The story so far: Marilyn Singer and her mother Sylvia dominate Marilyn's weak husband Charles. They compromise his sexuality by making him wear effeminate clothing, to avoid any danger of him showing infidelity. They start him on a de-sexualizing course at Pink and Sissify, a sissification hospital. After three weeks he is brought home for one weekend, during which he is presented to two of Sylvia's friends, Debra and Josie, to demonstrate his transvestite weakness, after which he is returned to the hospital for his sissification to be completed. When he is brought home, his wife and her mother take him to the home of Lady Edith Peddington, where several ladies will be present to assess the outcome of his treatment.
"I know you're a real sissy now, Charlotte," said Sylvia, holding a girls' full petticoat ready to lift it over her son-in-law's head, "but you can STAND STILL while we're dressing you. Hold his arms, Marilyn, and lift them up to go through his shoulder ribbons."
Charles Singer did his best to do as he was told, whimpering and pressing his knees together in their white knee-highs. His wife held his arms and steered them through for the soft white petticoat to cascade like a cloud of feathers down his smooth, naked body. The frothy hems bounced and fluttered on his lacy stocking tops, turning one of his whimpers into a gasp of girlishness. One thing he loved about his sissification training at Pink and Sissify: he had learnt how fabulous it was to see the dainty wafting and swirling of his petticoats in front of his panties, and the girly prettiness of the skirts and dresses he wore at the tops of his legs.
"Arms up!" ordered Sylvia for his second petticoat, which dropped over him even more widely than the first, flaring from its little silver bodice in a fairy-tale spread of white chiffon. He moaned with pleasure as it fluttered and settled, with a half-inch silver satin edge all round the frilly hem, wide in front of him. His wife had his sissy socks and shoes ready to put on over his white stocking feet.
"Sit on the stool," she told him, her lips set with the determination she had shown him since he finished that life-changing course three days earlier. A tinge of sadness crossed his heart as he watched his young wife open a pair of white socks for him to go with the pretty Mary Jane shoes that awaited him on the carpet. Her dark hair was bobbed like his own, though longer and fuller almost to her shoulders. She was beautiful in a crystal dress in damson pink with chiffon sleeves and a pleated skirt. It swelled on its bed of petticoats as she crouched in front of his knees and fed the first sock onto his white stocking. Charles peered over his spreading petticoats to see a burst of lace frills dropping over his ankle.
"You will show your deepest appreciation to the Ladies when you are downstairs," she rasped, checking that the frills of his anklets matched each other in their ridiculous width.
"Especially to Lady Edith for welcoming us into her home," said Sylvia, carrying the huge confection of pink satin towards them. "For her to allow us to use this wonderful bedroom to get you ready for your recital - well! I can only say that you had better make it well worth the while of her and her friends. You will be an utter and complete sissy girl for the amusement of every Lady present."
Piling responsibility on Charles Singer's delicate shoulders like this was always going to overwhelm him with sissy fright and a sense of his own weakness. His knees slithered across each other and he pressed his delicate elbows into his waist so that his long, slender fingers could fondle his naked throat with girlish nerves. "How many Ladies will be here, mother?" asked Marilyn, slipping the first of her husband's pink satinette Mary Jane's onto his foot.
Her husband's lower lip trembled as he watched Sylvia slipping the coat hanger out of the dress where its huge white collar spread over the caps of the puffed sleeves of pink satin. "Well Debra and Josie of course, as always. They can't wait to play with the clown again after last time. Goodness that was three weeks ago, but at last they get their chance." The dress rustled unmercifully in her hands as she gave it a gently shake in front of her son-in-law. She eyed him and the dress, one after the other, half wondering if the measurements Pink and Sissify had sent home with him were going to prove correct. They hadn't tried him in his recital dress before the big day: there hadn't been time. "Then there's Lady Edith, of course, and two of her friends: one of them is Miss Churchill, your singing teacher at Pink and Sissify, Charlotte."
He whimpered again, although it was more of a wail as Marilyn got him to his feet to be dressed. Sylvia slipped both her arms under the dress's white petticoat and gathered the whole garment with the back buttons towards herself. Up and over his head it went, then she dropped it onto his shoulders and spread it evenly over his petticoats, pulling it this way and that, still undone, while his wife helped her to arrange the puffed sleeves and spread his sissy collar evenly over them in a circle of white satin.
"You will do your recital knowing that you are sooooo inferior to every Lady present," she told him as he hung his head, the points of his dark bobbed hair hanging forward round his mouth. "I hope you remember all your lessons of the past six weeks. If you are not properly respectful, you will be punished as the Ladies watch."
Sissy lessons or not, it was mortifying to stand in such a wide, high-waisted satin dress while his Mother-In-Law fastened him down the back. The waist was so high the sash she did into a satin bow was between his shoulder blades. She finished it with a flourish before turning him to face her. He gazed at the bosom of her cream silk-chiffon blouse which seemed to shake with authority, which she wore with a calf-length pleated skirt in mint green silk. She held out a hand for him to take; Marilyn did too, and between them they marched him whimpering along the landing and down the stairs towards Lady Edith Peddington's sitting room where the Ladies waited for the sissy.
Lady Edith's sitting room was dominated by the high Prussian blue drapes at her windows and her matching plush furniture spreading over a blue Persian carpet the size of the room. A gold chandelier shed a subdued light over the gathering of Ladies, all of whom turned to see the entrance of their sissy.
For Charles Singer, the moment was too much. A mature lady with bouffant silver hair filled his vision, her dress of jade green satin sparkled in its brocaded bodice, while the skirt spread in an explosion of femininity, widely supported with layers of petticoat silks. The skirt of her dress filled her settee. His legs gave beneath him at such a picture of lady's elegance, while on all sides there were other ladies, their immaculate faces turned on him, their smiles bright with lipsticks, their coiffures so sophisticated and their presence a mesmerising blend of fashionable perfumes. His wife and mother-in-law held him up by the arms until they had him in the middle of the circle of settees, and made sure he was standing with his shoes together and his dress to full-skirted advantage before they let go of him.
"Charlotte," said Sylvia, drawing herself up as if appointing herself Maitresse de Ceremonies, "this is Lady Edith. Hold your dress delicately and curtsey."
Her son-in-law shuddered, feeling all eyes on him, especially those of Lady Edith. He caught the pink satin of his dress at arm's length in his fingertips, to his left and his right, and setting his eyes on her white high heeled shoes beneath the edge of her luxurious skirt, he descended in one of his best practised curtseys. The hostess watched him from beneath raised brows, her glistening ruby lips pursed with appreciation, then allowed him to stand again by saying: "Thank you, Charlotte. In such a lovely pink dress, I'm not at all surprised that you curtsey like a good little girl. Now you can curtsey to my friends, if you please. This is Miss Sharpston on my right."
Charles took the most fleeting of glances at the first of two ladies on the next settee to see she was a strawberry blond with her hair done back in a wide bun. She was rather plump with a bosom, which lent extra force to her peach satin blouse and large bow at her neck. He held his dress out wide on each side and executed a deep curtsey in front of her straight pleated skirt that covered her knees, with high heels in beige patent leather.
"I like your lovely hair-style, Charlotte," she said. "It's very girly and you're a little sweetie, I can see." She wore deep red lipstick in a smile of ironic contempt as her eyes devoured the girlish picture at her feet.
"And beside Miss Sharpston," went on Lady Edith, "is Miss Churchill, whom you will know from your sissification lessons."
Charles did indeed know Caroline Churchill: she was his music teacher at Pink and Sissify who had been rehearsing him for the past three weeks for this very day. She wore her dark hair in a neat perm, while she was dressed in a navy and white plaid A-line skirt, a navy blazer and beneath it a white waterfall blouse with navy edgings. His lips trembled more than ever as he said: "Good afternoon, M-Miss Churchill. I am - so pleased to meet you."
There was a gasp around the circle of ladies at his words followed by giggles, because they had not yet heard him speak and his voice matched the falsetto of a little girl. Miss Churchill's lips were tight as she lifted her chin to look down her nose at her pupil, and Charles put all his effort into placing his Mary Janes correctly and lowering his ass and sex with deepest reverence towards the lady who had caned him many times at the hospital. "Thank you, Charlotte," she said in her usual hard tone, quite out of place for a singing teacher, "I am expecting you to entertain Lady Edith and the rest of the company with an exhibition of the weakest and most pathetic examples of your sexless condition. Starting with your singing."
Charles rose, because he had learnt never to speak to a Lady while in a curtsey. "I-I'll do my b-best, Miss Churchill. I'll try and try," and he bobbed another curtsey to assure her of his best intentions. Sylvia took his hand and turned him to the next settee, where two ladies sat whom he had met in recent weeks at her home.
"Perform your sissy curtseys to my friends too, Charlotte," she said before taking her own place next to Marilyn.
"Good morning, Miss Debra, I'm so pleased to see you again." His dress and petticoats ballooned prettily as he descended at her feet. She wore a crisp blouse of mint silk and a long pleated skirt of firm knife pleats in the same pale green and white plaid. She shifted her knees as Charles performed his reverence, startling him with the sizzle of her skirt lining and her underskirt, bringing a moan to his lips.
"Good morning, Charlotte dear," she said, her face down coyly as she peered up at him from beneath the quiff of her shiny brown hair. "You would like to wear my blouse and skirt, wouldn't you?"
"Oh! - Ooooh, yes, ma'am - I would like to." His lips trembled with the force of his emotion so that he had to bite his glossy lips together as he rose and moved to Josie Douglas at her side. She too was wearing an 80s style blouse and skirt costume - a white blouse with sharply pointed collar and revers and a pale blue pleated skirt almost as long as Debra's.
"Good morning, Miss Josie," he said, descending low.
"Good morning, Charlotte. You are such a sweet little girl today. I can't wait to hear you sing for us."
He blushed and hung his head. Looking at her beautiful smile and long black hair was too embarrassing for him. "I-I'll sing my very best, ma'am," he managed before Sylvia was beside him and fussing his dress to ensure it was as wide as could be.
"Lady Edith," she said, "perhaps you would like to hear our little sissy doing his songs now. That would mean that if you are pleased with her, she can sing again later?"
Lady Edith looked from one lady to the next and concluded "That would be so nice. We can see how feminine the sissy is during his recital."
Marilyn brought a rolled up mat into the middle and opened it for her husband to stand on, then she wheeled a low mirror into the middle, so that it would face the performer but not obscure Lady Edith's view of him. Meanwhile Debra and Josie ensured that all the ladies had drinks to enjoy. Miss Churchill took her place at the piano and set out her music, then looked across to the sissy. The tips of his bobbed hair were dithering with fright as the ladies sat back, all eyes and ears on his solitary self in his pink dress and white collar. He held his hands out to the sides in the set recital position, on line with his puffed sleeves, and looked to his singing teacher for her to count him in. He took as deep a breath as he could and began.
< Charles is a sissy, a sissy, a sissy,
Charles is a sissy called Charlotte the Pansy.
Call him a girlie, a girlie, a girlie,
Call him a girlie and make him show cock. >
As he sang his last line he caught the front edges of his dress, with his petticoat frills too, and lifted them in the air as if doing a can-can. Lady Edith's jaw dropped and her opera glove sprang to her cheek as she and her friends discovered that the sissy was wearing no panties. There between his white suspender straps was the sweetest, stiffly erected little three-inch cock, as Miss Churchill's piano swelled towards his second verse.
< Charles is a girlie, a girlie, a girlie,
Charles is a girlie all sexless and wimpy,
Call him a sissy, a sissy, a sissy,
Call him a sissy and laugh at his cock. >
During this second verse he turned in a gradual circle on his pink Mary Janes, showing every lady around him the pitiful outcome of his treatment at Pink and Sissify. The result was a burst of spontaneous applause on all sides as Miss Churchill's piano crescendo-ed and died away, leaving her pupil to curtsey again and again towards different ladies, this time holding his dress up in front to reveal his erected shame. His audience was in high spirits, applauding on and on and exchanging their impressions of his revelation.
"Look how reduced it is," said Debra to Marilyn. "Is that as long as it will go?" wondered Thelma Sharpston, speaking to Sylvia right across the circle.
"It is," confirmed the sissy's mother-in-law. "It's the result of emphatic hormonal treatment over the six weeks of his course. It can't ejaculate any more except in gentle leaking under very severe humiliation and arousal."
"We call it 'oozing'," added Marilyn, moving forward to her husband with lengths of pink ribbon in her hands. "Turn to race Lady Edith, Charlotte," she told him. "We must fasten up your dress so that you are exposed as a completely de-sexed sissy." She used the large white plastic clips on two of the ribbon-ends and attached them to the hems of his dress and petticoats in front of one leg then the other. Her mother stood behind him for her to pass the straps over his shoulders, crossing them behind his neck, so that the clips on the other ends would reach the back edges of his dress. They would hardly meet. It was only through lifting the back of his dress right up over his sash bow that they could be clipped and secured. The two women drew his white sissy collar out of the straps so that it could be arranged on top, all the way round his crimson face. He was a ball of white petticoat silk, the bottom of which hung in a curve all round him leaving him naked below the waist except for his stockings and shoes. His wife and mother-in-law prettied the pink satin hem of his dress where it showed, pointing upwards, all round his shoulders, while his puffed sleeves showed on either side where he held his hands in his sissy position. He couldn't help but fuss his hair in spasms of girlishness as he could feel how exposed and humiliated he was. Then Marilyn wheeled his stool into the middle and clamped it in position.
"Charlotte, you will sit on your stool until you do your other songs with Miss Churchill. Lady Edith and the other ladies want to laugh at your impotent little popsie. Mother, fasten his thighs in place, wide apart so that we can all see the pathetic little organ."
Charles Singer's sobs became a string of whimpers and moans as he was positioned on the stool for his mother-in-law to fasten him down. He glanced at one lady and another, at Lady Edith in her sumptuous green satin dress, and at Debra MacShane and Josie Douglas in their elegant blouses and pleated skirts, and it was all too much for him to be grinned at and giggled about by all of them. He found himself pulling himself free from Sylvia's hands and springing to his feet. His dress flounced around him as he made his way out of the circle, then ran across the carpet, his legs out of his sight beneath his upturned petticoats, fanned with cool air from his cock and his ass to his frilly anklets and pink satinette heels.
"Charlotte, come back here at once!" he heard form Sylvia.
"I'll get him, mother," reached him from behind and he sensed the sizzle of silk blouses and petticoats hurrying after him. He reached the door, turned the knob and pulled. It was heavy, so hard for him now that he was weakened and dainty. Then hands pushed on the door and it closed with a clunk. His heart was ready to burst as he tugged and heaved, needing so desperately to escape, but hands with bright nails and bracelets were pressing it shut from behind him.
Perfumes gathered round him, and silk blouses and dresses. Pleated skirts closed round his stockings, including against his ass and his cock and he was surrounded with blushed cheeks and lipsticks and ladies' bouffant styles. "Don't punish me, please," he cried in little more than a whimper. "I'm sorry. It's because I feel so humiliated and so - oh I'm so weak and sissy and I want to cry."
And he did. He burst into a torrent of tears, even though his cock was aching with stiffness, as Marilyn, Debra, Josie and Miss Sharpston marched him between them back to the heart of the Persian carpet, where Sylvia and Miss Churchill waited for him with his stool re-set into a higher position - the position for spanking. Lady Edith was on the edge of her seat to follow the drama.
"Punish him hard, Thelma," she said, her neck erect and her chin raised as if in high annoyance. "He's got to learn that he is to do exactly what is expected of him at all times. He is under our control."
Caroline Churchill had removed her jacket and stood ready in her white waterfall blouse and navy pleated skirt to perform her duty. She held a thick rubber paddle between both hands so that she could flex it to add to its spring, then she spanked it three or four times against the pleats at the side of her leg as if to loosen her arm for the task. Sylvia had two of her petticoat slips which she had brought for this very purpose: she laid them neatly folded into padding over the seat, and over them one of her pretty blouses in milk chocolate satin. She folded the neck ties neatly over each other to receive his cock, then folded each of the full sleeves over those to ensure a slithering, deeply feminine bed for his sexless organ. "Use the leg and arm poles on him," she said to Marilyn as the crying husband was presented to the stool and made to lie across it on his belly.
Debra lifted out his dress at the front so that his gathered petticoats hung freely beneath his arms. The women held his hands for Marilyn to clip the brackets over his wrists as far apart as possible, then to tie the pole ribbons to the legs of his stool. He roared - or perhaps squeaked would be more accurate - with tears as they moved behind him and fastened his ankles apart too, securing the leg pole to his stool too. Charles Singer was presented bottom up for Miss Churchill to administer the appropriate punishment, and the ladies took their seats to watch.
A hush spread over the ladies as they allowed the former school principal to give them an exciting show. All eyes were focused on those naked ass globes as Miss Churchill positioned her high heels well apart, laid the blade of her paddle on his delicate flesh and lifted the instrument behind her head.
DOWN it came, shooting a loud whack round the sitting room and stinging Charles Singer through his ass and all the way up to his neck. He wailed with the pain and the ladies straightened their backs and gripped their lips more tightly. WHACK again, and the sissy husband's white collar flopped forward on both sides, concealing his head from his audience. WHACK! SMACK! THWACK! His petticoats and collar shook and fluttered with each stroke and the wriggles went through each of his arms and legs as he wished so hard that he could avoid this dreadful punishment. What a silly idea it was to try and run away from the ladies whenthey had him ready for humiliation amongst them.
After ten strokes Caroline Churchill dropped her paddle onto her settee and drew a deep breath. The women applauded her and were delighted with her performance. "You will learn," she said as Marilyn unclipped his feet and hands and eased him up to a rather stooped standing position. She shook her finger in his weeping face. "You will learn that you are a feminized sissy girl and that you must always - ALWAYS - behave as one. Sylvia, Marilyn, I suggest, in line with his Pink and Sissify training, that he should pay a forfeit right now, to recompense each of the ladies present for that astonishing fit of maleness he showed us."
"I agree," said Lady Edith, looking most put out. "Something that will force him to pay us the greatest of respect." She fanned herself after all the excitement, not least because the spanking had raised the temperature in the room and the ladies were perfuming themselves accordingly.
"With your permission, Lady Edith," said Sylvia, standing midway between the hostess and her wicked son-in-law where he was held by his wife, "and with the permission of each of the ladies, I suggest that we oblige him to pay his deepest sissy respects to our female sex. In that way he will show his reverence and devotion to us as being totally superior to him as a male - a seriously failed one."
Lady Edith sat in silence, processing her guest's thought. "I beg your patience, dear, but do you mean - that he should kiss the ladies in their lingerie?"
Sylvia smiled, then grew serious. "I mean that he should kiss us without our lingerie. Each one of us. He will serve us the way we expect to be served since he is our sissy girl - our personal maid in effect." She turned to her son-in-law as she spoke, his eyes and his mouth gaping, still with his dress and petticoat up round his chest.
"Excellent," pronounced Lady Edith, and the other women exchanged snorts of agreement. "But Sylvia," continued their hostess, "I would be obliged if you were to have him serve you first - so that we see what is required." There was a twinkle in her eye, and with that she took her place again, spreading her dress in its full magnificence, and the rest of the party did the same.
"All we need," began Sylvia, "is a straight backed chair," and she walked across the room to where some chairs of the sort she had in mind stood between the windows. As she returned to the middle, her daughter moved her husband's stool outside the circle of settees and Sylvia set the chair in its place. She stood beside it, with one hand on the top of the chair-back, and pointed to the floor in front of her. "Kneel," she ordered.
Charles Singer dropped as if axed, his knees a foot in front of his mother-in-law's long pleated skirt in pale grey silk.
He shuffled his white knee-highs forward. He had been dressed in Sylvia's skirts many times but he had never been this close to one of her skirts while she was wearing it. As his heart palpitated inside his upturned dress, she stooped, lifted her skirt in both hands until she let go so that her hands were up her skirt, working at her lingerie. A moment later she dropped her panties in ivory satin to her feet and stepped out of them. She caught Charles's face in both hands and lifted it to look up at her.
"You are to be admitted under my skirt, Charlotte, to pleasure me in my most personal recess. You WILL bring me pleasure. Put your hands in the sissy-girly position." He lifted them to his shoulders, his knuckles touching the pink spheres of his puffed sleeves. "Closer to your face." If he had worn dropped earrings he could have held them, and if he thought his heart was palpitating before, it was nothing to the way it was thumping now. Sylvia used her fingers to gather her skirt up her thighs, followed by her underskirt, showing him her stockings, up to the welts, her suspenders - and there was his mother-in-law's personal niche, hairless and glistening. "Closer," she said. He was trying to avoid his arms, his hands from defiling her exquisite nylons. "You may spread your fingers on my suspenders," she went on, "to help you to nuzzle as intimately" - she paused to gather her breath - "and as deeply as you can. Begin."
With that, she released her skirt, making sure that it enveloped him completely, underskirt and all, arranging it in as perfect a shape as possible as it imprisoned its captive against her legs.
The ladies round the room watched spell-bound as Sylvia's lips rippled and slacked and told a story: of where he was touching her, with what part of his face, how pleasant was that movement, when exactly his tongue made contact with her labia, her vulva, her clitoris. They saw why she had brought a chair, because without it to cling onto, she would certainly have fallen as her ass too told its side of the tale. It was when her backside began gently but firmly pumping that everyone could tell she was reaching a key moment, just before she began crying out in half-cries, half-laughs before her face relaxed enough for her to take deep breaths of recovery. She looked round to see all her friends watching with smiles of admiration, her daughter included. She drew up her skirt to reveal her son-in-law still at his task, and pushed him back with a knee.
"That's enough, Charlotte. You have performed your duty, in some slight recompense for the disrespect you showed me earlier. Pass me my panties."
The sissy gathered his wits and realised where they were for him to give them back to his mother-in-law.
"Your face is wet, Charlotte," she said, spreading her panties over his face and wiping. "I'll put these on again, and who knows it might come round to my turn again a little later. You can crawl under my skirt again and pay your respects to my panties too."
A moment later Lady Edith was thrilled to be taking Sylvia's place at the chair. It was hard for him to kneel close enough with so many petticoats filling her gown, but her friends helped her to lift it high for him to crawl to her stockings, then to lower the full weight of her skirts over him so that he disappeared, except for his pink satinette Mary Janes. Miss Churchill stood with her for extra support as Charles paid her his deepest respects, bringing expressions of profound ecstasy to the face of their hostess. She too gave a cry of pleasure, her eyes closed, and a minute later thanked her friend for her support and indicated that she wanted him released from her dress.
Miss Churchill was next, lifting her navy and white plaid skirt as she looked down on her music pupil with contempt, then dropping her underskirt and skirt over him like a column of feminine fabrics. She enjoyed ripples of pleasure which she didn't seek to hide from the company, but when it came to her moments of climax she refrained from letting her feelings overcome her self control. "You are deeply inferior to me, sissy boy," she told him as she wiped his face in her full cut white panties of celanese silk. "You are also subservient to me, as you have just indicated with your homage of service and submission."
Charles Singer was showing signs of being shattered. His hands hung by his side as Miss Sharpston held the chair in her satin tie neck blouse and her straight pleated skirt. She was a larger woman than the others so with her legs filling her petticoat there was less room for Charles. He was more crushed, but on the other hand he was not going to slump to the floor from his tight skirt enclosure. He gave her pussy all the devotion he had given to each lady in turn, and brought Lady Edith's friend to pleasure after ten minutes of trying. He emerged with a wet face, which she wiped with glee in her large panties of pale pink silk.
Debra MacShane took her place, and smiled down at Charles with his hands obediently raised to hold her stocking tops. "You're a sweet boy, Charlotte," she said, "and you will bring me much pleasure, I am sure." She prettied the full circle of his white collar as she spoke. "I think you will be very excited too when I cover you inside my long pleated skirt." She stooped to collect its pleated hem as well as her underskirt, lifted the stiffened garment above his head, and fed it down until she could release it to fall the rest of the way with a slurry of silks. In no time she was biting her lip with pleasure as he paid her the devotion he owed her. Her hands held the shape of his head on the front of her pleats and she pulled him further into herself, setting her shoes further apart to ensure that his mouth could insert his tongue deeper and with more strength. She closed her eyes, and eventually she moaned and moaned as her pleasure plateaued and finally subsided. As she released him from her skirt and wiped his face, she stooped and planted a tender kiss on his forehead. "As with your mother-in-law," she said, "I'll wear my panties next time, so that you kiss them and pay them your deep adoration.
Josie's skirt was long and pleated too, and dropped over him full of expectation. Her emotions flooded out more than any other lady present, her moans accompanying each of her breaths. When Charles emerged from his covering his face glistened more than with the others too, requiring her to wipe his face and neck with pale blue panties the colour of her skirt. Not all the moisture had covered his face from her private place because he was also crying, overcome with paying such a concentrated passage of respect to a demanding group of ladies.
And so it came to Marilyn. "Of course I am your wife," she declared, "so there's no point your paying respects to my fanny - you'll be serving me every minute of every day." The others "Aw-ed!" with mock disappointment and giggled as she brought the wretched sissy to his feet. "Instead we'll set the chair to one side, and bring back your stool. Because you, Charlotte Singer, are about to entertain the ladies in our circle by confessing your fetishes, including your bottomless passion for little girls' wear and ladies' lingerie." She set the stool in place and made him plant his sore ass cheeks on it, before spreading his legs wide for her to fasten the ribbons over each thigh. His knees were set wide apart.
"But M-Marilyn," he blubbered, fussing his hair in his confusion, "I'll be so ashamed. What will the ladies think of me?"
"What should you care about what the ladies think of you?" she retorted. "They think of you with a mixture of contempt and amusement, and you can console yourself with the knowledge that some of them will later be dressing you in their underwear, their blouses and their skirts."
"Ye-es," chorused the ladies. "Absolutely true."
"In the meantime," said Marilyn, collecting a bag from her mother and taking out a large blond doll, "you can play with Ellie and change her clothes for us."
A spasm of girly feelings overcame him as he took Ellie into the front of his dress, still turned up in a ball of petticoats, and he cried bitter tears in front of all the women.
Their response was to watch his reactions even more closely and to laugh and comment on his girlishness: "What a sweetie with his dress turned right up out of the way." "Doesn't he look like a little girl," and "Marilyn, you'll have to buy him some of those paper thin see thru panties so that every time he does those sissy oozies, we can watch him feeling utterly helpless."
Prim will start a new story in the next edition of Prim's Petticoat Pansies.