No More Empty Threats

No More Empty Threats

by Rosie

“Actually, there’s one more thing I bought for you,” Lauren, Sandra’s mother said.

Reaching out behind the couch, she pulled out another bag, marked by the same logo as the bags at Sandra’s feet.

“Oh, no, please tell me you didn’t,” Sandra said, horrified, as she opened the bag. With a glum expression, she started to take out the offending garment – a beautiful, pale blue dress made of silk and chiffon.

“Bill really seemed to like it,” Lauren said, with a mischievous grin.

I recognized the dress immediately, and while my heart did increase its pace in excitement, I could not help but feel guilty at the same time. Sandra had tried this dress on, at my insistence, when we were shopping together with her mother some days ago. It had a full skirt that reached below the knee, and billowing, diaphanous chiffon sleeves and wide, satin cuffs, that closed with a row of tiny, satin covered buttons. Even though I knew Sandra wouldn’t like it, as it was much more feminine than anything else she owned, I begged her to try it on until she finally relent it. The sight of that frilly, gauzy dress on her powerful figure simply took my breath away. When she declined my offer to buy it for her, I even dragged her mother into the discussion, ignoring my girlfriend’s obvious discomfort and embarrassment. I wouldn’t even let her avoid the embarrassment of wearing it outside of the changing booth, where her six foot figure, encased in the shimmering fabric, attracted the attention of everyone in sight. The only victory she managed in the end was to resist my, and my mother’s offers to buy the dress. At least it seemed that way until now.

Holding the dress halfway still in the bag, she took an annoyed sigh, and looked first at her mother, then at me. Then, as if capitulating before us, she let the bag fall on the floor and held the dress out by the shoulders.

“It’s not even my size,” she complained to her mother, “I don’t know what you were thinking. Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could fit into that. If anything, it’s closer to…”

Then her voice trailed off and she looked at her mother.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, with a dead serious expression.

“As I said,” Lauren replied, ignoring Sandra’s obvious anger, “Bill really seemed to really like it.”

Sandra looked at me.

“Well,” she said after a moment of silence, “Looks like it’s actually for you.”

She dropped the dress in my lap, then pulled a chair from the dining table and sat on it backwards, hugging the backrest and resting her chin on the back of her palm.

“I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” I mumbled to no one in particular, suddenly afraid to even touch the fine fabric I had wanted to wrap my girlfriend in.

Instead of replying, Sandra just stared at me until I could no longer pretend not to understand the obvious.

Pleadingly, I looked at Lauren, hoping that she would say she was only kidding, take the dress from me and it would all be over. But she didn’t.

“Well?” she said finally, “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

“What? Why? No!” I blurted out.

“Why not?” Lauren asked, “I thought you liked it.”

“I liked it on Sandra,” I said, defensively.

“Unfortunately, Sandra didn’t like it,” Lauren replied, “So if you really like it, you’ll have to wear it yourself.”

“I don’t like it that much,” I said.

“How can you say that, without trying it on first?” Lauren said. I blushed with embarrassment as I recognized the exact same words I used to persuade her daughter into trying the dress on.

“Please, Lauren,” I almost whispered, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I’ll be embarrassed,” I said.

“Sandra was embarrassed, too,” she said, “But you still wanted her to try it on.”

 I sighed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so pushy,” I said, “But this is not the same.”

“What’s not the same?” Lauren said, “It’s the same dress.”

“It’s not the same for me or Sandra,” I said, hoping not to sound too stupid for explaining the obvious, “It’s different for a guy or a girl to wear a dress. I mean, girls wear dresses, right?”

“Not all girls do,” Lauren said, “And some guys wear dresses, too.”

I shot a glance around the room, and caught the sight of Sandra, now with a rather satisfied smirk on her face. Finally, I understood what this was about. I took a deep breath, preparing to do what I now knew I had to do.

“Okay,” I said to her, “Look, I apologize for making you try on this dress at the store. I knew you wouldn’t like it, and I knew you would be embarrassed, but I still wanted you to do it. That was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it, and I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she chirped, and a wave of relief swept over me.

“Now go and try your dress on,” she added.

“But…” I tried to protest.

“You can change in my bedroom,” Lauren said before I could speak, “Will you manage by yourself or do you want me to help you?”

I stared at her in shock silence, and apparently a second too long for her.

“Right,” she said, standing up, “Let’s go.”

“I’ll change by myself,” I said hurriedly, and quickly went to her bedroom, closing the door behind be before she could come in.

I could feel my pounding heartbeat in my ears as I stripped down to my shorts. Then, I unfolded the dress on Lauren’s bed and tried to figure out the best way to get into it. Finally, I undid the zipper at the back, stepped into it and pulled it upwards until I could put my hands through the sleeves.

I heard a knock at the door.

“Are you read?” Lauren asked.

“Almost,” I replied, moving towards the door to keep her from coming it, but I was too late.

“Let me give you a hand,” she said, as she deftly pulled up my zipper.

A gasp of surprise escaped my mouth as I suddenly felt the cool silk enwrap my upper body. Lauren took my right hand and started closing up the buttons on my cuff.

“This buttons can be tricky,” she said after she started working on the other cuff.

I waited in comfortable silence as she closed the remaining buttons, knowing those were the last seconds I could enjoy before being made to step back into the living room.

Sure enough, as soon as she was done, Lauren took my hand and led me out of her bedroom.

Sandra was sitting on the sofa I had sat on, and the TV was already turned on, though the movie we wanted to see hadn’t started yet.

“Oh, God,” she gasped after she finally turned to face me, then turned to her mother “You actually made him do it.”

“I didn’t make him do anything, he was already wearing the dress when I came in,” she said, then turned to me, “Weren’t you.”

I nodded, glumly.

“And?” Sandra said.

“Looks perfectly fine, if you ask me,” Lauren replied.

“Yeah, it does, actually,” Sandra said, “Except for the hairy legs, of course.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Lauren dismissed her, “Right, Billy?”

I looked at her in alarm, trying to think of a suitable reply, but she had turned her attention to the television as well.

“Um, could you help me again, please?” I said to her, “I’d like to change back now.”

“Already?” she said, sitting down on her sofa, “Nah, keep it on for a while, see how it feels like after you get used to it.”

“But…” I tried to protest, but it was in vain. With the starting credits rolling, the eyes of both females were glued to the screen. Shrugging my shoulders, I sat down next to my girlfriend.

Though I was still very embarrassed at first, after a while I relaxed enough to focus on the action on the TV. Before I knew it, the movie was over and as we talked about it, I suddenly realized no one, including myself, made the slightest acknowledgement I had spent the whole evening in my dress, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Would you like another bite to eat?” Lauren offered as we helped her clear up the remains of the snacks from the living room.

“Nah, we best get going,” Sandra replied.

“Well, in that case,” Lauren turned to me, “I suppose I should help you get out of your dress.”

“Yes, please,” I said, blushing.

Although relieved to be back in my own clothes, I was already starting to miss the soft, airy feel of the dress. As Sandra was picking up her parcels scattered around the room, Lauren folded up my dress and put it in a bag.

“Don’t forget your dress,” she said, handing me the bag.

“Oh?” I said, “Umm, I thought you were going to return it at the store.”

“Why on Earth would I return it?” she said, “I got the impression that you quite liked it. I mean, you sat there wearing it without a word of protest.”

“Sandra?” I said desperately, turning to my girlfriend.

“It’s your dress,” she shrugged, “It makes no sense to leave it here.”

“In fact,” Lauren said, taking it out of the bag again, “Since we know it fits, we don’t need these anymore, do we?”

Pulling out scissors from a drawer, she cut off the tags, then gave me back the dress that she had irrevocably confirmed into my ownership.

“You know,” Sandra said as we were walking to my car, “You looked kinda cute in your dress.”

“I thought you didn’t like the hairy legs,” I muttered, afraid someone would hear us.

“Just wait until you try it on properly,” she said.

“Properly?” I moaned, “Oh come on, Sandra, not you too.”

“What?” she said, “Don’t try to act like you didn’t like it.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, until she reached around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her until my head was on her shoulder, drawing an amused glance from a couple of girls passing by.

“See?” she said, “You’d look a lot less out of place right now if you were wearing your dress.”

The eruption of giggles from the girls that had passed us was a clear sign they heard her, and that she didn’t mind to be heard.

With the dinner safely kept warm in the oven, I kept myself busy setting up the table. It was going to be the second time Lauren would see me wear the dress she had bought for me. Although only a month had passed since the first time, it seemed as distant as another life to me. While the pale blue chiffon dress was the only dress I had owned at that time, my closet was now brimming over with dresses, skirts and tops, some donated by Sandra’s girlfriends, some bought brand new. I wasn’t wearing the dress over hairy legs and men’s underwear this time. My body was now completely hairless below the neck. My privates were kept in the smooth, slippery confines of my satin panties, and kept safely hidden from view by my tight, white satin teddies. My legs were encased in white floral patterned pantyhose and my feet shod in patent white pumps with three inch stiletto heels that I had long since learned to walk in. My clever pushup bra moulded the flesh of my chest into small, but undeniably real bust.

My hair was now curled and adorned with a white satin band that sported a rather large white silk rose. I was wearing full makeup and my nails were colored in a shade of pink to match my lipstick.

After I was finished with the table, I went to the bedroom. Although it wasn’t needed, I decided to touch up my mascara. At least it would give me something to do. In the mirror, I noticed Sandra approaching from behind. She too was wearing a dress, a simple black sheath, and thick black tights. She had even put on her heels and though they weren’t as high as mine, they still made her tower over me. She put her hands on my shoulders.

“I got teased a lot in school, because of my height,” she said, absent minded, “Kids called me a lesbian. I got into a lot of fight because of that. If they could only see us now.”

I put away my mascara and leaned back into her, feeling her massive breast push against my back. I reached my hands back towards her, sliding them slowly down towards her hips, but she pushed them away just as our doorbell rang.

I stood frozen for a second.

“Well?” she said, “Aren’t you going to let our guest in?”

Hurriedly, I made my way to the front door. As I opened, Lauren burst in, making me take a step back into our living room.

“I brought someone along,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

It was not like Lauren was the only person who had seen me in women’s clothes, though I would still have liked more time to prepare for that. On the other hand, nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing my own mother as I opened the door. Suddenly, all my strength seemed to vanish from me, and I had to hold on the door just to keep me from collapsing on the floor.

A moment of pure dread and horror passed as I stared at my mother, dressed in a green, knee length pencil skirt and a matching jacket, thrown over her shoulders to reveal her floral print silk blouse.

“Now I see why Lauren wanted me to dress up,” she said.

All the movement I could manage was a slight step sideways, to let her in. She gave me a peck on the cheek as she brushed past by me, joining Lauren and Sandra.

Slowly, I closed the door behind her, and went to the kitchen, where I was expected to serve dinner. Although I serving dinner to my mother dressed as I was felt like the last thing I wanted to be doing, I found to actually welcome the chore. Still numb from the shock, I was only too glad to be able to switch to autopilot as I mechanically set another place at the table, then took the dinner out of the oven and served the food.

When I made sure I had taken care of all of the details, I silently joined the ladies at the table. I remained silent while Lauren explained all about how I came to own, and wear, my dress. While partly amused at times, my mother did not seem impressed.

“I don’t mean to argue with the logic of the punishment,” she says, “Because it does fit the crime.”
“Thank you, Claire,” Lauren said.

“But this dress looks far too expensive just to make a point, doesn’t it?” my mother continued, “You know, I had the same doubts myself,” Lauren said, “But there was something in the way Bill was looking at the dress that made me wonder why he insisted so much on Sandra wearing it.”

Taking over from her mother, Sandra recounted how, after eagerly sharing the story with her girlfriends, they one by one agreed that it was indeed a fitting punishment, and made sure it was doled out over and over again.

Before her story was finished, we had finished dinner. I started to clear up the table while Sandra, Lauren and my mother moved to the living room. I put on a pot of coffee, and when the table was cleared up, I laid some cookies on a tray, together with cups and saucers, poured the coffee into the matching pot and followed the women.

I put down the tray on the coffee table, then started to pour the coffee.

“Milk? Sugar?” I asked my mother.

“Just a bit of milk, please, no sugar,” my mother said.

I handed her the cup.

“Thank you, Stephanie,” she said, looking me straight in the eyes.

Blushing furiously, I averted my eyes.

“Should we move a little?” She said to me, “To make room for you?”

In our modestly furnished living room, the three women had taken all of the seats, with my mother and Lauren sitting together on the sofa, and Sandra on the matching armchair. I could have brought another chair from the kitchen, but as my mother had evidently learned my girl name, I saw little use in concealing other aspects of our new reality.

“No, thank you,” I said, blushing again, “I’ll sit with Sandra.”

“But there’s even less space…” my mother pointed out.

“Just let me finish pouring first,” I said.

I poured the last cup, added milk and sugar according to Sandra’s preference, and then, as unceremoniously as I could, placed myself in Sandra’s lap.

Sandra kissed me full on the lips, then deftly picked up her cup of coffee, demonstrating that she was clearly used to handling me in that position. As she sipped the hot liquid, I rested my head on her shoulders, avoiding the eyes of my mother.

“I hope we’re not making you uncomfortable,” Sandra smiled to our mothers.

“Not at all,” Lauren replied, “If anything, you’re only making me envious at Stephanie. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been cuddled like that.”

She looked at my mother, to which she replied with a thin lipped smile.

“Although,” Lauren said after a pause, “I’m more used to the idea of the girl sitting in the boy’s lap, not the other way around.”

Sandra giggled.

“Now that you mention it,” she said, “It feels like I get less funny looks when I’m with Stephanie than I used to with Bill. Almost as if a lesbian couple attracts less attention than a small guy with a big girl.”

I burried my face in Sandra’s neck to hide my shame. For a while, all that could be heard is soft clinking of china. Eventually, Sandra gently nudged my head up with her shoulder and I had to face the room again.

“Bill, you seem to be quite comfortable as Stephanie,” my mother said as I finally looked at her again, “Do you plan to keep on dressing as a woman?”

I drew a deep breath.

“Actually?” I began cautiously, “No, not really. This is the last part of my punishment, wearing the dress properly for Lauren.”

“Well, don’t forget that Anna hasn’t seen you wear your dress properly, yet,” Sandra said, “She’ll be quite cross if she doesn’t get to see you. She might really put you over her knees, like she promised.”

A surprised giggle escaped Lauren’s lips and even my mother couldn’t hide her amusement.

“You would probably want to avoid that,” she chuckled.

I felt tears of shame well up behind my eyes.

“You promised Ashley you’d give her a hand with sorting out her closet tomorrow, then we’re seeing Janice on Tuesday, and we have tickets for the theater on Saturday,” she went on.

“As Stephanie?” Lauren asked.

“Yeah,” Sandra replied, “Pretty much each time go out with my friends, he does it as Stephanie.”

“Ooh,” Lauren said, arching her eyebrows in amazement.

I could see that my mother didn’t share her excitement.

“Do you plan to start going to work as Stephanie, too?” she asked, with a serious voice, “Are you going to start living as a woman all the time? Legally change your name to Stephanie?”

It was as if a lightning bolt had struck across the room. Lauren’s eyes were wide, almost gleaming with excitement as she exchanged silent, yet not hidden, messages with her daughter. As Sandra slowly turned her gaze towards me, an eerie notion crept over me that unless I put my foot down, my mother’s words just might become reality.

“No!” I said forcefully, “I am not going to do either of those things, mom.”

“It seems to me that you are going to be dressing up as Stephanie, after all,” she said, calmly, “Maybe you should think about how you’re going to break the news to your father,” she said.

All of the sudden the fun aspect of my dressing was gone, replaced by pure dread, and it felt as if I had just realized I had been all the time sitting on my girlfriends lap, wearing a frilly dress. I just had to get away, but when I tried to get up from her lap, but Sandra held me down without any difficulty whatsoever, though not without making my struggle, and its futility, painfully apparent. Finally, I had to give in and acknowledge that I would remain in her lap for as long as she wanted me to.

“Oh god,” I groaned, “Please leave dad out of this.”

“I’m not going to lie to my husband,” my mother replied sternly, “Though I imagine this must be difficult for you, so I’ll let you think about it for a little bit longer.”

“You think your husband wouldn’t approve?” Lauren asked.

“It’s not about approval,” my mother replied, “It’s just that he deserves to know why our son hasn’t contacted us lately, and what to expect if he does want to see him more often in the future. And anyway, aren’t the parents entitled to learn about such changes in the lives of their children? For crying out loud, even I wouldn’t have any clue about this if you hadn’t brought me along today.”

I drew a deep breath.

“I won’t be telling dad anything,” I said slowly, “Because there isn’t anything to tell. There aren’t any changes in my life, and there won’t be any.”

My speech was met by unconvinced looks from my mother and Lauren.

“This needs to stop,” I said, “Look, Lauren, you wanted to see me wear my dress properly, now you have. Okay?”

I could feel my voice was about to break so I paused to take another breath. Curious eyes peered at me from all sides.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I said, “I don’t want to become a woman.”

“But your mother does have a point, dear,” Sandra said, “Just think of all the cool things you can do when you don’t have to keep changing between boy and girl all the time.”

“Please? Sandra?” I said weakly.

“You can have your ears pierced,” she said, ignoring my protests, “You can finally get a nice haircut. Even have your hair dyed. You can let your own nails grow long and you won’t need to clean the varnish off them each time. You can get a proper facial, do something about your eyebrows.”

She paused for a second, as if giving me, and the rest of the room, time to absorb her words.

“You could even have some other work done on your face,” she said, meaningfully.

“Or,” Lauren said, licking her lips, “Get bigger breasts.”

I shuddered at her suggestion. Hopelessly, I looked back at Sandra.

“Please, honey,” I said, pleadingly, “I can’t go to work as a woman. I just can’t.”

“Then quit,” she said, matter-of-factly, “Just like we’ve talked about, take some time off to find a better job.”

“But I like my job,” I protested.

“Well, I don’t,” she said, “And I know you don’t, either. You’re just hanging on to it because it’s the one place where you know you will always dress as a man.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Then prove it,” Sandra said.

“How?” I moaned.

“Quit,” she repeated, “Or start going to work as Stephanie.”

Even though I found it hard to match her eyes, I kept looking at her because this way, at least, I could avoid meeting my mother’s gaze.

“If I do quit,” I began cautiously, “That won’t mean that I will live as a woman full time?”

“That’s up to you,” Sandra smiled.

I closed my eyes.

“Maybe it is time for a career change,” I said finally.

Sandra leaned in to me and kissed me gently.

“I was going to tell you later,” Lauren said, “But a friend of mine is looking for people to work in the business she’s starting up. She’s got some positions open, if you’re interested.”

“What kind of positions?” I asked.

“All sorts, I guess,” she said, “I think it’s best if you talk to her, and then decide where it is you would fit best. Should I call her?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Should I set up an interview for Bill?” she asked, pausing for a second, “Or for Stephanie?”

I looked at her in horror.

“For Bill, of course,” I said.

“Are you sure?” she mused.

Tentatively, I pushed against Sandra. When I was sure that this time, she wasn’t going to hold me down, I slid off her lap. Instinctively, I rearranged the skirts of my dress, realizing what I had been doing only after I had already finished. Still, it did not diminish my resolve.

“Look,” I said slowly, “I apologize if I gave the wrong impression, but I do not want to become a woman. I am sorry if I misled anyone.”

A strange silence fell upon the room. All three women were eying me attentively, as if waiting to see what I would do next.

“In fact, I am going to take my dress of and change back in to my men’s clothes,” I said.

“Before you do,” Lauren said, “I’ve bought you another dress that I would like you to try on.”

I looked at her for a second.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said.

 “In fact, the sooner you can try it on, the better,” she said, obviously ignoring me.

I looked at Sandra. She simply nodded in agreement.

“But you said I wouldn’t have to…” I weakly said.

“I know,” she said, “But my mother has gone to the trouble of buying you a dress, I think the least you can do is to try it on.”

I was about to give in, but as I noticed my mother looking at me, I suddenly realized how high the stakes were.

“No,” I said, looking at my mother, “I’m sorry, but I’m done with wearing dresses.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Lauren said sternly, “But in the next couple of days, you are meeting a certain young lady who has threatened you with a spanking if you don’t wear a dress for her. Are you going to be as determined not to wear a dress when you talk to her, as you are now with me?”

Shamefaced, I averted my eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you, Stephanie, much less spank you,” she said, “So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll make you a deal. I have in fact bought two outfits for you, but if we can get by without the threat of spanking, I will let you chose just one to try on for today. Does this sound fair to you?”

“I suppose so,” I whispered.

“Marvelous,” Lauren said, “So which one would you rather put on? I won’t describe them in detail, but one of them is mostly black, the other one is mostly a bright shade of pink.”

“The black one,” I said.

“Why the black one?” she asked.

“I guess I would be less embarrassed than in the pink one,” I said.

“Embarrassed?” she said, “You do realize that you stand before us wearing a very pretty dress, lingerie, high heeled shoes and makeup? And that we’ve just witnessed your girlfriend pull you down on her lap and cuddle with you? Do you really think wearing pink clothes would make a difference at this point?”

“I suppose not,” I said softly.

“So why did you say you would be embarrassed, then?” she said.

“I... I…” stuttered.

“You must have been thinking of wearing the outfits outside, haven’t you?” she said, “Perhaps to a job interview?”

I stood silent.

“Well, look,” she said impatiently, “If you can’t make up your mind, I guess the obvious solution is to try both on.”

“Wearing a pink dress would seem more embarrassing than wearing a black one outside,” I said, defeated.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Lauren said, “Now imagine you’re at a job interview. Why do you think you be less embarrassed in the black outfit?”

“Please, Lauren?” I pleaded, “I don’t want to do the interview as a girl.”

“Oh, relax,” she said, “We’re just talking. Tell me why you think you’d do better at the interview in a black dress than in a pink one.”

“I guess a black dress would be more…” I pause for words, “Elegant? It wouldn’t stand out so much as the pink one?”

“Wouldn’t you want to stand out in a job interview?” she asked.

“Maybe not with my clothes,” I said.

“As you wish,” she said, “Go on, try on the black one, then.”

Defeated, I left the living room. Sure enough, there were two outfits laid out on our bed. The pink one was a skirt suit, with a white blouse. Thinking that the pink one wouldn’t have been so bad, I started removing my dress, when my eyes caught the sight of the black outfit. The very next moment, I buried my head in my hands as I made out the heap of glistening black satin for a maid’s uniform.

“I thought you had chosen the black outfit,” Lauren said when I came back to the living room dressed in the pink skirt suit.

“I changed my mind,” I said, “I hope that’s OK.”

“It depends,” she replied, “Does that mean it you would not be embarrassed to take the interview dressed as you are?”

“Yes. I mean no,” I said, “I mean I would be even more embarrassed in the black one.”

“Let’s forget about the black one for a second,” she said, “When we talked about which outfit you’d chose, you said that you would feel embarrassed to take the job interview in the pink outfit. Yet, here you are, wearing your new pink skirt suit.”

“Well, I’m not embarrassed now,” I said.

“Of course you’re not,” she said, “We have already established that you wouldn’t be embarrassed before us. It is the job interview we are talking about.”

“Actually, I’m really not sure about that,” I began.

“You don’t seem unsure to me,” she said, “You went to the bedroom to pick out an outfit for your job interview, and even though you found the color pink more embarrassing than black, you still chose to wear the pink one. If anything, this tells me that you are very sure you want to wear it to the job interview.”

I felt my strength crumbling.

“Well,” she said with a sly smile, taking her phone out of her purse, “Now that we’ve decided which outfit you’ll wear, I can finally schedule the interview. In the meantime, why don’t you slip into the black on to show us what was it about it that made you change your mind.”

“But you promised you would let me try on just one,” I protested.

“And you promised that you would wear the black one,” she said, “But don’t worry, I will still let you wear your pink suit to the interview.”

“But you said…” I tried again.

“Let me ask you this way,” she said, “Would you rather wear the black outfit now, or at the job interview?”

“Now,” I said, defeated.

“Make sure you put on the lingerie that it comes with,” Lauren said.

I came back to the living room wearing my satin French maid’s uniform, with a white lacy apron, a white, full petticoat that made the knee length skirt flare out. Underneath, I was wearing a black set of lingerie, with black nylon stocking attached to my corselet, and black, four inch heeled shoes. Beside the outfit, Lauren had provided me with a very detailed note on how she expected me to behave.

“Now I see why you wanted to wear the pink suit for the interview,” Sandra chuckled.

“This is perfectly fine for a job interview, if you ask me,” Lauren said, “Though it’s true that it’s less universal that the pink suit. Don’t you agree, Stephanie?”

Although I was fighting tears of shame, I remembered what the note said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, then plucking the hem of my dress with the fingers of both hands, dropped a deep curtsey, causing another bout of giggling from Sandra.

“I don’t think I need to stay any longer,” my mother said, getting up, “Why don’t you visit us sometime next week?”

Not knowing how to respond, I simply curtsied again. She rolled her eyes, then got off the sofa.

“Try to wear something else,” she said, kindly now, as she walked past by me, “Maybe that pink suit.”

Glumly, I watched her walk across the room. Only when I saw the door close behind her did I face Lauren again.

“You can visit me already tomorrow,” Lauren said, and added, “Now that you’re unemployed.”

“Unemployed?” I asked.

“I took the liberty of handing in your notice,” Sandra said, showing me my phone in her hand, “Don’t worry. You were very polite about it.”

Dumbfounded, I could only drop another curtsey.

“I also made you an appointment with my hairdresser and beautician,” she said.

Another curtsey.

“Your interview is scheduled for next Tuesday,” Lauren informed me.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, and curtseyed again.

“Of course,” Lauren said, “When you come over tomorrow, you will wear your uniform, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I’m sure you will welcome this… temporary employ… at my house as it will give you some purpose, keep you from wasting your days aimlessly,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I curtsied.

“Why don’t you come closer?” she said.

Mechanically, I obeyed. She took my hands in hers.

“No sense in pretending you don’t like spending time in women’s laps,” she said as she pulled me towards her.

Under Sandra’s gaze, I assumed the proper position and leaned my head on her mother’s shoulder.

“Today has been a day of broken promises, wouldn’t you say?” she said.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said, then quickly added, “Ma’am.”

“It’s rather simple, really,” she said, “You said you weren’t going to wear any more dresses, yet here you are, sitting in my lap dressed in your pretty maids uniform. You asked me to set you up an interview as a man, but I set one up for a girl. You said you would chose the black dress, but you put on the pink suit. I promised you would only have to try on one outfit, but in the end, I made you wear both. There’s only one promise still unbroken.”

“Which one, ma’am?” I asked.

“Do you remember how I made you to put on the suit?” she said.

“You said you didn’t want to spank me, ma’am,” I whimpered.

“Exactly,” she said, “And now, I am going to break that promise, too.”

Guiding me with her hand, she helped me reposition myself on her lap, until I was lying face down across her knees. I helped her raise the multiple layers of my skirts to my waist. I felt her rest her warm hand on the slippery satin of my panties. I felt my heart skip a beat. After so many empty threats, I was finally to get my first spanking. As her finally rose from my backside, I thought about all of the other empty threats and vague promises that I had though would never come true, yet, in less than an hour, it became patently obvious that they were after all going to be fulfilled, each one of them. The spanking was just the beginning.