39Sweetwell-4

The story so far:

Teenager Roger Pressington resists the pretty clothing his mother Thelma and grandmother Valerie want him to wear to make him a 'nice boy'. Their efforts at directing his sexuality into femininity include deep dressing in his Grandma's silken lingerie, her corsetry, her blouses and her skirts. When even this fails, Thelma appeals again to her old school friend, Sonia Forbes-Withers, who has brought up her son, Jodie, as a model of feminine cooperation. If Thelma can bring Roger to Sweetwell Park, Sonia and Grandma Agatha will be able to help in Roger's feminization. Their therapist friend, Doctor Margarita Paige successfully applies sissifying hypnosis to the confused teenager: the only drawback is his premature ejaculation over his sweetheart and his dress. But the hypnosis showed promise.

Chapter 4 - Can Grandma Agatha's panties turn Roger into a girl?

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The gentle air of Grandma Agatha's luxurious boudoir breathed the sweetness of Chanel No 5, instantly lifting the sensitivities of them all, mothers, grandmas and the two boys, towards the femininity that pervaded Sweetwell Park. Day and night, the ladies wore styles of effortless chic and sat or moved with elegance, while their coiffures and impeccable complexions spoke their pride in the attractiveness of their female sex. It was no wonder that lifting the unfortunate Roger out of his reluctance to share their femininity had grown into an urge of the most pressing importance for everyone else in the house. Grandma Agatha's dressing room opened off the far end of the bedroom. It's maroon velvet furnishings and white chiffon drapes were interspersed with full mirrored closets, while here and there a heavy drawer of the dark mahogany dressers was slid silently open, overlaid at their edges with Grandma Agatha's mature girdles or exquisite lingerie.

A pang of desire curled in Roger's abdomen. He knew he wanted to feel the caress of her personal underwear - most especially her worshipful panties. The flutter in his heart worried him. It was new to him to feel he actually WANTED to step forward into feminine apparel.

"Here we are, Doctor," said Grandma Agatha, leading everyone into the middle of her bedroom. The afternoon sunlight caught her rich auburn bangs as she turned to face her friend. "After Roger ejaculated, quite innocently I know, over our dear little Jodie's clitoris, you can understand the shock that unfortunate act inflicted on the little ones' grandmothers. There can be no doubt: it was boyish behaviour, and we must do all in our powers to prevent it from EVER happening again."

"Well, not in that way," pointed out Doctor Margarita. "I think you yourself would be delighted if your friend Grandma Valerie's misguided grandson should rise again to the heights of sexual expenditure, but in a fully controlled manner. Not in such a boyish way."

"No," said Grandma Valerie, joining their tete-a tete. "We must take the utmost care to manoeuvre Roger's urges into the most feminine expressions. If ejaculate he must, then it must be in a girl's way."

"Exactly. When I succeeded in hypnotising him earlier, it was through his quite natural desire to see and adore your own feminine lingerie. We are in the telling position of having a confused boy eager to put himself into the most pleasurable intimacy with your delicate panties. We know what trigger will throw him headlong into the new, desired mind-set for him of wanting to be a girl, and we have seen with our own eyes how headlong was his cooperation. He could not resist. That is why we are about to dress Roger - and our dear Jodie - in your exquisitely feminine lingerie. In that way, we will be able finally to suggest to him that girlishness means less to do with the clitoris and more to do with the vagina."

A few steps behind the two grandmothers, their grandsons held each other by the hand and listened with beating hearts: one biting his lip at the nerve-racking risk being inflicted on his beloved friend, the other churning in his whole body at the imminent prospect of feeling the liquid satin touch of Grandma Agatha's most feminine lingerie. Their fingers entwined even more anxiously than in their long walk up the main staircase and into the East Wing to Grandma Agatha's boudoir. The more so when their respective grandmothers turned on Roger with resolution on their crimson lips, and held out their hands to him.

"Be a good boy Roger darling," called his mother from behind him. "Do your best. Please try and WANT to be a girl for me."

Grandma Valerie's look softened as she looked down on him. "Roger my dear," she began, "I know you want nothing more than to please Mummy and me, so I am sure you are building your courage now to become as girly and precious as your darling friend Jodie. See how lovely and how happy he looks in his pretty girls' blouse: the dainty lace round his collar, and the lovely puffed sleeves at his shoulders. And look at how lovely his legs look under the pleats of his short skirt."

The aching in Roger's abdomen intensified as his eyes agreed with everything his Grandmother said about the girlishness of Jodie. His sweetheart even pressed his knees together and pushed them to one side in a swell of girlishness at Grandma Valerie's words. It was a lovely picture of girlishness which caught vigorously at Roger's tender heartstrings, bringing a burst of love and friendship from him.

"Oh Jodie darling - my dearest Jodie. I'm so sorry for what I did, being so boyish towards you and shooting my cummies over you when I was excited. You look so sweet and pretty, Jodie. I so want to be like you. Deeply and completely." It was a confession that gave Doctor Margarita her chance: a moment not to lose.

"Roger pet," she said, moving to the other side of him from his grandmother, "do you remember how sweet you felt when we were downstairs in the lounge and I was talking to you?"

Roger looked into her eyes and thought back. He thought back hard until the creases of a frown drew his eyebrows together, but as usually happens in the case of verbal hypnosis, the subject's recollection of detail is hopelessly scrambled. His mouth dropped slowly open and puzzlement mixed with anxiety across his face. He couldn't remember her talking to him at all. In fact the only thing he had was a picture of Jodie's grandma lifting the front of her skirt up to her shoulders so that he could see the whole inside of her lovely white slip with its lace edging surrounding it, and in the middle - her adorable panties. As his lip quivered with his failure to remember, Doctor Margarita took control.

"You made the Ladies very happy, pet, because you cooperated with me. It was then that we saw how feminine you really want to be." And in a soft voice she added the key words: "Grandma Agatha."

It was as if she had delivered a resounding slap across the boy's cheek. He rescued his own hand from his Grandma's grip and threw both hands to his cheeks as if what he was doing required all his attention, all his meaning and all his strength. "Grandma Agatha," he cried, stepping towards her but stopping two yards short as if any nearer might be crossing an invisible line of the fullest respect: "please lift your skirt for me - and your petticoat. Please show me your knickers." His heart was hammering as he spoke. "I so want to see them. Please Grandma Agatha. Oh please."

Jodie's grandmother drew herself up. Was it out of an innate sense of superiority? Or had he offended her dignity? She was wearing her pink blouse of billowing silk - a kind of watermelon red, scattered with tiny black spots - with frills at her neck and wrists, which she wore with an off-white skirt in glazed cotton with four box pleats across the front and a kick pleat at the back. Her imposing look softened, then became a gentle smile, as she stooped from the knees, gathered the edges of her skirt while grasping her petticoat too, and lifted them slowly. She wanted the boy to see her stockings rising higher up her legs, to her stocking welts, then her suspenders, and then the lacy legs of her wide-legged French knickers.

"Ohhh" Ohhhhhh!" gasped the boy as the blissful look on his face drew the sympathy of every woman in the room and most of all took Jodie onto a pulsing level of affection for his sweetheart. "Grandma Agatha," cried Roger, his hands clutching into animated girly fists alongside his cheeks, "Your panties are in white satin - so sweet - so feminine. I - I LOVE them, Grandma Agatha. I love looking - and feeling how much I want you to - ohhhh to pull them up my legs for me, Grandma Agatha. Oh please do! Please dress me in your satin panties!"

To the practised eye of Doctor Margarita Paige, the youth was completely transported into a trance, unaware of what he said, unaware of anyone else in the room except for the wonderful Grandma Agatha and her precious lingerie. That opened white satin slip and those hip-shaped, lacy-legged panties were his world, the limits of his life vision. It was the world of his dreams for the next few moments. "I think Roger is asking you if you will make him a girl, Grandma Agatha, with the help of your panties," she said. "Perhaps you could change them for another pair, so that he might wear those very panties that you are making warm and feminine for him."

"Yes, yes!" called out Roger, in a wild-sounding voice, as if any delay or distraction might rob him of the God-sent opportunity to be dressed in such a mega-feminine item of ladies underwear. "And Jodie too," he added. "Oh please dress Jodie in satin lingerie too, so that we are the same. You want that, don't you darling?"

He turned his attention sideways from those precious panties to hurry towards Jodie, clasping his hands in his own and appealing to his friend's astonished face. "You want to wear Grandma's satin panties, don't you my dear sweetheart? You want us to be girls together."

"Oh more than anything, Roger my love. I want us to be loving girls together. Wearing satin panties - petticoats - and dresses - and stockings and suspenders - and "

"Oh yes, Grandma Agatha," declared Roger as if struck in the middle of his heart with another bolt of inspiration. "Your stockings and suspenders. Please will you put me into them, to make me a girl."

A broad smile lit Grandma Agatha's face as she almost scurried across to her dresser and opened a top drawer, then a second. In moments there was a fresh pair of fully fashioned nylons on the bed along with a gleaming white suspender belt in satin panels, some of which were prettied with floral brocade, with six suspender straps spreading beneath to hold Roger into his hose.

More importantly, a second pair of panties, this time in peach satin, lay ready for her to bend and divest herself of her current panties, and replace them with the equally pretty new ones.

And there they were. Grandma Agatha's panties. Ready for Roger. Willing women's hands set about undressing him, all the way to the skin, so that they could present the pink, glowing boy to Grandma Agatha to be dressed in her underwear. How he tingled in his arms and legs, in his chest and shoulders and scalp, and especially in his growing clitoris. He didn't think of it as a clitoris of course, nor as a cock or anything else. To Roger it was girlishness. He was feeling like a girl feels down there: rosy and pretty and ready for Mummy or Grandma to put him into his panties.

The suspender belt came first. Grandma Agatha's neatly bobbed chestnut hair flounced against his cheek as she wrapped the belt around him from front go back and set about linking every one of the fourteen sets of hooks and eyes. Ohhh the playful, delicate dangling of the suspender clips on his upper thighs, on either side of his clitoris. This time he DID think of it as a clitoris. He thought: "I'm wearing my suspenders, for my stockings, and my clitoris will push into the glossy gusset of my precious panties."

His flesh almost screamed out with pleasure as the softness of his nylons caressed them, rolling higher and higher up his left leg, to be met by the clips that Mummy pulled down to meet the nylon, and Grandma Valerie as well. Everyone was helping him to be a girl. It was heaven. Then his right leg, quickly turning into the taut, smoother-than-smooth glossiness of his left leg, and Sonia was fastening his clips to pull them ever so tightly higher up his thigh. Ohhh, he was pulled tight inside Grandma Agatha's stockings, and his clitoris was pointing outwards to meet the panties that she was holding up for him, ready to dress him into their white satin prettiness.

She stooped to the carpet, panties held ready, and looked up to him to invite him one more time. "Put your hand on the shoulder of my blouse, darling, to steady yourself. You may feel a little weak while I'm dressing you in my lovely panties."

She was right. He put his hand on the pink silk of her blouse - and then his other hand on the top of her hair, because as he stepped first his right foot, then his left, through the lace of her panties, he lost all sense of where he was. All he could see down his body was the satin elastic of Grandma Agatha's panties moving magically up his stockings with whispering smoothness and bewitching power - and in front of them, above them, his clitoris - waiting, longing to meet them with all his affection. It was more upright now, and reaching taller, in an ache of desire.

His clitoris sank from sight, still taut and high, but covered over with the doubled satin of Grandma Agatha's panty-gusset. He had never, ever, felt more like a girl. "Oh Jodie! Darling!" he cried, still offering his clitoris to Grandma Agatha for all the dressing she might want to bestow on him, but longing to see his sweetheart in this moment of girling.

His heart leapt with joy, because a few steps behind him, his mother and Grandma Valerie were just slipping an adorable pair of panties up his sweetheart's stockings and suspenders, and settling them into place over Jodie's clitoris in a pure echo of his own heavenly delight. His panties were in lilac pink, and he was threading his arms through the delicate straps of the matching brassiere. He was dressed as a girl in Grandma Valerie's lingerie, and even had a fabulous pair of strappy sandals on his feet in gold lame with double straps and double buckles. They gave him such perfectly feminine legs.

Ohhhhhhh the pleasure! Grandma Agatha held her white satin brassiere in front of him for Roger to slot his hands through, so that she could hold him in her embrace, her hair against his, as she looked down his back and clipped each hook together to hold him in her bra. "What an angel you are, my sweet thing," she cooed in his ear, her hands and arms closing around him to hug him into her blouse. "What a divinely good grandson you are for Grandma Valerie, allowing me to feminize you in my things, and turn you into a girl for her." She lifted her cheek away from his, but only to bring her lips to his face and plant a long, warm kiss just below his eye as he lidded it in blushing pleasure at her words. "I am in love with you, now that you feel the need to become a girl for your dear mother. You cannot understand, I think, how much she has desired this for you," and lifting his bra slightly out of her blouse, she looked at his mouth so that she could plant her own luscious lips exactly across the middle of his.

Their kiss was long, and soft, and wet, and hot, as she held his face to hers with her hands round the back of his hair. She needn't have held him: he wasn't going to hasten the end of that lovely pleasure of knowing that he was a girl for Grandma Agatha and that she was so pleased with him that she had fallen in love with him.

"What these dear girls need," declared Grandma Valerie, putting her hand on her friend's hand so that she lowered her hold on his hair, "is to feel their girlishness together."

"Yes," added Sonia, holding her son by the hand. "Jodie wants to be the one to kiss his girlfriend - don't you my pet?"

"They are both feeling so girlish," added Thelma, "it would be a crying shame to keep them apart a moment longer," and her words brought Grandma Agatha's hands away from Roger so that she could step back and view how delightfully feminine he looked in her bra and panties.

"Hold on one moment," came a solitary voice of disagreement. It was Doctor Margarita, standing alongside Sonia, her head lowered as she surveyed all the faces in the group over the top of her glasses. "Yes, our darlings must hug and above all kiss each other, but they are feeling only half as girly as they could."

There wasn't a face on all sides of her that didn't stare wide-eyed with disbelief. "But Margarita," exclaimed Grandma Agatha, her brows knitting with disbelief, "the girls' clitorises are filled with desire: they are so ready to show each other their affection. What could you possibly - ?"

"Dresses," replied the Doctor. "Girls want to wear pretty dresses. That is what I mean."

There was a moment of re-configuring the system, a change of mind-set, and then everyone burst out at the same time.

"Mommy, can we wear dresses?" cried Jodie.

"The dresses!" remembered Grandma Agatha.

"Of course!" agreed Grandma Valerie.

"Oh yes," "Let's dress them," cried the mothers.

" Please, on pleeeeeeeease can I wear a lovely dress?" cried Roger, his blond curls seeming to shake on his scalp as he appealed to one relative after another.

The band of females pressed forward into Grandma Agatha's dressing room, where the Grandmas had prepared, rather doubtfully at the time but now with boundless confidence, for just this eventuality. She produced the key and undid the lock of her grand wardrobe, where the swell of copious dresses pushed both the doors half open. The boys caught their breaths. There was no doubt they had seen the flutter of pink netting, perhaps of an organza skirt which looked very girlish indeed.

"Mommy," asked Jodie, his voice bleating with a depth of earnest hope, "please dress Roger in a dress that's ever so pretty. Something pink, or covered in pretty flowers. I'd so love to see him looking really, really feminine."

His words disarmed any possibility of protest from Roger. Instead they fired him to even more urgency to become as girlish as their mothers and grandmas could make him. "Oh yes. Yes please, Grandma Agatha," he pleaded. "Please put me into a pink dress. A really pretty pink dress."

Even as he spoke, her hand was deep inside her wardrobe, and emerged with what might as well have been the flash of a stun grenade, so extraordinarily did it light up the faces of both the boys.

"Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh! Is it for me?" gaped Roger, standing on the tips of his sandaled toes.

"Oh it is! It is, darling," sang Jodie, his sandals jumping on the spot. "You're going to be a girl for me!"

"That's right," declared Grandma Agatha, holding the dress to full advantage, for Roger and everyone else to get the full picture. It was in rose pink satin, or to be more accurate, the top half was in satin, with a simple bodice that buttoned to the back of the waist in pink pearl-drop satin covered buttons, with an enormous bow in the middle of sash ribbons nearly ten inches wide. The flowing skirt, on the other hand, was in matching silk tulle, the bottom six inches of which was scattered with a heart-touching border of roses and leaves in the same pink. Then she folded the dress over one arm and said: "But first, a girl can't possible wear a dress like this without its recommended bed of organza petticoats."

It was Doctor Margarita who stepped forward with the petticoat they needed, which she had brought with her the day before - just in case her hypnosis worked, and they might end up in this very room, putting Roger into this very dress. "I think our little girl needs this petticoat skirt," she said, grinning from ear to ear. She gathered the fullness of its snow white folds between one hand and her opposite arm, so that the inside of the net could drop over Roger's eager curls.

It fell around him with only the slightest of re-adjustments, so that the little satin bodice rested on ribbons over his shoulders, and the spread of organza floated outwards from above his waist. It was as he stood, surrounded in petticoat prettiness, that the bliss of his new life burst over him and unleashed a sudden burst of sobbing tears. Jodie rushed forward and held his hands, Grandma Agatha clasped him into her blouse, and one by one, each woman in the group embraced him and kissed away those tears of girlish joy as they hugged their little girl with all their caring love. As he recovered, even to the point of laughing away his upset, Grandma Agatha gathered his dress for him, opened its underskirt, and lowered it reverently over his head.

In a dozen precious moments of girlish paradise, his dress opened out around him and its skirt of tulle cascaded over his petticoat, surrounding him with all the sweetness of a ballerina's tea length tutu. He was being buttoned into a satin and tulle party dress, and he was ecstatic. Even as he admired and loved himself in one of Grandma Agatha's mirrors, he glimpsed a petticoat of equal length and fullness dropping over his beloved Jodie, for his sweetheart to turn and have his petticoat buttons fastened at his back. Then, as the boys held hands together on the tops of their spreading skirts, Grandma Valerie produced the dress they had chosen for little Jodie.

They were delirious with rapture as she spread it across the front of her blouse and skirt. "It's in lemon and white silk chiffon, darling," she informed them. "See. The lemon is from your shoulders to your waist, and on to halfway down the flare of the skirt, where it changes to white for this lovely extra tier, and that in turn lies on another tier of lemon, overlaid with lovely white lacework - matching this gorgeously girly shawl collar of white lacework across your shoulders. Isn't it beautiful? Shall we put it on, sweetheart?"

Jodie too was crying. The emotions of this wonderful afternoon were all too much for delicate teenagers who are in love - and in love with their lingerie and their dresses. "It doesn't surprise me," avowed Doctor Margarita to the boys' mothers as they watched their sons with an arm round each other's waists. Or were they their daughters, sobbing silently in each other's arms, their dresses pressing together in widely flaring prettiness. "The dress and its petticoat have made Roger recognise he hasn't got a penis or cock. He has a clitoris in his lovely full-cut panties - and a vagina."

Her words brought the room to a stillness and a silence that almost tingled in the ears of everyone present - as if they daren't move in case they missed what might come next.

"But that means - making love to each other," said Grandma Valerie, "as girls."

This observation added a worrying breathlessness to the boys' excitement - which gradually morphed into hope, and trembles, and finally the dare to expect that what they heard might really happen. They unhooked themselves from each other's arms enough to look into each other's eyes, with a full year of pent-up longing and love in their gaze. And with oceans of the sweetest affection for each other, they melted into the most affectionate of girls' kisses.

Their grandmothers hugged each other too, grateful against all hopes that their project had at last succeeded. It was the boys' mothers, though, who spoke quietly to each other, their hearts pounding in their affectionate bosoms. "We'd better take them upstairs," said Sonia. "They can lie on our bed - and start to explore those eager vaginas of theirs."

"And if we slip their dresses off," said Thelma, "they can be loving girls together in their Grandmothers'satin lingerie. I can't wait to watch. I think our poppets will need a little motherly help."

THE END

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