Rodney Allchurch fed the little panties of pink nylon up the stockings of Belinda Blossom and fitted them at her waist, ensuring that her leg elastics were level and showing a little bit of her suspenders. Then he lowered her petticoat and neatly spread it round her knees, so that her lilac and mint silk dress could drape correctly in a perfectly shaped crinoline, ready for inspection. He still had Belinda in his arms as his stepmother opened the door, and her heels click-clacked towards him across the polished bedroom floor. He was fairly confident that he had all the girls' lingerie perfectly in order, but with Carmel, perfect was not a concept that was good enough. He would never ever satisfy her.
I missed a month since Prim's story appeared in my Newsletter,
so here is Part 1 again so that you can follow the story through.
Enjoy.
Tea With Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh - Part 1 - The Last Time
by Prim
BACK
"Good afternoon, Stepmother. Andrea, Sybil, Saffron and Belinda are ready for you to inspect their lingerie. Would you like me to pour you a glass of whisky?"
"No time. I won't be inspecting the girls until later. We are invited to tea, with Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh. We will leave the house in - " she looked at her watch on the underside of her wrist - "fifteen minutes. I'll have you in your Polly Peppercorn dress and bonnet."
Rodney's hand went to his mouth but failed to catch the "Ohhhhhh!" that sprang from his heart. Miss Edith Todd-Blakesbeigh! His third grade teacher from all those years ago, and taking a very keen interest in the way his stepmother was bringing him up. She kept Carmel well supplied with advice, always so humiliating, like insisting his diaper covers are trimmed with pretty white lace, and it was her who suggested buying him a little girl baby buggy.
"Don't you DARE 'Ohhh' me," snapped Carmel, opening the closet and fishing for a petticoat that would be suitable. "Your manners must be impeccable all afternoon, do I make myself clear?"
"Y-Yes, Stepmother." His lips began quivering as the direction the day was taking sank into his sensitive feelings. He would be babied again between the two of them. Oh how shameful it was to have his former teacher seeing him in girls' things. Taking a girls' bonnet off his head. Putting her hands under his dress to flounce out his petticoats. And then talking for hours with Carmel about how babyish he has turned out.
"Oh no! Please!" He had said it before he remembered not to take issue with his Stepmother's arrangements. She looked at him, her crimson lips curved down with annoyance and her blue eyes glaring at him. She had her blond hair pulled off her ears and into a bun, and she was wearing a white ruffle blouse and a lemon pencil skirt. She returned to the closet and took down the sizzling layers of his Polly Peppercorn dress. His shame flooded over him. An eighteen-year-old, taken visiting in a dress for a five- or six-year-old, and with diapers and baby pants! The tears broke from his lashes and rolled down both cheeks.
"Oh my God! Are you treating your stepmother to an outbust? Crying like a baby? This is exactly why I have to keep you dressed like this. My sissy stepson has about as much manliness as a pink-eared mouse in petticoats." She motioned him up and set about undoing the back of his dress.
Rodney fought to stifle his sobs as his dress was taken off over his head and his petticoat was undone down the back. He fought, but he didn't succeed. "Oh for goodness sake, what's eating you?" Carmel cried. "I've arranged for us to visit, and that's that. End of!"
"B-But Stepmother, it's - it's wearing a girls' dress in front of M-Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh - it's so - oh please, my heart will break with shame - and misery!"
Carmel held the dress up with one hand and plucked at the yellow silk and integrated white petticoats. Her hair was shaking with denial, but when she hesitated like this, she sometimes changed her mind. Oh please, change your mind, Carmel. I can't stand being treated like a little girl and - and laughed at. He heard his stepmother draw a deep breath with a long exhalation.
"It will have to be one of your little boysie silk pants then," she said, lifting the dress and feeding it back between the other dresses in the closet. "And a blouse. Which is it to be, dress - or little boysie pants and blouse?"
"Ohhh, pants and blouse, please, Stepmother."
Carmel didn't look convinced. She might change her mind back again. "What kind of pants did I say?"
Rodney thought back and his head sank as he repeated her words: "M-My little boysie silk pants, Stepmother." He whimpered as he saw the pants Carmel was lifting down from the rail, clipped to their hanger in shimmering powder blue silk, and with white pearl buttons in a line down the front. They fastened at the outside of each leg with pretty, girly buttons and a shudder went through him. She opened his chest of drawers and her fingers played through the pairs of panties.
"You will wear them over these ruffle-layered panties," she said, letting them drop into their full-cut shape. "Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh will like seeing you in silk organza panties. They are babyish and extremely feminine." Her lips were pursed with finality as she held the panties at his feet for him to step his stocking-toes through each leg. He managed to keep his "Ohhh!" inaudible this time, but his stepmother will have heard it in the quiver of his breath. "And you will need a bonnet. Just because you're not wearing a dress doesn't mean you don't wear a bonnet. You will wear the matching bonnet in powder blue silk."
Rodney's shame grew deeper and more painful as his club heeled Mary Janes were buttoned over each instep. First of all Carmel dressed him in his shirt blouse in crisp white nylon. He quivered and gasped with feelings of shameful femininity as she shaped the large pointed collar round his neck and breast, and gathered the cuffs of each wide sleeve to be buttoned at his wrists. His silk pants were a snug fit over the layers and layers of silk organza inside them, so that she had to pull to get his leg buttons facing their buttonholes. The silk cuffs left an inch or two of his suspenders in view. Then she complemented his blouse with the little coatee that went with the bonnet she wanted him in. Rodney struggled forward as if surrounded with clouds of shame, as he left the house holding her hand.
Ohhh no! - it was only then that he realised he had forgotten to ask for his potty!
It always happened this way: when he had missed his potty, he instantly wanted a wee. He walked beside Carmel with his thighs pressing together. His free hand pulled at his silk pants, to get them tighter in front of his pipi. Ohhh, they must get to Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh's in time for him to use her toilet - but it was going to be a close thing.
Ohhh no! That was Gloria Shaftesbury and another woman, and they had seen them. They made straight for his stepmother. "Carmel, this is Orna. She wanted to meet Rodney."
Rodney melted with embarrassment under the smiling gaze of the two women. He hated it when women's faces almost quivered with excitement when they were looking at what his stepmother had got him in. "What a sweet dear!" exclaimed Gloria's friend. "Do you feel nice wearing a blouse darling? Mmm?" Rodney knew that his stepmother insisted he always answer ladies' questions, but his lips were out of control and the only sounds he made were babbled. She tried making conversation again. "And wearing lovely silk pants?" Still no answer - just a squeezing of his legs together. "Are they baby pants, Carmel?" asked Gloria. Carmel said they were. "Look, he's blushing," went on Orna; "goodness, how red he's gone!" "And it looks like he needs his potty, Carmel," observed Gloria.
Rodney pressed his hand over his pipi, whimpering and bleating with the effort, with the result that Carmel opened her purse and produced his pacifier.
"Open!"
He did, and was glad to suck and suck on its teat to help keep his urine back, for 
God's sake. It was horribly close to bursting out, and his pipi was long and stiffened under the close interest of three women. He planted a tight fist over the end of his knob and squeezed, hoping - praying - to stop the urine.
"He better hadn't wet his nice pants," said Carmel with a snarl. "We're on our way to Edith's for tea. I think we had better leave you, Gloria."
Rodney heard the giggles behind him and felt their eyes burning into his bonnet, blouse and powder blue pants as he struggled with each step to keep control. His thighs pressed together, but Carmel pulled him along faster than that. He was losing the struggle. He felt warm wee on his hand. Even a tighter grip couldn't stop his pipi from letting another run of wee seep through, then another, until it couldn't help relaxing - and letting go.
He was urinating into his panties and silk pants. Nothing he could do about it. Pouring, hot and wet so that it ran down his stockings. His pretty pants buttons were wet and dripping with baby wee. He heard Gloria and Orna laughing, and Carmel looked at his legs.
"You idiot!" she cried. "You little piss-pot! What is Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh going to think when I bring my stepson into her house with smelling, sodden pants, wet through! Well, we'll just have to see what she says, because here we are!"
Rodney wept bitter tears as his stepmother dragged him to the door and rang. Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh appeared, tall and thin with greying hair, and looked him up and down, her face pinched with disgust. "Wait there on the doorstep," she said, and disappeared.
"Wont she let him in?" called Gloria from the road. "She's afraid he'll wet himself again," added her friend, and they tinkled with laughter.
Carmel wasn't happy with their comments and tightened her grip on her stepson's hand. When Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh returned, she was carrying a pair of clear incontinence pants, opened out and with ruched plastic at the waist and leg cuffs. She stooped to feed them between Rodney's stockings and Carmel helped by holding them at the waist while she matched studs to poppers.
"These pants are really wet," she said, popping her way up one hip. "We'll have to change him into something fresh before any of us can have tea." The plastic pants closed him up in his wetness, so that he felt as if his legs were twice as bare as they were before and as if he was in a tight, snug diaper. His pants crinkled as he was taken inside and the door was closed on the interfering women. "I'm thinking what we can change him into," she said, "but one thing is certain - I haven't any boys' clothes in my closet and dressers upstairs.
"Go on! Inside!" Rodney jerked forward with his stepmother's knuckles in his back. He entered the elegant entrance hall of Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh's apartment, smelling of the blossom on the plants on either side of the door. His lower-grade teacher was glamorous, in spite of her greying perm, in a soft, white, frilly blouse and blue pleated skirt to below the knee. She stopped at a rubber apron laid on the tiled floor.
"Stand here," she said, "and I'll take your clothes off. I'm not having sissy urine on my sitting room carpet and cushions." His stepmother tutted as she manoeuvred him so that his pale blue Mary Janes stood in the middle of it. "These will all have to come off," she said, starting by undoing the ribbon under his chin and sliding his bonnet off his hair. "How a boy of 18 can wet his silk pants - while he is out in public - defeats me, Carmel," and she passed her his pale blue silk bonnet. "Imagine - wearing a sissy blouse and a little silk suit, and your stepmother's stockings - and you draw attention to yourself by urinating into your panties and pants, so that everyone can see your wetties running down your legs!" She turned him so that his blouse threaded off his arms. "Have you no shame? Do you not realise how ashamed of you your stepmother must feel?"
Rodney hung his head, his eyes on the fluttering pleats of her skirt and the shine on her black high heeled pumps. Her words took him back to his year in third grade, when he stood in front of her, his eyes on line with her pleats in those days, and her shoes much closer to his guilty face, as she would lecture him over dreaming in his seat instead of getting on. Little did she guess that his dreams saw her taking him home with her after class and undressing him so as to put him into her blouse and skirt. His memories began to stiffen his cock in his ruffled panties, which she saw as she unhooked them and dropped them down his legs. He was left in just his shoes, stockings and suspender belt.
"We'll take these off in the bathroom," she said, her voice sharp with scorn, as she took his hand and marched him along a side corridor. If Rodney had felt ashamed to be undressed by his teacher, he felt devastated to be told to step into the running bath with not a stitch of clothing on him. His stepmother had brought the apron for their hostess to put on after she had undone the gilt buttons at her cuffs, then rolled up the sleeves of her blouse so that she could wash him like an infant.
"Thank you, Carmel," she said, attending to his genitals with the sponge. "Hold him under the arms so that he doesn't slide and submerge on me while I'm washing his naughty bits. I really can't believe he could do that to you in the street - as if he was a baby who had never learnt self control."
"That behaviour doesn't surprise me any more, Olivia. My stepson is totally lacking in self-esteem and acts like an infant. It explains why I dress him the way I do." Between them they got Rodney out of the bath and Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh placed her apron on the floor again and towelled him down. Then she lifted a long, nylon house-coat from the back of the bathroom door, in pale pink and covered in sprays of flowers and leaves, and held it for him to put his arms into. "Hold it open," she said, "and stand with your feet apart." She used a soft, dry sponge to dust his parts with powder, then towelled him down again. "Your stepmother will take you down to my sitting room, and I will be down in one minute with things that I will dress you in. At least now you won't wet my carpets and furniture."
As Carmel pulled him by the hand all the way to the living room and snorted her annoyance, Rodney pictured the substitute clothes his teacher would bring for him. A pair of her trousers, perhaps, and a jumper. Maybe a ladies' cardigan, and fluffy mules for his feet. He would be so embarrassed with her looking at him like that for the rest of the afternoon. "Look at the trouble you have put poor Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh to, and all through losing control of your bladder," said his stepmother, keeping her voice to a harsh rasp. "I can promise you a fine punishment when I get you home, my boy. I will put you into a tight corselet and nightdress, then straight to bed. Sit here, next to me," and she fussed the wide collar of his house-coat and flounced the sides of it into a full skirt over his bare legs.
It was indeed only a minute before their hostess rejoined them, and Rodney's heart almost stopped when he saw the armful of clothes she carried, along with what hung on the hangers in her other hand. "You will have to wear my own clothes," she said, accepting Carmel's help to lay things out on the opposite settee, "so let this be a lesson to you. Stand up, young man - or should I say - sissy boy. We start with a corselet."
"Well, well! What a good idea!" said Carmel, her lips rippling with justified amusement. She held Rodney by the shoulders as Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh stooped and threaded the stiffened white foundation over his feet before pulling it up his legs, squeezing it over his hips and getting his arms through the shoulder straps. They needed adjusting until they were tight, and the corselet zipped even tighter up the front. The boy quailed with shame at her attentions, especially since his cock was stiffening between the front suspenders that dangled onto his legs. But worse was to come. She made him sit on the settee for a pair of her fully fashioned stockings. Not new ones - they must have been worn by her.
Carmel tutted time and again as Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh pulled the stockings up his legs. It was her way of noticing his growing erection as he was fastened into all four suspenders, but how could he avoid it when his legs felt so ashamed. His teacher turned away from him, then turned back with every reason to cause him more embarrassment.
"Now, sissy boy Rodney," she said, her face set with determination, "we must make sure you do not wet my carpets, my furniture or anything at all in my house. So let's get you knickered, shall we?"
She had in her hands a large pair of peach satin French knickers with lace around the legs, which he had to step his stockinged feet into." He stifled his whimper of distress as they slid with a cool caress up his nylons, and a shudder went through him as she drew the knickers over his erected cock, then released them onto the waist of her corselet.
"I think he is welcoming your attention to his genitalia," said his stepmother, sitting beside his legs and fluttering the wide legs of the knickers as if to help, "especially with such feminine and pretty knickers." Rodney cringed with shame to see his cock pushing the knickers up in front of his teacher's nose.
"You're going to wear more than one of my pairs of knickers, my boy," she said, holding a pair of white French knickers in her hands, "partly because I want you under my personal control this afternoon, but also to prevent another baby-wetting incident: I have no diapers here today, so we will have to provide knicker packing - in several layers."
The white knickers shone in the light as they slid with delicious sensations up his legs, frolling his knees, flowing silently up over his suspenders and encasing his pointed cock in a second layer 
of Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh's knickers. They were followed by a pair of long, bloomer style knickers - full directoires - in pale blue silk. There was more silk in their longer legs, so they embraced his stockings with blissful sweetness, drawing a muted wail from his throat - and a tut from his stepmother. His teacher stood in front of him, looking at his pointed knickers, and lifted her chin with decision.
"Now it's time to put you into a blouse," she said. This time Rodney couldn't catch his wail before it came out. It was his childhood dream turning into reality, right now, in front of Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh and his stepmother. "From my own wardrobe of course," she went on. The boy wailed again when she turned back to him with a blouse of white satin, with such full sleeves, a large rounded collar and a row of pearly buttons.
His stepmother was not pleased. "How dare you show that attitude, Rodney. Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh has found you some of her own things to dress you in. Really pretty things. Show some gratitude!"
The boy hung his head, as much to cringe from his own shame as out of repentance, but he managed to find a shaky voice.
"Th-Th-Thank you, Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh, f-f-for dressing me in your own b-b-blouse." As the cold satin closed around him, he followed his words by one bleating moan after another as his stepmother helped to fasten his blouse at his wrists and to arrange the collar at his neck. There was a second blouse to follow, this time in cerise pink and equally smooth and glossy. It had long ribbons that hung to his knees, which his teacher folded at his throat and finished into an enormous bow. It seemed to cluster the satin of his blouses around his face, filling his nostrils with Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh's perfume and overcoming him with their fussy smoothness. It was too much for him. The soft satin of his white collar was held up around his cheeks, and he burst into tears as the fingers of both women fussed and plucked his blouses round his face. He was so humiliated and ashamed, so weakened and overwhelmed, and he cried openly between them.
"Oh for goodness sake!" snapped Carmel. "Fancy crying in front of your former lower grade teacher! I'm going to put you back into your baby bonnet right now." She did so, and while the white satin lining of his bonnet slotted inside his blouse collars to surround his face, Miss Todd-Blakesbeigh dressed the front of his knickers in two more pairs of prettier knickers: in white lace, and then in black lace.
"There, Carmel," she said, sitting at last to declare that she was satisfied, "now I feel assured we'll have no more accidents from this baby."
She might have realised, however, from the squeezing of Rodney's eyes deep inside his bonnet, that he was losing control again as she spoke. Only this time, it was the shame of wearing his teacher's blouses and knickers in front of her that took away all his control, as his cock grew stiffer and rosier, warmer and more blissful, until it started to spend its copious spurts of jism into her layers of knickers.