Sissy Spank at Miss Popsy's Dress Store by Prim
"Good afternoon, Miss Popsy. I wonder if you could find a nice, really effeminate dress for this sissy son-in-law of mine?" Florence Carlyle stood at the counter of Miss Popsy's emporium for dresses and effeminate lingerie for boys. Beside her, dressed in his Mother-In-Law's white woollen coat complete with dress, stockings and court shoes, her son-in-law cringed with horror as the plump, contemptuous proprietress smirked and snorted with disdain.
"I can see that he needs a dress," she said. He's a pouffe of the first water. Look at his hands, limp and delicate. And his face, like a girl's with soft lines and a complexion of strawberries and cream. "What's your name, sissy?" she asked him.
The young man hadn't realised he might be expected to speak, but he stammered a reply: "Er - Earnest, ma'am."
Miss Popsy came round the counter to face him close up. "Is that it?" she demanded. "Not Earnest Pinkpanty? Or Earnest Frilliknicks?"
Earnest Shufflebottom felt his face go a deeper shade of red. "He's Earnest now," announced Florence, undoing the front of his coat, "but my daughter and I have decided he'll be a little girl from now on. He's such a wet-brained clown in everything he does every day that he doesn't deserve to be treated as a male ever again. Certainly not to be dressed as one, which is why I've brought him to you today, Miss Popsy. Would be so kind as to suggest a dress or two that we could keep him in. Then his name will become Esmerelda, or Esme for short."
"Let's take this dress off," cried Miss Popsy, her face set with decision as she spun him round and zipped him out of Florence's narrow, knee-length burgundy dress. "The wimp needs a sweet dress to suit his mental age. I'm thinking three or four years old." She caught Earnest by the ear and towed him across the shop floor to where rows of girls' dresses shone with pretty sweetness in every possible pastel colour. "Something darling like this floral sundress," she said, pulling out a sizzling spread of white silk printed with clusters of rosebuds and delicate leaves, with a high waist and its skirts spreading over layers of integrated petticoats in frills of white nylon.
Florence looked a bit disappointed. "I want his dresses to be obviously girly, with childish details that say: Look at me, my sex has turned into girly sissyness."
"Ah you want the sissy party dresses," confirmed Miss Popsy, bringing squeaks of pain out of Earnest as she pulled him along behind her. His noises caught the attention of women who were browsing the dresses in Miss Popsy's store and they came closer to watch. "These special occasion dresses will show your friends how sexless he is. There's nothing like a satin dress in rose pink or apple green to bring out the blush of his cheeks, especially if he droops with shame onto a nice wide Peter Pan collar in white cotton."
The wretched male's lips began dithering with dread as she dropped a petticoat of white silk chiffon over his head and arranged it round him, securing him into it down the back. "Florence," mewled the twenty-year-old, seeing other women watching his misery, "Please don't get petticoats and dresses for girls to dress me in." He gapsed at the dress Miss Popsy was selecting, in ice blue silk that sizzled and whispered as she gathered it on her arm to drop over his petticoat.
The dress rushed down his face and spread into a circle of girlishness around his hips. The sweetness of it brought a wail from his throat. "Oh no! noooo! You c-can't d-dress me like this!" he blubbered as his voice turned into sobbing. "It's a little girl's dress. I don't want to be a little girl! Ohhh boo-hoo-hoooo!"
His noise was nothing new to Miss Popsy: her clients' sissy-boys were forever bursting into tears and even stamping their feet in stupid defiance, as if protests and threats would make the slightest difference to her. She knew what to do in such circumstances: she caught him by a handful of hair, sat herself on a chair and swung him face down across her knee. "Sissy idiots who make a fuss about being dressed, especially when they start crying like little girls, have to be smacked and smacked until they stop complaining, do you understand?"
"Oh stop! You can't do this to me! Florence! Mother-In-Law, get her to stop! OUCH! OWWW! STOPPIT - PLEEEEASE!"
The women browsing the dresses in Miss Popsy's shop loved a spanking and gathered round. "Oh look," they said amongst themselves, "Miss Popsy's introducing that sissy-girl to his new life. What a nice dress she's got him in. he looks just right for party dresses and deep petticoats, with a sore red bottom to match."
It was try. Earnest's - or should we say Esme's bottom was rapicly turning redder and redder as he begged Miss Popsy to desist and have mercy on him, little realising that one thing Miss Popsy loved was to see bottom cheeks going from pink to red to deep ruby across her knee, to the tune of pathetic weeping and begging from pouffy males who look so sweet once they are dressed in party dresses for age three-to-four.
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