we have always had a majority vote, should we have been eager to use it. You three are to be throwbacks, however; properly outfitted maids, and how one carries oneself is of utmost importance in any station in life."

I'd held out hope for better, but there we had it; maids. I was red from hearing it spelled out so plainly. Perhaps I should have escaped when I was outside?

"First of all, I shall teach you your vocabulary. It's simple really, as are most duties done by our maids. We will start with "Yes Madam," "Sorry, Madam," "Thank you Madam," and unfortunately, an occasional, "Yes Sir," or, "No Sir," and "Thank you Sir." You might notice the difference. A maid is never to say no to a member of the superior sex, but since men are sometimes not bright enough to understand anything but a direct no, we allow it in that case. Shall we practice our maid vocabulary?" She paused, "I didn't hear a response?"

We trickled out, "Yes Madam," my voice cracking right off the bat from lack of use for six full months. I even felt myself shrinking at the knees, expecting the shock that didn't come due to me being completely unelectrified and unrestrained.

"Yes Madam," she said, we responding better.

"Sorry Madam," she continued.

"Too loud HM-199," she chided, slashing me on the hip with a meter long switch.

"Too softly, HM-102," she added to the man beside me, hitting him harder.

"Not deferential enough, HM-565. Bend over," she told the last man, laying on ten horizontal stripes that even using peripheral vision I could tell were going to be pink for several days.

Done with that, we all concentrated much more as she led us into our language drills several times around. It amazed me how high all of our voices had become. Mine, in fact, was positively pixy; I'd not expected that, the last time I'd heard it had been pre-nano. Perhaps it was just dry, I wondered, but found it not the time for testing as I tried my best to please and be demure, a thing that a pixy voice only enhanced. When she was pleased, we sounding like a perfectly tuned choir of three and no outstanding voice, she went on to lesson two:

"Now for walking. Since you are imitating and striving toward employment as ancient female maids, you will be required to exaggerate the qualities found in such shameful representatives of the superior sex. By that, I mean, walking with sway and proper hand gesture. There needs to be just the proper amount of teasing jiggle in your hooters. Alright ladies, arms down to the sides and relaxed. Now, leaving the elbows roughly at your sides, lift the foremost arms and lift at the wrist. Palms facing the floor, fingers up even more than the hands and somewhat apart. Little finger out more than most. Little fingers, little fingers; yes. Now, holding that pose, try to make it look relaxed, natural, like you haven't even passed a thought, it being the natural walk of a born bimbo."

I was mortified. I'd have liked my hands over my crotch a lot more. This was a virtual invitation for others to look at me naked, as if by pointing gay fingers outward I was actually pointing inward, straight at my pussy.

"When you walk, pretend you are walking on a single line and let your body move from side to side as you do so. Let's all turn to the right, and start walking in circles around me. Go ahead, walk. Oh, goodness no, slut 102. Relax those hips. Breathe. This should feel normal for airhead maids. This is how you walk - not a gymnastics exercise. It's walking. It's simple. It's perfectly sissy. Come on, sissies. Sissy, sissy. Primp for your Mistress. Purse those lips. Sway the hands just a little. Fingers up! Make those peckers rise as you walk by your Mistress's boy. Everybody loves a sissy. Make those steps sweet as candy. Smooth. No eyes should have to nod as your pussy passes. Dainty now. Tits and ass on parade. Pucker those lips; need I tell you everything about how to be a proper bimbo? Come on; get into it 102!"

She slashed HM-102, him just ahead of me and not at all good at it. The most manly of us all, he still had a square ass, and mostly just reminded me of a gay man who had made himself up to look ridiculous. I could make out enough of myself to understand that I, conversely, made no such impression at all. Even naked enough to find the flaws, it seemed to me that I was a walking slut on parade! To Madam Cloe I was just a bimbo, walking sexy, like on one of those old Vegas floor show disks I'd once looked at. Posing for the jeers. With HM-102 they'd be yelling, "Put it on!" With me it'd be, "Come over here bitch and sit on my drunk cock!" I was both elated that she didn't once have to slash me for walking poorly, and humiliated that, even though I often relaxed more than comfortable due to being tired, she never once found me male enough to slash either.

As for tiring, I was exhausted. I'd been laying in a lab for six months, and been dizzy just getting up in the morning. Now I'd waited out the door, stood at attention while lectured, and been asked to go bimbo walking for my instructress. The dizziness was returning fast, me figuring that I had minutes before I'd swoon and pass out like the dizzy weakling I was.

"OK. I can see that we need more practice, but first let's get our new maids onto something less stressful - it being a big day for you all, I'm sure." We pranced into a third room that most humiliating since it struck us that prancing into the next room like that reflected the new reality that our walk was more than a passing humiliation. Good thing nobody was around to see us prancing like fags in a floorshow.

In the next room we were there seated in three of the five swivel seats in front of sinks. Three ugly maids walked in and started on each head of hair, ours having grown quite long and unkempt in our lengthy stay. I noticed how tall each of them were, and the size of their hands. Dressed in orange dresses with plastic aprons to ward off the water and chemicals of hairdressing, these seemed not prime meat; clearly males in drag; maybe most primitively nanoed to a point of being unpassable as any sex.

Each of us was colored platinum blond, trimmed, curled, and then sat at the hairdryers. There at the dryers, they even had the New Cosmo magazine, the hairdressers instructing us to read them. Madam Cloe was on break, so with hesitation I picked mine up, a bit miffed at having been told to do so by the drones. I found my eyes racing over the stories, ads and pictures, the brain having been starved for anything stimulating. Apparently we'd voted in a new President who was very fashion conscious. Her First Lady was a guy who liked pink ruffled shirts, one ad told me. It was disgusting, me thinking that the First Man was nothing but a showpiece for fashion.

FemWorld had two ads in Cosmo, one up front showing a smiling man kissing the thigh of one of the most sensuous looking women I'd ever seen; clearly a computer face fab on her. He seemed happy, as I would be under such passive domination. In back it was a full page, featuring all sorts of jobs that appealed to me, including what they called animal training and maid fantasy, as if it were just a thing one did for a weekend outing, play a little doggie and dress-up. Deceptive as hell, I had finally come to understand. I eagerly put the Cosmos down when we'd all been properly dried, uncurlered and fluffed.

They finished me up with a powder and some liner and lipstick, and set us in line at the same door we'd come in at, the three male maid hairdressers departing with no more than one whisper into my ear saying, "You're a hot one, baby."

I looked over at the hairdresser and noticed a bulge in his skirt. It occurred to me that the hairdresser were pure gay. I felt like running out of the room that he was leaving anyway, saving me the risk. Was he a risk? Could he molest me without winning the wrath of the Goddesses? Here had been this trans hairdresser, fixing my face and hair and he had been gawking at my boobs and pussy like I was candy on a stick ready to be licked while I'd been absorbed in my own problems and inattentive. The hairdresser's lips, red as mine, but on a less nano-feminized face, seemed to glisten with saliva as she'd worked. It was a rare moment that I wished for the return of the sadistic butler-like overseer, Madam Cloe, and of course, I felt much better with him gone, even if it did mean that we were unsupervised and made to wait in yet another line for more unknowns.

I remembered my training and folded my hands over my cock. Using my little finger to touch myself, I felt instantly erect, though looking down at it I didn't see much of a change other than the hardening of my inch and maybe how it seemed a bit more red. What would Madam Cloe think if she saw my dick red though, I wondered, willing my dick to relax, and mostly losing.

Madam Cloe collected us, taking us to what smelled and felt like a back room off of some main kitchen. We were sat at a plain wooden table in plain wooden seats and a maid came in with plates and cups. The cup was water, and the food bland, but to me it was a challenge eating what little they'd offered. I'd not eaten in six months, and had to retrain my throat. Each bite took too long to chew. My jaw ached and my throat felt raw. Them my stomach started to churn, me wondering if the time as a lab rat had ruined something along the way.