Two short scenes

 Dear readers,

here are two short snippets related to the same story line, that I have managed to write recently. It's not the length of the story I was hoping for, but seeing how little time I have for such things lately, I'm just pleased I managed to write something with a beginning and an end in a reasonable amount of time. Though to get here, I did have to plow through the writing, which shows in the style, I guess.

As a heads up to those who aren't into this, the story does include both the father and the son, as well as another male character. Though mostly still nothing outside what we've read in Bea's stories, mind you. There's a theme to the story that I've dealt with before and I'll probably keep revisiting, at least until I manage to get it right. But for now, here are these two snippets.

I couldn’t decide what was more embarrassing - having lunch at my parents’ wearing Stacy’s dress, or her presumptuous explanation of why I was wearing the dress. Well, that’s not true, I could decide very easily. My mother was quite courteous about me wearing the dress, partly because I managed to give a call before Stacy and I arrived and gave her a quick heads up. After Stacy told her group of friends that my father had been living as a woman for the past couple of years while still together with my mother, they oohed and ahed until nothing else would do but for me to celebrate his courage and my mother’s support by dressing up as a woman for our next visit there. Unable to argue with the mob, I silently acceded to a couple of practice sessions until I finally donned Stacy’s burgundy knee length A line dress over her lingerie and pantyhose, and a pair of black pumps with a three inch heel, loaned by Rebecca who wore the same shoe size as me, and let my fiancee drive me to my parents’ house for lunch.

It had been a very pleasant lunch, in fact, but now that Stacy had started her tirade, I couldn’t bear to be at the table anymore. Politely, I excused myself and went to the kitchen to give my father a hand, wrapping an apron around my waist on the way.

I was greeted by a quick nod as my father acknowledged I was intruding in his, I should actually say her, sanctuary, but the awkward silence didn’t last for more than a couple of moments and soon, my father, I mean Stephanie, was telling me about the various new kitchen equipment mom allowed her to buy.

After a while, though, there was no work to keep us in the kitchen and we had to return to the dining table, though still keeping our aprons on. It looked like Stacy was still droning on.

“Hold on,” my mother stopped her finally, “If Darren is showing support for his father’s transition by coming as transgendered, why are you not transgendered too?”

All of the sudden, to my delight, I should say, Stacy shut up.

“But you’re not transgendering, either,” she finally replied.

“I’m not the one who’s celebrating the support and courage,” my mother said, “It’s you. So, why do you think it’s only Darren who has to crossdress, but not you? Shouldn’t you do the same?”

More stunned silence from Stacy.

“Or are you just celebrating femininity?” my mother suggested.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Stacy muttered.

“But that’s not quite the same, now, is it?” my mother said, “Unless you’re celebrating femininity every day. It seems that all your efforts about this celebration were focused on making Darren crossdress, without actually doing anything similar yourself.”

I was beginning to feel sorry for Stacy all of the sudden.

“Another thing that you’ve got wrong,” my mother continued, “You seem to have the impression that Darren’s father is transgendered and that I am supporting his transition.”

“Aren’t you?” Stacy asked, dumbfounded.

My mother chuckled. Now it was Stephanie’s turn to cringe with embarrassment.

“To put is simply, it was my decision that Darren’s father started living as a woman,” my mother explained, “He did not have any desire to become a woman whatsoever, and for quite a while, if it was up to him, he’d be back in his old clothes, still living as a man. But you’ve learned now that I was right about it, don’t you, Stephanie?”

“Yes, dear,” my father replied, with an earnestness in his voice that was both eerie and reassuring.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stacy turned to me, “Why did you let me think… make a fool of myself?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” I stammered.

“I wouldn't blame Darren,” mom stopped her, “There’s only so much emotional baggage a young man can realistically process, much less divulge with others. You know how men are.”

Stacy looked at me, then at Stephanie, then back at my mother.

“No, I don’t believe you,” she argued, “You can’t simply force someone into something they’re not.”

“You’ve got Darren up as a girl,” my mother smiled, “Unless you’re saying Darren is transgendered, as well.”

“That’s different,” Stacy replied.

“It’s only different if you chose it to be,” my mother replied.

“So you’re saying… I could make Darren dress as a girl…. for real?” Stacy said.

“That’s up to you,” my mother smiled, “Do you think you would be the first to do so, though?”

Stacy looked at me and I dropped my gaze in silent confession.

“So what you’re saying …” she started.

“Do you really think he’d be able to walk in heels so well only after walking up and down your apartment a couple of times?” my mother replied.

“You never thought to mention this?” Stacy said to me accusingly, “All those times when we were dressing you up, it never occurred you had something to share?”

“Stacy please,” I moaned, “I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” she said “You embarrassed me when you lied to me and made me look like a fool.”

“I didn’t actually lie,” I said in defence.

“Lied or not told the truth,” she said, “Does it make a difference?”

“I get it that you didn’t want to go into details about your father,” Stacy said, “But skipping over a detail like that about yourself? No, you don’t get a free pass on that.”

We both looked at my mother, as if she might have some explanation to offer, but this time, she just smiled silently in response, letting me know I was on my own.

“You know what, you’ve just earned a spanking, missy,” she said.

Again, I looked at my mother for help, but all I got in return was an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Desperate, I tried my father, but just as I suspected, he, she, demurely dropped her gaze, and I realized that I could not count on any support or comfort until after whichever ordeal would be over, just like in the past, we hadn’t been able to connect until each of us had completely submitted ourselves to my mother’s drive for our feminisation.

“Not here,” I pleaded with Stacy.

“Oh, why not?” she said, with mock compassion, “Will you find it embarrassing to be spanked in front of your parents?”

I nodded silently.

“Well, think of how much more embarrassing it will be for you if you start making a scene about it, and if I have to force you over my knees,” she replied, whatsoever traces of compassion in her voice replaced by an icy determination.

My gaze dropped to my lap. Not daring to look at either of my parents anymore I weighed my options, or better said the lack thereof, because I knew I wasn’t going to fight Stacy. Trying to maintain my composure, I got off my chair but started to cry even before I placed myself on her lap.

I didn’t think that the physical pain could possibly compare to the indignity of lying across my fiancee’s knees with the skirt of my dress hiked up to reveal my satin clad buttocks, but two slaps in I knew I was wrong, and I cried even harder. By the time Stacy had stopped spanking me, I didn’t care about the embarrassment of facing my parents again nearly as much as I was glad that the painful ordeal was now over.

Without a word, Stephanie helped me get back on my feet, and to my old bedroom. She disappeared into my closet as I wiped the tear-stained makeup off my face.

“How about this one?” she said, holding up my old yellow satin and chiffon dress.

“Okay,” I smiled through my tears.

She helped me unzip my dress at the back, then left me to change. I was still doing my makeup when she came back to my room with a suitcase in her hands. She put it on my bed and proceeded to slowly fill it with clothes from my closet, taking time to inspect and neatly fold each garment. I finished up and joined her.

“Are you sure about that?” she said to me when she saw me fold up a pair of cute powder blue pants that I had liked to wear.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said, putting them back in my closet, “Maybe I’ll get them next time.”

With the suitcase filled with my shoes, lingerie, blouses, skirts and dresses, I made my way downstairs.

“Finally,” Stacy sighed when she saw me and got up. By the look she shared with my mother, I could tell there were no more secrets between them.

“It’s time we got going, Priscilla,” she said to me, taking the suitcase from me.

“Priscilla?” I repeated, then looked puzzled at my mother.

“My name is Daria,” I said.

“Your name was Daria,” Stacy corrected, “It is Priscilla now.”

“I rather liked my old name,” I muttered.

“If you liked it so much, you wouldn’t have hidden it from me, would you?” Stacy replied, “Now it’s too late. And anyway,” she looked at my mother, ”Isn’t choosing her husband’s female name the woman’s prerogative?”

“It sure is,” my mother smiled as she opened the front door for us.

“It’s just that she looks so much more like a Priscilla to me,” she said, almost apologising to my mother.

“That’s up to you,” my mother said, kissing her goodbye.

“Bye, Priscilla,” she said to me.

I stood at the doorstep for a while, then tethered behind Stacy on my four inch heels, delighting in the feel of the gauzy skirts of my dress swooshing against my thighs.

* * *

“Come in, come in,” Rachel cried and welcomed Donna and Stephanie into her home and her embrace. The visitors were wearing high heels, but so was the host, and though her heels were an inch shorter, they were tall enough for her to tower above them, and appear as tall as her husband Pete, standing gingerly behind her.

After freeing themselves from Rachel’s bear hug, they turned to greet Pete, Donna with a cordial hug while Stephanie with a brief air kiss. Right away, she noted that the pastel hued shirt Pete was wearing was in fact a ladies’ blouse. She knew that he was wearing it to make her feel more comfortable, though she could not bring herself to commend him on wearing it. Despite being grateful for their welcoming and company after having lost contact with most of her own friends, Stephanie could not forget that Rachel had always been first and foremost Donna’s best friend who was with her through thick and thin, and Stephanie’s relationship to Rachel was very much a reflection of her relationship with her wife. Though Donna had indeed been warm and welcoming towards Stephanie after having officially become Stephanie, she also had by no means a small hand in the events that led her to becoming Stepthanie in the first place.

Donna, on the other hand, didn’t have any such problems. If anything, the shared experience made her even closer to Rachel, and her husband as well. Already at her usual spot at the hosts’ dining table, she leaned back on her chair and smiled happily.

“Nice blouse,” she said to Pete.

“Thanks,” he said, forcing a smile on his lips.

“Oh come on,” Rachel said, “I can’t believe you’re still moping about having to wear a simple blouse. You should be thankful you don’t have to wear a dress!”

“Can I offer anyone anything to drink?” Pete said hastily, eager to change the subject.

Not wanting to hang around for anyone to make up their mind, he went to the kitchen and came back with a chilled bottle of chardonnay. After filling everyone’s glass, he set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter, then set to serve the first course of the dinner. Two more bottles joined it by the time they were eating dessert.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Donna said, “Guess what’s new. Darren is back in girls’ clothes.”

“Really?” Rachel exclaimed, “Well, good for him, I guess?”

“You don’t seem very convinced,” Donna remarked.

“I’m just a little surprised,” Rachel replied, “I thought you said he was doing okay living as a boy. Got a job, lived in his own place. Has something changed?”

“He got a laaaadyyy friend,” Donna sang, “And apparently she doesn’t think that living as a boy just might not be the right thing for him, so she took matters into her own hands.”

“That would stand to reason,” Rachel said, “I haven’t yet met a man that wouldn’t benefit from doing what a woman tells him to. Right, Pete?”

“Of course, honey,” Pete replied obediently, grateful that at least Stephanie had the sympathy not to look, but to help this moment pass the least awkwardly as possible.

“Have you met her? What’s she like?” Rachel asked.

“Oh, she’s quite fierce,” Donna replied, “Brought him to our house dressed in her clothes, then gave him a spanking right in front of us.”

“Ooh,” Rachel said, “But then again, he wouldn’t be the first man to be taken over the knee like that. Come to think of it, I haven’t had the pleasure of giving a spanking for a while, which makes me quite envious of her.”

“It’s not fair to call Stacy fierce,” Stephanie spoke up. This time, it was her that wanted to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“She’s just a young person, trying to adjust to her new relationship,” she continued, “And after all, she had every reason to feel embarrassed.”

“Wait a moment,” Rachel said, “She made Darren dress up in her clothes, yet she was the one who was embarrassed?”

“It turns out Darren had been rather selective with the facts of our family life, so the reason she made him dress up for the visit was to celebrate Stephanie for being the brave transgender person, and me for being the saintly spouse who was supporting her on her journey,” Donna replied, with a copious use of air quotes.

“Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong, was she?” Rachel laughed.

“She got the saintly part right, that’s for sure,” Donna smirked, “Though she wasn’t amused when she learned the actual truth.”

“Did you tell her just about Stephanie, or about Daria as well?” Rachel asked.

“You think I should just stick just with Stephanie’s story?” Donna said, suddenly worried.

“I don’t know,” Rachel shrugged, “I mean you made all those deals with Darren, you should know.”

“To tell you the truth, she did seem all pompous and full of herself,” Donna explained, “I only told her about Stephanie to shoot her down off her high horse. Though she ended up feeling really embarrassed, so I dropped in some hints about Daria, out of sympathy for her.”

“And that’s when she decided that Darren would be spending more time as Daria?” Rachel asked.

“It’s Priscilla now,” Stephanie interjected.

“Priscilla?” Rachel mused, “That sounds a bit bouffant, doesn’t it? What was wrong with Daria?”

“Nothing,” Donna replied, “But a girl has to make her mark, doesn’t she?”

“That seems kind of bold, doesn’t it?” Rachel said, “Your son’s girlfriend rechristening him right before your eyes?”

“Well, she did make a compelling argument,” Donna replied, “She said choosing her partner’s femme name should be the woman’s prerogative. Can’t argue with that, I mean, it’s not like I consulted Stephanie’s mother when I picked her name.”

“Well. So Darren is now part time Priscilla?” Rachel said.

“Not part time,” Donna replied, “Full time, as far as I understand.”

“Oh really?” Rachel said in astonishment, “But you said he had a job, a good one, too. Did she give him at least a reasonable transition window?”

“Nope,” Donna said, “Started out as Priscilla the moment they left our house that day. But he hasn’t come running back home, so I suppose she is okay with it, too. Anyway, it’s much easier now, with gender fluidity and whatnot. Looks like a girl can feminise her man right out in public. It’s not like the old days.”

“Hmmm,” Rachel mused, “I think it’s time auntie Rachel paid a visit to the young couple. I bet I could still teach Stacy a new trick or two.”

All of the sudden, Stephanie’s blood froze in her veins.

“There’s no need for that,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Oh, really?” Rachel said to her, with just a tad of a challenge in her voice.

“I mean, I’m sure Stacy is perfectly capable of handling Darren or Priscilla herself,” she replied.

“Oh? Well, if you say so,” Rachel replied, “Though I was looking forward to putting a soft, feminine creature over my knees. I’m not really I’m ready to give up this pleasure, now that Donna’s gotten me all worked up.. Unless, of course, you’re not offering yourself in place of your son?”

Afraid that she’d lose her nerve if she waited too long, Stephanie got up so quickly that she nearly knocked her chair over and hastily made her way over to Rachel, who raised her eyebrows in earnest surprise, but spun sideways on her seat and accommodatingly placed her both feet on the ground, her knees together and smoother down the satin fabric of her pencil skirt over the top of her thighs.

In a trained motion, Stephanie laid face down over Rachel’s knees and waited for her to raise the skirt of her dress.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Rachel said as she completely exposed Stephanie’s buttocks by pulling down her panties, much to her surprise.

"We used to do this quite often before you finally accepted what’s best for you,” she added.

Up to that point, Stephanie had managed to convince herself that all that was taking place was harmless fun between consenting equals. But now, Rachel’s words did indeed instantly bring back all too vivid memories of past humiliation she had suffered at her hands, beside those she had suffered at the hands of Donna’s other close friends, Donna’s mother, her sister and Donna herself. Though even more shameful were the memories of all the times when she had failed to protect her son from the same feminising forces that she had been subjected to, either because she had been cowardly trying to save herself from descending even deeper into feminization, or because she had been already too far under Donna’s dominance to be able to do so.

As those memories flooded Stephanie’s brain, so did the tears flood her eyes and she found herself actually thankful to Rachel for not holding back her force at slapping her bottom, as it gave her the perfect opportunity to cry. After yelping loudly at the first couple of slaps, she soon erupted into a long, uninterrupted, uncontrollable wail.

“Don’t you think she’s had enough?” Pete said angrily.

“Oh, look, Pete’s jealous,” Rachel said, pausing only slightly between two slaps.

“I’m not jealous,” Pete drew back, realising he had overstepped his boundary.

“I can see you’re jealous of Stephanie,” Rachel said, ignoring his protests, “The only question is, are you jealous of her because she’s getting a spanking, or are you jealous of the pretty dress she’s wearing?”

“Neiter,” Pete replied dryly, the feeling of panic building up inside him.

“Why don’t you lay down over Donna’s knees for starters?” Rachel said to him, “See if it makes you feel any better.”

She landed another forceful slap over Stephanie’s already reddened buttocks looking her husband straight in the eye. Once she was sure he would do as he was told, she turned her attention back to Stephanie.

In the meantime, Pete sheepishly walked over to Donna. She spared him the humiliation of asking her permission to lay down on her lap and even the humiliation of pulling down his pants, but she didn’t spare any force and started to slap his ass with increasing might until she finally got a sound out of him.

Eventually, Rachel let Stephanie get off her knees. Quickly, she pulled her panties back in place, then went to the bathroom to fix her tear stained makeup.

By the time Stephanie came out of the bathroom, there was an eerie quiet in the living room, the only sound coming from the kitchen. Walking past the dining table, she cocked her head slightly in that direction and caught a glance of Pete, dutifully putting away the dinner china and silverware. She was almost surprised to still see him wearing his pants and blouse, and not a dress, though a closer look revealed to her that his lips were now painted crimson red.

She felt a pang of guilt when she didn’t join him in the kitchen to help him, but she was more intrigued by the whereabouts of their spouses. As quietly as she could on her stilettos, she made her way to the dimly lit living room, where she found her wife straddling her friend on the sofa, kissing her passionately, her skirt hiked up way above her stocking tops, while Rachel held her dominantly by the back of her head with her left hand and groping at her breast with her right.

At first, Stephanie felt a shock, and not just a little betrayal, but as she stood, watching them silently, she found herself feeling glad to see her wife enjoy those attentions that she had not been able to give her herself.

No sooner than the shock of walking in on her wife and Rachel kissing subsided, she got another shock when suddenly Pette, who had apparently materialised silently, put his arm around her shoulders. The touch of his hand made her gasp and stiff up all over her body, though rather than try to wrestle herself away from his embrace, she snaked her own hand around his waist instead, and felt the bulging latissimus dorsi under the gauzy fabric of his blouse. She sighed wearily and rested her head on Pete’s shoulder. Just for a second, she thought, but after the second passed, she was in no hurry to lift it up again. As they watched their dominant spouses lost in the throes of passion, Stephanie felt a rising anxiety in the pit of her stomach, knowing that something else was inevitably to follow, but for now, she was just going to enjoy the moment, as long as it was going to last.