Thursday, March 4, 2021

Swiss Miss Sissy Fanfic

Me again.  Coincidentally, within the past six months or so, I’ve been contacted by two different people who have written their own continuations of “Swiss Miss Sissy,” which, in case you don’t remember since it’s been a while, was the story that had been originated by Bea and then taken over by Bambi.  It was very gratifying getting messages of this sort, if only to know that there were people who enjoyed and were inspired by SMS.  As I’ve complained about in the past, it’s been often difficult to discern if the story was attracting much of an audience.  That said, there were elements within both of those continuations that I felt made them not entirely suitable for this blog. 

The first person to contact me had written their own epilogue to the story, which, while well written, was also entirely too macabre.  It certainly would not have won over anyone who already found SMS too twisted for their liking.  I sent it to Bambi and they agreed.  The worst part by far was that the epilogue ends with the death of the protagonist, Charles/Cheryl.  Yikes.  However, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn't also put off by the fact that there’s a description of Cheryl being sexually violated by a group of men. 

Yes, in “Swiss Miss Sissy,” Cheryl is violated by multiple women, and I’m not saying that one is more okay than the other, but the simple fact of the matter is that one is a turn-on for me and one isn’t.  I’m certain there are probably readers of this blog who are more receptive to the idea of male on sissy sex or whatever, which is totally fine, but if that's the kind of thing you're interested in reading about, I'm sure you can probably find it elsewhere.  Naturally, I would hope that LGBT people feel welcome here, but as it says at the top of the page, "A place to collect the thoughts and experiences of heterosexual male cross dressers and transvestites," and I don’t have any personal interest in veering too far away from that mission statement.  Before I discovered Bea’s stories, I can remember how challenging  it was finding anything within the feminization genre that appealed to my interests as a straight male.  Of course, I consider myself very pro-LGBT (I actually just got blocked on deviantART a couple weeks ago by this homophobic Wizard of Oz fan who was mad at me for criticizing him for his anti-gay bigotry), but I doubt anyone would consider me a homophobe for not wishing to read about a gay gangbang.  I feel as though I’ve gotten a bit more flexible over the years when it comes to what I’m comfortable with, but I have my limits.  

As I noted, the second continuation I was sent more recently also had a part that didn’t feel like anything Bea would have really approved of and didn’t fit with the story that Bambi is (was?) trying to tell, but the scene I found objectionable was easier to excise, so after this rambling preamble, I will be sharing it in a somewhat edited form.   

I do feel a bit weird appointing myself the arbiter of what is and isn’t appropriate for this blog and for “Swiss Miss Sissy” specifically, but having been somewhat acquainted with Bea and particularly well acquainted Bea’s work, I believe I have a decent handle on what they would and wouldn’t have been okay with as far as feminization scenarios go.  Besides, Bea made me a blog contributor, so I'd like to think that meant that my judgement was trusted.   

Wednesday, February 17, 2021

V-Day, Part 3

Those of you who don't follow me on deviantART may not have seen the comic I posted there over the weekend.  It's the third installment in what has turned out to be a series of Valentine's Day-centric commissions from my frequent collaborator, TG author James Craft.

First, if you didn't see the previous two installments or don't remember them, here are the links to those as well:

And this is the most recent and hopefully final installment:

To be honest, I initially lost much of my enthusiasm for this commission once I realized it was essentially just a rehash of the last one: unwitting guy gets feminized by a sexy neighbor lady, aided by the guy she feminized in the last comic, and then they end up acting as maids for her and her friends.  It's starting to feel repetitive.  However, the truth is, being the perfectionist that I am, I was less than satisfied with how some of the artwork in the second part turned out, so I saw this as an opportunity to redeem myself, in a sense, by doing a better job this time around.  

I'm still quite proud of the first part, which I titled "DIY Valentine."  I think it worked perfectly well as a standalone thing and didn't need to be a series... or if James was going to turn it into a series, he could at least have tried to come up with a more intelligible plot while he was at it.  Anyway, I don't mean to grumble; I am pretty happy with how this third part turned out.  I ought to be, considering I spent probably the equivalent of a full work week on these two pages.  

Friday, December 11, 2020

New/Old Art

This series of images was commissioned by author James Craft back in early 2015, using characters I had created for some of my earliest feminzation art.  Though I'd been paid for it long ago, I only finished inking it and added color about five months back.  Even then, I kept putting off posting it online because I'd intended to add dialogue, but I could never find the energy/inspiration.  

What kind of jerk takes half a decade to finish a simple art commission that shouldn't require more than a week, tops?  Well, you see, when I showed James the sketches, he liked them so much that he proposed we expand what was intended to be a one-off "comic" of sorts into a full-fledged illustrated story.  I was actually pretty excited about the idea.  The thought of doing a story involving these characters had crossed my mind before, though I had serious doubts that my ability to write would be as good as my ability to draw.

While I did once win an award for a story I wrote in fifth grade, I think the main reason for that was because the kids who voted for it had liked my illustrations.  To be honest, I struggled so much coming up with an idea for my story, I looked at a bunch of my old Cricket magazines for inspiration and basically ripped-off the premise from one story to use in my own.  In my defense, it was not an original idea to begin with, but rather something of a well-worn trope in fiction (characters panic over a spooky noise than they later discover is something innocuous).  Hey, at least I was more original than the kid who I realized years later had totally plagiarized a story by Richard Matheson.  

I'm afraid that any feminzation story I'd try to write would probably end up being a mish-mash of stolen ideas from other stories.  A collaboration with an established writer would take a lot of the pressure off.  Although the books I've illustrated for James Craft in the past have not been my cup of tea, I figured I could steer him away from any areas I was uncomfortable with.  Besides, I don't have the knack for writing that he has, plus we've always gotten along really well.

Unfortunately, after a few fits and starts, the project never really got off the ground.  I mostly blame myself.  For one thing, I felt ridiculously protective of these characters that I'd never fleshed out or even named, so I shot down all of James' ideas as not being suitable, though he had precious little to go off of when I had failed to establish who they were or what their relationship to each other was.  But even after I came up with an idea that we were both happy with, I felt like we just couldn't get on the same page.  While James and I often seem to have different preferences when it comes to femization fiction, I think a big problem was that I was too shy to articulate what I wanted to see in a story.  Maybe I just don't know what I want.  While I can concoct various feminization scenarios, I'm not sure how to keep it interesting once the guy is fully feminized. 

I stopped working on his commission once we started talking about a collaboration because I didn't know if I'd have to make changes to the art later to suit the story we were going to write.  Even so, once we amicably agreed to put that collaboration on the backburner indefinitely, I should have just finished the commission then and there.  It's been a source of guilt that I let it gather dust for so long afterward.  Just to give a sense of how long it's been, above one of the sketches, I wrote "Ready Player 1," presumably because I heard someone mention that title and I thought it might be something worth looking into later (though it probably wasn't and I never did).  In the time it took me to finish this one stupid commission, Steven Spielberg made a whole movie out of this book I hadn't even heard of when I started sketching.  


More recently, I've been working on another comic for James Craft, and it's also taking longer than I'd like, but that's partly because it started out being six pages, then turned into twelve, and now it's closer to thirty forty, all because James kept coming up with ideas.  Still, I would have finished it long ago were it not for my laziness and all-too frequent periods of depression.  I would love to do more sequential art in the future, and even maybe get to the point where I could make a living off my art, but the achingly slow progress I've made with this project has made that dream feel less viable... which makes me depressed, which makes it harder to concentrate on my art, etc.   

The comic I'm working on now is something James plans on publishing (which is something he failed to communicate to me at first, to my frustration), so I'm unable to give people the opportunity to see much of what I've done so far, which sucks, as I truly feel that it's some of my best work to date.  However, I have been given permission to share a couple small excerpts at least.


The end of that statement is supposed to be, " was worth the wait."  Once it's complete, I really hope the same can be said about this comic.  

Thursday, March 12, 2020

Castre's Walking the Dog

Has anyone seen this month's artwork by Castre in Petticoat Punishment Monthly? If you haven't, it's called “Walking the Dog”, and it depicts a man in ladies’ clothes walking a tiny dog along a town street, under the watchful gaze of several, equally elegantly dressed ladies. The link to the picture is here.

Castre is, together with Christeen, artist-in-residence at, which publishes a piece of her artwork each month. Yes, I did just assume her gender, but come on, there are no ‘he’s in this business. We’re all girlies here.

In her art, Castre uses photo collage to depict different scenes of men dressed as ladies. Heads of, almost invariably balding middle aged men, are photoshopped on otherwise fully feminine bodies with rather exaggerated breasts, usually in sumptuous, if a little old-fashioned and conservative clothes: full skirts, blouses with billowing sleeves, high heels. The ladies in Castre’s pictures are molded to similar bodily proportions and dressed in similar styles, though leaning more towards emitting an air of authority. The dominance of the female figure over the man is present in each picture. The lady can be either in direct confrontation with the visibly subdued male, or she can be merely smiling knowingly into the camera while the male figure in the background is being subjected to some act of humiliation or other. Beside the submission expressed through their clothes and demeanor, the men in Castre’s artwork are also shown physically more diminutive than the ladies. Often, the men are the shortest in the pictures, despite their very high heels.

The prevalent theme in the transgender / forced feminization fiction genre, both in stories as well as art, is the full feminization of the male, i.e. that the male ends up looking indistinguishable from a female. This does not hold true for Castre’s pictures. On the contrary, the most notable feature of her artwork is that she makes no attempt at concealing the true gender of the men. Except for an occasional pair of dangling earrings or an application of lipstick, the faces of her men – in contrast to their fully feminized bodies – retain their raw masculinity.

While we can say that as Castre steps one step before the full feminization, her men are spared some of the torment and humiliation received by the typical men in the genre, we could as well argue that the very same feature makes the humiliation of Castre’s men even greater than usual as, even when their submission to the females is complete, they are denied the sanctuary of concealing their true gender. (As a side remark – I’m sure readers will appreciate that this is difficult to judge for someone who is yearning to be fully feminized himself ;)

Personally, I have mostly found Castre’s ultra-realistic choice of depicting unchanged male faces too crude for my taste. Yet, despite the ultra-realism, her latest work, Walking the Dog, is, for me, one of the greatest works in the genre, a simply captivating depiction of the feminization of a man.

Starting with the simply fantastic outfit of the unfortunate man. He is the central figure in the picture, walking a dog along a town street and is observed by four ladies, two sharing the same sidewalk, two from the windows of the houses he is walking by. The man looks middle aged, with short dark hair crowning his bald spot. A coat of purple lipstick is the only feminine touch to his face, but it does not so much hide his true gender as it emphasizes the full extent of its inadequacy. Apart from his face, he is utterly immersed in femininity. His billowing white silk or satin blouse, with the usual pair of pointy breast underneath it, is tucked into the high, pink trimmed waistline of a very, shiny white full mid-calf length skirt, likely with a petticoat underneath it, and he is wearing white shoes with a rather high heel. Even the dog is of a miniature breed, to further emphasize the man’s feminization, and the leash he is holding it by is pink, matching the piping of his skirt.

What, in my own humble opinion, makes Walking the Dog stand out from Castre’s body of work is the lady on the left side of the picture, walking towards our hero. With her, Castre introduces for the first time a “true outsider” – a lady which is neither actively involved in the feminization of the man, nor is she an observer, consecrated in the close circle of those “in the know”. Even by her outfit, it is not hard to take her for an outsider of Castre’s universe. She is neither drenched in frilly satins and silks, nor dressed in severely cut skirts and jackets that exude uncompromising authority. Except for the exaggerated breasts and her high heels to match anyone else in the picture, her clothes are rather casual. This is further emphasized with the shopping bag in her hand, with the baguette sticking out. In fact, the least realistic element on her is the store brand – who goes to Lidl on heels like that?

However, what really tells us that she is neither a forceful participant nor an invited and intended observer of the man’s humiliation is the frowning expression on her face as she looks at the man. It conveys both surprise and disapproval of what she sees. We don’t know how much she knows of the man, but whatever the reason he is dressed in women’s clothes, there is something to frown about. If he is dressed like that by his own will, then he is making a mockery of the pretty clothes. If he is forced to do so, he is making a mockery of his sex, by letting himself be forced into the situation. Her sentiments are shared by the lady looking on to the man through the window on the right. With her hair up in rollers and the pussy bow on her white silk blouse, she looks more at home in Castre’s world, but her frown is something we have not seen so far, and it lends a touch of real-world reality to the scene.

The other two other ladies in the picture appear to be taking the hero’s feminization much more in stride. The lady to the right of the man, standing by the open door, is laughing heartily at the sight of him. The brown leather ledger-like handbag in her hands gives her a professional look. She might be just on her way to work and is therefore another chance encounter, though unlike the lady on the left, she is obviously amused by the sight of the feminized man. Then again, she could be the dominatrix that set the man out on his way, dressed as he is. The open door, and the second lady in the window of the same house seem to support the latter story – she is observing the man in the street approvingly, and she does not look the least surprised. Perhaps it is her that has forced the man out on the street, and is now contentedly savoring the fruit of her efforts.

The finishing touch to the picture, again in my own humble opinion, is the look shared by the lady on the left and the feminized man. It looks almost as if the woman witnessing the feminized man is more uncomfortable with the situation as the man himself. His face does not really show any signs of great anguish. However embarrassing and humiliating his ordeal may be, he has already fought his last battle, and – by the looks of it – lost it, too. For all its humiliation, stepping out into the real world in his utterly feminine attire simply can’t have any relevant consequence on his life. His fate is now and forevermore in the hands of the dominant ladies. In the way he looks at the lady walking in his opposite direction, I read not so much shame and embarrassment as guilt and apprehension. As if he was feeling guilty for displeasing her with the way he is dressed, and somewhat fearful of what will happen as they come closer together.

It is a touch that, to me, makes the artwork almost as plausible as a real-life photograph. It is a touch that, to me, makes it so dangerous. It makes me want to run out the building in women’s clothes and high heeled shoes. It instills in my mind the idea that this is somehow a viable lifestyle.

Wednesday, August 7, 2019

The Prescribed Procedure

Hi All,

I've come up with this shortie, when I should have been working on another story, or better yet, getting some sleep.

Hope you like it.

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Mother's Little Helper - short story with illustration

Sorry Bea,I haven’t posted anything here for a long time and this is not new so some readers here may have already have read it, hopefully anyone who have not may enjoy it.

I haven't had a chance to check for typos and grammatical errors so apologies if there are any.


Mother’s Little Helper


Caroline had literally swept William off his feet although strictly speaking it was a wave on a secluded beach in the south of France that did that. However she did pick him up with relative ease after he had been staggering about in the water dazed and confused like a drunk monkey, much to the amusement of her friends. Being overpowered by a three foot wave was one thing but now he was engulfed by a much stronger force and quickly became subsumed by it. They became inseparable and two weeks later when she proposed he accepted, not that he had much choice in the matter. The same night she informed him they would live with her mother until they got married, William was so besotted and if he was to be honest he was also more than a little intimated by her that he made no objection – it would have hardly have mattered even if he had dared to do so.  
Her mother was as charming as Caroline – and even more determined than her daughter. From their first meeting he was overawed and not a little intimidated by her personality and when Caroline announced she had to leave for a short business meeting he pleaded with her to go with her but her mother was adamant that he should stay to keep her company.
Just before leaving as the three of them stood on the steps of her mother’s large Victorian house set in acres of parkland Caroline told him to ensure he took good care of her mother and joked – although considering the tone she used he was unsure if it was a joke – that her mother was in charge of him now and he would have to do as he was told. He felt a slight unease in his stomach as he watched her speed down the long driveway.  When her car disappeared from sight his future mother-in-law put a proprietary arm around his shoulder and pulled him close to her.
“Caroline’s absence will allow us to get to know each other better, William” she smiled as she steered him back inside the house.
Hearing the heavy oak door close and the lock snap shut sent a feeling of unease coursing through his body.
“Now come along, my darling boy.” she said as she slipped her arm into his and marched him across the large black and white tiled vestibule towards the wide staircase, “You can help me get dressed, my sister is arriving shortly and I need to be presentable. She can be quite critical when it comes to matters sartorial.”
“But…you don’t mean… I…”he stammered.
They were half way up the stairs before she answered him,
“Now William,” she began a tone of irritation creeping into her voice “You heard Caroline, I do hope you’re not going to be difficult, I was a headmistress of a boarding school and I know how to deal with disobedient boys.”
At first he thought she was joking but she forced a smile which unsettled him even more
“But…I…”he blurted in a half hearted attempt to protest but she cut him off abruptly.
“Now as you know Louise, my maid a wonderful girl, has left me quite suddenly due to a family emergency and a lady of my standing can hardly be expected to dress without assistance. I’m sure you agree?”
He knew it was a rhetorical question and he also knew from her tone that to protest or disagree would only vex her further.
“You do agree?” she declared more than asked.
“Yes.. of course.” he surrendered.
“Yes of course what?” she said sharply, “I thought we agreed how you should address me.”
“Yes Mummy.” he replied his eyes falling to the floor as his cheeks blushed.
“That’s a good boy.” she answered “Now please do not have me to remind you again, it really is most tiresome.”
“Yes Mummy.” he repeated softly so as not incur further displeasure, his cheeks betraying his shame.
If his eyes had met hers he would have seen the smile of satisfaction on her handsome face.
Another shiver went down his spine as she closed the bedroom door behind him, he felt trapped and a creeping anxiety growing inside him s he watched her stride across the room.
“I will shower now.” she informed him as she sat at her dressing table and began removing her jewellery “And while I am doing so you can make my bed… “
He looked at her aghast and desperately trying to find words to express his indignation but before he could object to her outrageous request she immediately added in a sharp and assertive tone,
“And properly, no short cuts William. I want perfect hospital corners and the sheets properly tucked in.”
He was dumbfounded, being asked – no, told- to make his future mother in law’s bed, it was an abomination and completely unacceptable. How could she ask him to perform such a menial task?
As she sat at looking at him in the mirror of her dressing table she felt a frisson of excitement run through her body and instinctively knew that what would happen next would determine their relationship. Would he have the backbone to refuse? Would he dare question her? She could see the shock and confusion in his face and decided to strike while she still had the advantage.
“Well don’t just stand there.” she said brusquely and dismissing him with a wave of her hand “You have work to do.”
By now his mind was in a state of turmoil he wanted to refuse but knew from her tone that she would become extremely annoyed as she was not used to being disobeyed. He was sure Caroline would also hear of it and this would only cause further discord at the very least. Although this task was utterly demeaning he considered that overall it would be easier to conform to her wishes. Shame welled up inside him as he turned to commence this servile and humiliating chore, he had only taken a few steps when he heard her call to him,
“And William…”she said smiling at him, pausing for him to reply.
“Yes...Mrs…” he began and as he met her eyes he corrected himself “Yes Mummy.”
“Good boy, you’re learning.” she said acknowledging his correction “Don’t forget to plump the pillows and fold my nightgown and peignoir properly.”
“Yes Mummy.” he responded, totally dejected by his timid surrender to her authority.
“And William?” she called to him once more.
“Yes Mummy.” he replied.
“I shall be very cross if you do not take good care to perform your tasks correctly and diligently.”
“Yes Mummy.” he repeated the now familiar refrain and returned to his task.
“Oh , William.” she called to him yet again as she followed his every movement in the mirror, “I almost forgot,  when you have finished making the bed,  hang up my skirt and blouse on the appropriate hangers in my closet and put my shoes away.”
“Yes Mummy.” he said meekly.
She smiled triumphantly as she removed the last piece of jewellery and got up and went to the bathroom.
This is going much better than I thought. she said to herself as she continued to watch him.
As he set about his task of stripping the king-sized bed his cheeks continued to burn with shame and as he picked up her long pale pink heavy satin nightgown he felt completely crushed and cursed himself for not refusing her request point blank. However despite these recriminations he took great care to carry out her instructions to the letter. He was folding her nightgown and peignoir with slightly trembling hands when she emerged from the bathroom in a satin burgundy coloured robe and matching two inch kitten heeled mules.
She immediately moved to the bed and stood over him as she watched him finish folding her nightgown, she said nothing but smiled as he completed his task. She made a slight but totally unnecessary adjustment to the perfectly arranged pillows before lifting the heavy quilt to inspect his work. He became quite anxious as she took her time to appraise his work and was greatly relieved when she finally patted the satin quilt and smiled.
“Mmm, quite acceptable.” she said and he smiled in gratitude.
“Thank you Mummy.” he gushed his relief quite obvious.
“It took me almost a week to train Louise, my previous maid, to do this properly.” she said patting him gently on the cheek.
He blushed unsure of how to respond.
“And you have folded my nightgown and peignoir expertly.” she enthused , in a patronising voice obviously impressed at his skill “Louise never did that properly. You should be proud of yourself.”
The inference of this remark was obvious and he recognised it immediately. His blush deepened.
“Thank you Mummy.” he answered shamefully.
She left him standing with his head bowed, completely demoralised and almost disorientated.
“Come hereWilliam.” she called from her large walk-in closet and when he joined her she was looking through various items.
He stood there silently as he removed a black dress from a hanger and gasped audibly when she held it against him.
“It may be a little tight but we can soon fix that.” she said.
“I… I…”he mumbled “I don’t understand…what…”
“Oh silly me I should have explained .” she said smiling benevolently at him “I know I project an aura of self-assuredness but I am a woman and having a…” she looked  at him with an expression of slight hesitancy  “… a male, even if you are my future son-in-law assist me dressing  makes me feel a little uncomfortable …,
He nodded enthusiastically and saw his chance to escape.
“Yes… yes…I can leave.” he stammered hopefully and began to back away from her.
“Please don’t interrupt when Mummy is speaking William. And stay right where you are young man.” she said sharply and held the dress up to him once more, trying to determine his exact size, “I would feel more relaxed if you were to wear something more appropriate now that you are in a lady’s bedroom”
“But…it’s…a dress! “ he blurted. “Surely you don’t expect me to wear that?”
“Oh dear I had hoped you were not going to be difficult.” she said and moved slightly to the right.
William’s eyes widened as he saw a display of several canes and paddles hanging on the door of the closet behind her.
She remained silent but her eyes were fixed on his as she returned to her original position and once more examined the dress.
“Caroline did say you were to help me.” she said  “I’m sure she will be most disappointed.
“But…I… I mean…”he babbled “please Mummy…”
Her face softened as she took him by the arm, the dress on her other arm, and walked him back into the bedroom.
“I need you to help me dress.” she said softly as she sat on the bed and patted the space next to her indicating him to sit “and I would feel so much more comfortable if you wore it. A woman in a state of undress feels quite vulnerable in the company of a fully clothed and virile young man such as yourself. I really do wish us to be friends William and this would mean so much to me. It is a most unequal arrangement, wearing this would make me feel less threatened. I would hate to have to…”
She paused and turned her head towards the walk-in closet. She could see the look of panic in his eyes, she patted his hand and gave him a comforting smile.
“It would be such a comfort to me.” she said tenderly. “And would help us bond more strongly.”
“But..I…”he mounted one final attempt to argue his case but she was already unbuttoning his shirt and before he knew it she had unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Leaving him some dignity she put her peach satin peignoir around his shoulders and walked to one of the tallboys at the other side of the room.
“Please remove your underwear.” she said without turning her head as she busied herself rifling through drawers.
She returned and laid several items on the bed beside him, as he looked at them he paled noticeably and she heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Your corselette, stockings and slip.” she said pointing to the items.
He felt his limbs weaken and was vaguely aware his mouth was agape but could do nothing about it.
“Yes” she continued, noting the look of horror on his face “not exactly the manliest of underwear perhaps but, believe me, most necessary for wearing under your dress.”
She held up the white corselette and fingered the lace cups.
“This is one of my favourite corselettes and will control your figure.” she informed him “and don’t worry I just happen to have some breast forms that will fill the cups.”
 He felt a strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach at the very sight of the garment. He tried to speak but his mouth went dry, it was like a fog had descended on his brain, he could barely comprehend what was happening.
“As you can see,” she continued taking his trembling hand and placing on the satin panels “The material is beautifully soft but also very controlling once worn. It’s a delightful item of corsetry and will give you such confidence.”
She handed it to him and he looked at her blankly.
“Would you like me to help you get into it?”she asked  in a firm tone with a vague hint of menace.
“N…no…”he mumbled taking the hideous garment from her.
“Remove your peignoir, you silly boy” she instructed him.
“But I have…”he began.
“No clothes on. Yes I know” she snorted derisively as she unbuttoned the satin peignoir and laughed “Not the first time I’ve seen a shrivelled up male.”
In a ridiculous attempt to hide from her gaze he contorted himself and quickly stepped into the corselette and pulled it up around his torso.
“That won’t do , very unsightly.” she said pointing to his slight but nevertheless perceptible bulge.
She placed her hands at the offending protuberance and unhooked the garments gusset allowing his member to fall free. He gasped as she took hold of it and deftly pinned it back under his testicles quickly reattaching the gusset’s hooks and eyes. She stood back to admire her handiwork and ran her hand down between his legs.
“Almost perfect, could almost pass for a girl’s mons pubis. Just as well you are…”she paused and her face took on a look of sympathy “…somewhat… petit in that area.”
Satisfied that his male organ was now no longer visible Caroline’s mother drew the corselette up his body and he felt his torso compress as she placed his arms between the shoulder straps and fix them in place. It only took her seconds to place the soft breast forms in the lace cups. He caught a glimpse of himself in her dressing table mirror and began to sob. The foundation garment covered his frame from his upper chest to just above his knees and its restraining effects were immediately felt.
“There, there.” she comforted him hugging him tightly before sitting him down on the bed “I know this is difficult for you but it does need to be done.”
William was too distraught to respond and barely noticed as she quickly and expertly rolled black silk stocking up his legs and attached them to the garters dangling from the corselette.
She stood him up and through his sobs he heard the soft rustle of silk slide down over the corselette, Caroline’s mother hummed merrily to herself as she made adjustments to the straps and fussed with it until she was satisfied that it hung  correctly on his newly corseted body.
“Now William we are almost finished.” she said in a light and self-satisfied voice as if dressing a young man in her foundation garments and lingerie was the most normal thing in the world. She placed a pair of two inch court shoes in front of him and gestured him to put them on. He hesitated momentarily but her frown and the sheer helplessness his new feminine undergarments inflicted on him he quickly obeyed her and as if in a trance he managed to slip his feet into the heels.
“Don’t worry you’ll soon get used to wearing heels.” she said airily as she led him in an awkward gait across the room and positioning him in front of the mirror she added, almost as an afterthought “All girls do.”
He tried to avoid looking at his reflection but she would not even allow this small concession.
“Look my dear””she gently instructed him, her hand turning his head to directly face the mirror “I feel so much more relaxed now that you are dressed more appropriately.”
He gasped as he saw the feminised vision before him.
“That is one of my favourite slips.” she cooed “And it fits you almost perectly.”
He was almost relieved when she placed the heavy black velvet dress over his head and without being told he placed his arms into the sleeves.
“Good girl.” she commended him as he felt her zipping up the back of the dress “With a little practice you will soon learn to do this yourself.”
She stood back and viewed the figure in front of her.
“Mmm, something’s missing?”she said pensively  “Of course come with me.”
He was seated at the dressing table and before he realised what she was doing his face was covered in a light foundation cream.
He tried to protest but she pressed her hand to the sides if his cheeks.
“Now pout my dear.” she said, demonstrating herself as he looked at her blankly.   “That’s a good boy, this shade should really suit your pale complexion.”
When she was satisfied she brought him back to the full length mirror to allow him to view her handiwork.
Once more he looked away, unable to contemplate what had been done to him.
“Look.”she commanded him  but he found it too painful.
But she was insistent and to enforce her authority a sharp slap was delivered to his right buttock and penetrated his heavy foundation wear. His eyes opened to reveal a female figure with barely perceptible male facial features that initially he had difficulty distinguishing as his own.
“Yes quite presentable don’t you think?” she asked as she made a slight adjustment to the white lace collar at the neck of the dress.
His mouth opened slightly in disbelief at the image before him but this only emphasised the femininity of the face staring back at him.
“Well?” she asked once more, her tone expecting the correct reply.
“Yes Mummy.” she answered, the fog in his brain becoming denser by the minute, he could only repeat her words. “Quite presentable.”
“Yes.” she agreed and smiled, a look of pride and achievement etched on her face. “You do make quite a pretty girl.”
His eyes fell to the floor but could take little comfort from his downward gaze as all he saw was two feet- his two feet- encased in black nylon and patent leather court shoes. The humiliation was too much to bear and he could feel the tears well up inside.
“Don’t you dare cry. You’re acting like a petulant little girl.” she snapped and he received another sharp smack on his behind.
His face registered the shock but it had the desired effect.
 “You will ruin your make-up.” Caroline’s mother admonished  “and I shall be most annoyed.”
The look of irritation on her face and he immediately recalled the row of paddles and canes in the closet.
“Yes Mummy.” he managed to reply without sobbing.
“That’s a good girl.” she said, her face softening into a smile.
He cringed at her words but thought it best to return her smile. Her reaction was immediate.
“I knew I could count on you.” she said squeezing his hands, her voice becoming more relaxed and affectionate and once more she stood back and admired her new creation
“You look wonderful!” she exclaimed caressing his face “Yes, I feel much more comfortable in your presence.”
He managed a weak smile.
“You’ll find several corselettes in that tallboy.” she said pointing to one close to the window as she moved towards the dressing table “I’ll wear a similar one to the one you are wearing but in black. They really do hold one in tightly don’t they?”
He could only nod his agreement as the unfamiliar garment’s straps bit into his shoulders and he felt as if his stomach and buttocks were being squeezed by an invisible force.
The uncomfortable expression on his face amused her.
“Yes William,“it is tight isn’t it?” she said empathically “But that is the whole point of foundation garments. Women and girls must suffer these little discomforts in order to look as alluring as we… and now, you do. ”
This was little consolation to him either physically or mentally as he tottered ungainly in his new footwear towards the tall boy.
“You’ll find my slips and stockings in the lower drawers.” she called out to him “Bring a cream slip, the one with the pretty lace hem and a pair of tan stockings.”
As he searched through the drawers for the required items the shock began to wear off only to be replaced by a feeling of utter helplessness and deep humiliation as the magnitude of his grotesque predicament fully dawned on him.
How could I have allowed myself to be forced into …into… this?” he said to himself as he caught his reflection in the mirror and was so mesmerised by the  image he did not notice Caroline’s mother suddenly appear at his side.
“Yes, my dear you do look rather convincing.” she said slipped her arm around his shoulder“ And don’t feel embarrassed , we are family, this is just between you and I. Caroline would be so happy we are getting on so well, I’m sure we will become the best of friends.”
She took him by the hand and walked him across the room to the dressing table.
“One foot in front of the other William” she instructed him in the finer points of walking in heels, encouraging him with every few steps “That’s my girl.”
Arriving at the bed she untied her peignoir and allowed it fall to the floor and apart from her mules she was completely naked. His eyes widened at the sight of her small but beautifully formed breasts and wide hips, her vulva was hairless. He’d never imagined a middle-aged woman could have such a youthful figure.
“Please don’t tell me you have not seen a naked woman before.” she said noting the look on his face.
He had almost forgotten how he was dressed until his organ began to stiffen however its enlargement was immediately curtained by its position lodged securely between his legs, his corselette keeping it resolutely in place. His immediate reaction was to reach down and touch it to gain some releif but he instinctively knew that was out of the question, the only thing he could do to gain any relief was to press his thighs together. The straining garters and the stocking tops only added to his torment and it was patently obvious this reflexive masculine response to the naked feminine form was causing him great discomfort albeit of an exquisite nature. It did not go unnoticed by his future mother-in-law.
“Oh dear.” she said in a faux concerned voice as she took a step closer “a little uncomfortable William?”
He remained quiet, his unmistakeable torment spoke for itself.
“Now you see why I insisted you dress in a more feminine fashion.” she said quietly as she slipped her hand under his dress and between his legs gently squeezing his straining organ.
“Oooh…please…” he pleaded.
“Please what?”she said  gripping him a little tighter and looking him directly in the eye.
“Please Mummy.” he moaned softly.
“Now good girls don’t behave like the horrible male sex.” she whispered her eyes still fixed on his as she continued to gently rub the confined organ “And you are a good girl, aren’t you William?”
“Oh …yes… Mummy.” he answered, his breathing laboured and his silk encased legs trembling
“Say it.” she said firmly.
He tried desperately to resist uttering these shameful words but yet another gentle squeeze sent an exquisite shudder through his body and he found he had no control over his response.
“I’m… a good girl Mummy” he moaned unable to stop himself from the humiliating admission.
She withdrew her hand and arranged the skirt of his dress properly before patting his cheek.
“Yes I know you are.” she said softly and as the full implication of this mortifying acknowledgement unfolded in his brain his eyes fell to the ground.
He had admitted to being a girl and dressed as he was it would have been even more humiliating to deny it.
His engorged member shrivelled instantly.
“No need to be ashamed William.” she consoled him with a smile “You will make a delightful girl and a wonderful companion when Caroline is away.”
“But…”he tried to begin “but…”
“But what?” she replied “you have already admitted you consider yourself a girl.”
She looked at him intently before continuing,
“And you do make such a pretty one. Now that you realise those horrible masculine urges must be kept securely under control you will find it much easier to fulfil your role. You do understand don’t you?”
His shame had drained any will to resist.
“Yes Mummy.” he meekly surrendered.
“Excellent!” she trilled “Now that I feel completely safe with you we can begin. Fetch my corselette…”she said in a voice that was at once gentle yet authoritative before adding”… like a good girl.”
The words stung him but he was too crushed to react, he picked the heavy corselette from the bed and knelt down at her feet and held it open for her to step into and once she had done so he began tugging the garment up her legs. His masculinity had become so diminished that now even such close proximity to a vagina did not register the normal way.
This too did not go unnoticed as she helped him pull the corselette into place over her breasts.
“That’s a good girl.” she complemented  him “your urges will probably return and if you are well behaved I may allow you some relief occasionally.”
Occasionally he repeated to himself. 
“But how much longer will I have to continue to wear these clothes?”he plucked up the courage to ask. “Surely you don’t…”
“My stockings William.” she said ignoring his question.
“Hush my dear.” she said and pointed to the stockings “I really need you to concentrate otherwise you will ladder them.”
She showed him how to prepare the stocking before he rolled it up her leg and demonstrated how to attach the garter to the top and once this was done she pointed to the satin slip. He lifted it over her head and settled it into place, his hands glancing against her breasts as he did so. To his surprise his member stirred once more and he immediately avoided  eye contact.
“I do hope your little thing is not getting excited again William.” she said  fixing him with her grey eyes. “I shall be most annoyed.”
Her tone was enough to halt any further arousal.
“Oh no Mummy.” he blurted as his organ shrivelled.
“I’m glad to see you are showing some degree of control. Now be a dear and fetch a bouffant petticoat from that ottoman.” she said as she stepped into her shoes and as he returned with the bulky garment she showed him how to help her into it.
“You’re much better than I had expected William.” she said as she settled it on her hips and fluffed it out. “Almost as if Louise had never left.”
He blushed furiously at the tribute.
“Now my dress.” she said pointing to a black silk creation on the bed “And we are almost finished. My sister will be here shortly and I don’t think you wish to be present when she arrives?”
“She!”  a voice boomed through the room and he stood frozen to the spot unable to turn around.
“I do hope you are not speaking about me Eleanor.” the voice continued.
“Clara!” Caroline’s mother identified the voice with only mild surprise. “You’re early, I wasn’t expecting you for an hour or so.”
“I wanted to be here sooner as I wished to see Caroline’s fiancĂ©e. William isn’t it” she said making herself comfortable in a large armchair “but unfortunately  I ran into some of the girls from the club and was delayed.”
William could feel his heart race and a bead of sweat form at his hairline, he briefly thought about running for the door but his legs would not move.
“Oh do hurry Eleanor.”Clara said impatiently “I simply dying to meet this young man. Where is he by the way? There was no one downstairs when I arrived.”
“Oh he is around somewhere.” Caroline’s mother replied with a smile as sat at the dressing table and calmly applied her eye shadow.
Girl!”  Clara’s voice bellowed, followed by an eerie silence.
“Is your new maid deaf? Clara” her sister asked as William felt his legs tremble and had to hold on to the tallboy for support but he knew sooner than later he would have to turn around and confront his fate. He slowly twisted his body to face her and felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
“She has not been in service long Clara.” Eleanor informed her sister truthfully “I’m still training her.”
“Well, I’ll have a sherry while you finish your make-up.” Clara said tersely as she ran her eye over him. “At least she’s prettier than her predecessor and a better figure. At least she has the sense to wear a good girdle. You always liked them slim and pretty although her hair is far too tomboyish for my tastes.”
To William’s amazement her gaze lingered for only a few seconds and without further comment she returned to flicking through a magazine.
“Gertrude, please bring Miss Clara a sherry.” his future mother-in law ordered.
He remained where he stood , a look of disorientation  of his perfectly made up face.
Gertrude!” Clara snorted raising her eyes from the magazine and re-examined the figure standing at the other side of the room “She doesn’t look like a Gertrude. Gertrude always calls to mind a strong, muscular almost masculine type of woman. This Gertrude is a mere slip of a girl.”
She regarded him once more at him, this time a look of annoyance on her face.
“Are you asleep girl? the older woman snapped. “My sherry!”
Gertrude he screamed inside his brain when it finally dawned on him-I’m Gertrude.
She returned to her magazine, William’s panicked eyes met his future mother-in law’s. Her face exuded clam and she nodded her head slightly to reassure him.
“As I said she is new and doesn’t know which cabinet the drinks are held in.” she explained getting up and moving across the room “I’ll show her.”
William tottered unsteadily to the drinks cabinet to join her.
“She thinks I’m a girl…your maid.” he blurted quietly, his fear palpable. “Please let me leave…Mummy.”
“Leaving is out of the question it would only raise suspicion.” she retorted. “Now remember you are Gertrude, my maid and don’t forget to address me as Madam. Now bring the sherry before she begins to have doubts. You have seen servant girls in these situations before– now act like one.”
He quickly realised she was right, maids were rarely noticed by guests- only when they made mistakes.With great concentration he carried the tray across the room, his long corselette restricting his stride giving him a reasonable semblance of a feminine gait albeit a most ungainly one. As he approached the older woman fear gripped him even tighter than his foundation garment and his hand began to tremble slightly.
She is sure to recognise me as a man. he blubbered internally as he got closer to his destination. How can I ever face her again, she will surely tell Caroline not to mention all her friends. Perhaps the best thing would be to  just run for the door.
“Your sherry Miss” he said nervously proffering the tray and waiting for her to expose him.
As she took the glass he thought her gaze lingered a little longer than necessary.
“My my, Gertrude, you are a nervous little thing.” she said lightly “ Don’t be afraid I won’t bite you.” and returned to her magazine without further comment.
“Yes Miss, thank you Miss.” he mumbled anxiously as he quickly left her presence almost stumbling as he did so.
“I hope you don’t mind Eleanor, I need a favour” Clara said casually as she sipped her sherry “as my house is being decorated I asked the committee from the Ladies Club to hold our meeting here. There will only be four or five and we can hold it in the blue drawing room.”
“Quite impossible Clara.” Eleanor replied as applied her lipstick “I have an appointment later.”
“Oh don’t be so inflexible.” Clara said as her sister walked past her on her way to the closet. “It’s a most important meeting. And I don’t need you to be here just your maid.”
William left the tray drop and immediately both their eyes fixed on him.
“Aah… sorry…Madam…”he stammered and with difficulty bent down to pick it up.
“Clumsy girl.” Clara said but quickly turned back to her sister
“Those women are such dreadful gossips and besides Gertrude is accompanying me to my appointment.” Eleanor said  standing up and gesturing to William to follow her “Come here Gertrude, I need to choose a suitable coat.”
William minced after his future mother in law to the safety of the closet and out of earshot from her sister she whispered to William.
“You make a most convincing girl. Clara has no idea you’re a male.” his future mother-in-law said softly as she tried to decide on a coat and casually said “Isn’t this fun?”
“She must know, she could not possibly think I’m a girl.” he blurted in a quiet but urgent voice. “What am I to do? I have to leave.”
“Of course she thinks you’re a girl, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were a girl.”she retorted “She even thought you were prettier than Louise. Do you want me to enlighten her?”
“No… but …”he mumbled.
“I wonder how long this little subterfuge could continue?” she said absentmindedly as she continued to search the closet.
“Oh… please…please….”he pleaded. But was interrupted by Clara’s voice from the bedroom.
“Eleanor. Be reasonable I cannot host these ladies without a maid.” her sister’s voice called out without reply from Eleanor, there was a few seconds pause before Clara added “I’ll lend you those emeralds you admired for the charity ball we’re going to next week.”
He could see Eleanor’s face change at this offer.
“No…oh no…please…Mummy …please…”he whimpered realising what was happening.
“Well my dear William, I’ll let you decide.” she smiled “ I have already told Clara that you are accompanying me to my appointment which means you will either have to become the maid or step out and face the public dressed as a girl.”
He tried to open his mouth but nothing came out.
“One or the other, it is your choice.” she said looking at his bewildered expression as she held up a maid’s white apron and cap.
His eyes fell to the floor as he reached out and took the apron and cap.
“Probably the best decision Gertrude.” she said as she turned on her heel “Perhaps you are not ready to go outside…yet!”
“But…I…”he stammered but she had already returned to the bedroom.
The shrill sound of Miss Clara’s voice rang out and he could feel the tears well up inside.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

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.