Resignation and Acceptance Image - text by Jennifer

 

I suppose we all interpret images differently, my idea of what goes on in the images I post is reflected in my captions and I’ve no doubt every reader has their own version of the events depicted. So it’s always interesting to get a different perspective, Jennifer kindly supplied the text to the image below- Resignation and Acceptance. We all should be so lucky.

Hopefully you will enjoy it.

I’ve started a story but Summer has been a distraction so will try to post something in the next month or two.

Didn’t have time to do a new image for the main picture so many will have seen Slipping into Femininity before. Lately, I’ve  been looking at a lot of forced femme pics with males in curlers and it’s another layer of humiliation that I hadn’t considered before. 

I'll post another image in the next week or so.

Take care 

Carrie 

A Work in Progress- Story will image

 Writing stuff like this while the world is spinning out of control on so many levels seems almost vacuous and self- indulgent but I think unless we have another world to retreat into, even if only for a few minutes, we would go completely mad – I know I would. 

The story below was based on one of my last images- First Impressions. The intention was that it would be about 700-1000 words, more a vignette than a story, I suppose. Turns out that was much harder to achieve than I thought, it didn’t develop the way I had originally envisioned and ended up at 5k words. There is a lot to be said for brevity so I’m not sure if this was a good outcome.

In the story St Jude’s is referred to, so for those not familiar with the name-  it is a Finishing School for Young Ladies(first mentioned in some chapter of another story, A Very Victorian Education) where difficult young males were sent when they displeased their mothers/aunts. Shocking!- yes I know. This story is set the 1940’s/50’s so obviously it is an institution that endures, much to the relief of said mothers/aunts and assorted female relatives. Truth be told, I’m fond of the place myself. 

Thanks to Jennifer for formatting the text on the new main image and also the previous one.

Thank you also to those who have continued to voice their support for the material I post through their comments and also for your patience. I’m very grateful.

This story is for you, hopefully you will enjoy it.

Take care

Carrie.

 

 

A Work in Progress

By

CarrieP

 

 

T

he black Daimler stopped outside the imposing residence in one of the most exclusive neighbourhoods in the city, the chauffeur in a peaked cap and grey uniform  with trousers tucked into gleaming knee high black boots opened the rear passenger door.

“Come along girl, your new home, or should I say workplace.”Janet, the female chauffeur issued the curt order and with no response from inside quickly snapped, “I hope you won’t make a scene, I would hate to have to drag you out.”

The threat worked and immediately a patent leather three inch heel encasing a black nylon leg emerged onto the pavement, a few seconds later a figure in a black dress with a white collar and cuffs emerged and stood next to the chauffeur, eyes darting around like a frightened rabbit before coming to rest on her.

“I see you are quite taken by my uniform.”  The chauffeur said, as she adjusted her cap.

The figure in the black dress didn’t respond.

“Jealous, I suppose.” She grinned. “I’m not surprised, Madam tells me it is five perhaps six months since you last wore trousers, so you have probably forgotten what it feels like.”

There was no response from her passenger, only a shameful expression and downcast eyes. Janet, warming to her theme continued,

“The sheer freedom. The release from the tyranny of dresses and skirts, not having to fasten nylon stockings to six or eight garters of a girdle every day, making sure seams were straight. Oh how I hated that. Although, from what I’ve heard you have become quite proficient in such feminine skills. Yes, quite the girly girl I believe. I believe St Jude’s is expert at such transformations.”

An impatient silence radiated from the newly alighted passenger as his eyes scanned the almost empty street for passers-by. As two well dressed women rounded the corner, it was quite obvious he did not want to linger on a public thoroughfare.

“It must be so degrading for you.” The chauffeur ignored the silent plea but feigned sympathy. “A male in a dress, standing next to a woman wearing pants, but not just any dress...a maid’s uniform. I wonder will you ever be allowed wear trousers again.”

He stifled a groan at the prospect and she immediately  knew she’d hit a nerve,she continued,

“Maybe if you please your new mistress, in time perhaps she may ask Miss Bracegirdle to relent.”

Of course he dare not admit it but ever since his confinement and being forcibly feminised in the role of a servant girl under the strict supervision of Miss Bracegirdle , the Headmistress at St Jude’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, his masculinity was being slowly eroded.  Over the course of the last several months, to his horror small but visible fleshy mounds had inexplicably begun to protrude from his once manly chest. He dreaded to think what effect another six months in that establishment would have on him.

Would he be completely be subsumed by the femininity that was being forced upon him? Would he eventually become indistinguishable from other housemaids? Stripped of his manliness and reduced to a mere servant girl, it was a frightening thought and one that installed a constant fear. Only away from St. Jude’s, its extensive gardens patrolled by large ferocious Dobermans, could he hope to formulate a plan to escape his ghastly fate and return to his previously male existence. And the only way to achieve this was to gain access to male clothing. The Headmistress had agreed to provide her friend, Ms. Martindale, with a temporary housemaid and perhaps this was the opportunity for the escape that he had hoped for.

As these thoughts ran through his mind he also knew the chauffeur was right. He had indeed coveted her uniform, reminding him of a life he once took for granted and so different from the humiliating one he was now forced to wear. Could this be the chance he had dreamed of? She seemed to read his thoughts and smiled,

“If you are nice to me, I mean really nice ...”she grinned in a way that made him even more uncomfortable than the long and very tight girdle he was wearing.

“I may allow you wear it once in a while. Make you feel manly again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His heart raced at the prospect. His face betrayed the hope she had ignited within his brain. There was no need for an answer.

“Yes I thought you might.” she crowed and after an instant examination of his figure added with a laugh,” But you’ll probably need to wear an even tighter girdle. I’m a size smaller than you.”

She returned to the car to retrieve a suitcase and in the few seconds she had left him he suddenly became aware of the mostly female passers-by casually glancing in his direction as they approached, he quickly became gripped with fear as he had never before been seen in public dressed as a female. In that peculiarly feminine way women view each other, their eyes focused on him just long enough to scrutinise everything from his shoes to his hair. One or two allowed their eyes to linger longer than he felt comfortable with and he felt a tremble in his knees at the thought of his secret being publicly uncovered.  To his relief it seemed their fleeting inspection appeared to view him as just another servant girl who did not warrant further examination, they continued their journey. This encounter confirmed Janet’s opinion that he had indeed absorbed more feminine traits than even he had realised and unless his appearance and characteristics were studied more closely it appeared he could pass as a female. His relief at not being publicly discovered as a male quickly turned to despair at the realisation that, despite his best efforts to retain his masculinity while incarcerated in St. Jude’s he had acquired a definite feminine aspect to his bearing.

As Janet returned to his side with his suitcase the front door opened revealing an imposing, full figured woman. He had enough experience of such figures to know that underneath her black satin dress there was a long, controlling and restrictive foundation garment and it seemed her stern face reflected this.

“Janet, escort him to the servant’s hall.” she instructed the chauffeur in a loud voice. “Madam is in the drawing room and will ring for him when she is ready.”

Two women standing close by obviously heard the resounding order and with a perplexed expression began to look at him with renewed interest, his eyes fell to the ground and he felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he overheard one of them say,

“Did she say ‘him’?

As the large woman retreated inside the house he was grateful that Janet appeared by his side and quickly guided him away from the ladies on the pavement and towards the steps leading down to the basement floor and the servant’s entrance. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the women were still looking in his direction and engaged in an animated conversation.  His relief to be off the street was palpable as he descended the steps.

“Miss Windsor, Madam’s housekeeper. She’s quite strict with new servants and doesn’t much care for the male sex.” Janet explained and taking a step back, she looked him up and down once more before adding with a condescending smile, “But then again, I suppose you’re not really a male any more, are you?”

Her comment stung and he visibly reddened. She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest, he could feel her thumb and forefinger through the lace cups of his tight long-line brassiere.

“Sissy.” she said softly as she squeezed gently. “Isn’t that what feminised males are called.

Six months ago such remarks would have immediately triggered an angry outburst accompanied by a  physical threat but his incarceration in St. Jude’s had drastically modified  such behaviour and although anger was ever present he quickly learned that any outpouring of temper was quickly punished in the most painful and degrading manner. Now, the  overriding emotion by far was utter humiliation. Constantly under female control, stripped of male clothing, physically weakened, forced to wear constricting female foundations to accommodate an evolving nascent female figure and  with no means of escape he had no choice but to submit to feminine authority and don the degrading uniform of a housemaid. However, now finding himself away from St. Jude’s he suddenly felt the faint spark of optimism, hope even, that perhaps there would be an opportunity to abscond and leave this nightmare behind. Janet’s remark about her uniform fanned that spark of hope into a small yet perceptible flicker that took hold in his brain. He briefly imagined the feeling of pulling on a pair of trousers and reclaiming his masculinity, such was his desperation to do so he didn’t care if they were hers.

One word was all it took to wreck this familiar daydream.

Sissy! It was a word that he was all too familiar with, frequently used by the pupils at St. Jude’s when they wished to tease him and knowing that he was powerless to react in a typical male fashion they employed it on a daily basis.

He would never get used to the ghastly word and winced at every use of it, it was a constant reminder of his humiliating situation and he was only too aware that, dressed in the uniform of a servant girl, a denial would not only be ridiculous but confrontational. Bitter experience had taught him to avoid making enemies of the female sex regardless of their social rank. Although it went against every fibre of his masculinity he had come to learn the hard way that as escape was out of his reach, submissiveness and deference to all females made his life so much easier. Not for the first time he swallowed his manly pride and shamefully nodded confirmation of her assessment.

Janet seemed to recognise his distaste for the term and sniggered.

“Or maybe you would you prefer ‘girl.’?”

He blushed, a mixture of anger and shame welled up inside him. How could a man be expected to make such a horrible choice, as his fingers anxiously clasped the folds of his dress.

She pulled him closer, her hand lifted his dress.

He tried to push back but she was too strong, he gasped as her hands stroked his satin slip and moving to his buttocks she gripped them tightly, before jerking him into her. Unable to stop her, he squealed as her right hand slipped between his legs.

“Hush now, I won’t hurt you.” she whispered in a quiet but commanding tone as her fingers searched for evidence of his sex. Her gaze met his as he felt a gentle squeeze of her hand and despite his best efforts, his organ swelled slightly. “Ah...there it is, I see the Headmistress has you securely tucked away. Hold your dress up like a good girl so I can see.”

With tears of shame welling up, he held the skirt of his uniform and his black satin slip above his waist to allow for her inspection.

“Oh, what a beautiful girdle, a satin panel with a rose motif and obviously very tight, no nasty male bulge. Almost a perfectly feminine vulva, Madam and Miss Windsor will be pleased.” she said, admiring the smooth pubic region as her fingers continued to stroke his uncomfortably concealed genitalia. “And eight garters for your stockings, that must take you an age to get all those fastened and at the same time ensuring your seams are straight.”

She snapped one of the garters with a self-satisfied smirk, it was a demeaning gesture but something he had become used to at the hands of the pupils of St. Jude’s. It was yet another layer of humiliation he had to silently put up with. He blushed once more as he arranged his slip and then his dress over his knees, taking care as always to ensure the satin lace was not showing below the hem of the dress’s skirt.

“I don’t envy you.” she sighed condescendingly “All those garters, arranging your seams, mincing about on heels, not to mention those tight girdles, fully fashioned stockings  and girly satin and lace slips. But I suppose you sissies like that sort of thing.”

He felt a spasm of anger but immediately recognised the foolishness of reacting to her taunts, he needed friends not enemies.  She watched as he fussed with the hem of his dress, spending longer than necessary arranging the skirt of the dress and slip so she would not see the temper in his eyes.

“Oh Miss Windsor will just love you.” she laughed as he finally composed himself. “It usually takes her days to ensure a new maid understands the importance of being properly presented. If you want to ensure you get on her right side just make sure you remember that but somehow I don’t think that will pose many problems for you.”

Before he could answer the servants bell rang, a loud irritating jangle identical and practically identical to the one in St. Jude’s, the harsh metallic sound immediately and visibly unnerved him. His face became noticeably agitated his immediate reaction was to go to the mirror on the wall and check his appearance, fixing a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Time to meet your new mistress.” Janet said as she watched him become more flustered and not a little afraid.

“I can’t...I ...”he mumbled, his eyes frantically searching around the room “I’m not dressed properly.”

Appearing in front of Miss Bracegirdle or any female for that matter without an apron and cap was a serious misdemeanor. An irrational panic gripped him and his first thought was he would be returned to St. Jude’s immediately and with that any hope of escape.

Janet laughed, which made him more disconcerted.

“Madam wishes to speak to you before you begin your duties. I expect Miss Windsor will ensure you are appropriately attired before you begin your duties.” she said and discerning his obvious apprehension and quietly added, “If Madam finds you suitable of course. So be on your best sissy behaviour and make sure curtsy and I’d strongly suggest you do not display any ghastly male traits or else I’ll be taking you back to St. Jude’s.”

He swallowed hard as she cupped his left breast.

“And neither of us want that, now do we?” she smiled, feigning concern.

His mouth dry, he nodded his agreement.

“That’s a good sissy.” She said, patted his firmly girdled buttock and guided him out the door, he felt helpless and weak at her insulting description and groping hands, his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Enter.”

A  female voice responded to his weak knock, Janet opened the door and nudged him  inside, several sets of female eyes fell upon him, Ms. Martindale was the only one he recognised from her visit to St. Jude’s and was grateful her ghastly daughters were not present.

“The new housemaid, Madam.” Janet announced his presence and moved to side of the room.

“Don’t just stand there, boy.” Ms. Martindale  said in a loud, yet not unkind tone. “Come closer so we can inspect you.”

Although he had become inured over the previous months to wearing such degrading female clothing, exposure to women outside the confines of St. Jude’s always served to remind him of just how humiliating his life had become. Her use of the word ‘boy’ only emphasised his dreadful circumstances and ensured  he was aware that now everyone in the room was left in no doubt as to his true sex and served to further deepen his humiliation. He edged forward nervously and stopped a few metres from her and remembering Janet’s instruction, he curtsied. It had the desired effect as Ms. Martindale beamed and turned to the other women present who were unable to disguise their delight at the clearly startled figure in front of them.

“A male housemaid!” Mrs. Cynthia Penworth, squealed in amazement and clasped  her hands to her bosom. “How utterly delightful.”

“Yes.” Her friend, Mrs. Gertrude Malvern agreed and addressed her hostess.  “I didn’t believe you Margaret but you were right, he is reasonably presentable as a female.”       

“As you see ladies, he is quite well trained.” Ms. Martindale beamed. Still lacking some feminine qualities, I grant you but tolerable enough ...for the time being.”

 The stern older woman that he recognised from earlier as Miss Windsor was less enthused by his presence.

“With respect Madam, that remains to be seen. You will recall the last...”she paused as her eyes examined him closely before adding with barely disguised contempt “girl sent to us was, at the very least, most unsuitable.”

Ms. Martindale laughed and addressed her companions,

“Of course Miss Windsor is correct. “The last housemaid wasn’t exactly the most feminine of girls but this one is a definite improvement and quite pretty for a male.”

Her friends clucked their agreement and his cheeks blushed at their remarks, confused at whether these were insults or compliments. She continued her explanation

“The other poor thing looked most awkward in a dress and seemed unwilling or unable to act as a proper housemaid should, and I suppose still found it difficult to fully embrace the femininity required of as a servant girl in a household of high social rank. I suspect a longer spell in an institution similar to St. Jude’s would have corrected that. As we know ladies, women of our social position require properly trained domestics but at the same time ones that  look reasonably pretty in a uniform. Pleasing on the eye, if you will.”

Her friends murmured their agreement.

Once again, the mention of a return to St. Jude’s filled him with alarm and he dreaded to think what had become of the previous maid.

The anxiety in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Ms. Martindale and she seemed to read his thoughts, she informed her friends,

“I sent the unfortunate creature to my sister to work as a scullery maid and as you know my sister’s cook can be a bit of a tyrant and I believe rarely allows the wretched thing out of her sight...day or night... if you understand my meaning.”

She looked at the now clearly alarmed figure in front of her and smiled at him.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”

A shiver went down his spine at her account of his predecessor’s fate.

 “There seems to be a dearth of scullery maids of late.” Mrs. Penworth said clearly indifferent to the wretched future this individual was condemned to, “Indeed, my mother’s cook is also looking for such a servant.”

Somehow he found the strength to suppressthe strong urge to gasp as he saw her glance at him over Ms. Martindale’s shoulder.

Forced into domestic service as a housemaid was a ghastly and unbearably humiliating experience in itself but even he knew a scullery maid was by far a worse fate. Seldom allowed out of the kitchen except to scrub the front steps, under the constant supervision of the cook it was the lowest domestic position in any household, housemaids and other servants looked down on them with disdain and pity. The one in St. Jude’s was a timid, downtrodden individual who rarely left the kitchen and wore a most unflattering pale green uniform. He still wasn’t sure if it was male or female. A shiver went down his spine at the thought. He considered as fates went and as degrading as it was for him as a male, a housemaid was not the worst one.

“But this young thing is far too pretty to be confined to the kitchen as a scullery maid.” Mrs Malvern gushed as she smiled at him, somewhat alleviating his growing concern.

If he had learned anything from St. Jude’s it was if a lady offers a compliment, no matter how distasteful or demeaning to the male ego, it has to be acknowledged in the appropriate feminine manner. Wishing to ingratiate himself as best he could he jutted out his small but noticeable bosom and before curtsying he lowered his eyes he made sure to smile demurely in her direction as his remaining male pride would allow.

“How charmingly feminine.” Mrs. Penworth said, clearly impressed and although thoroughly shamed by his actions he felt a degree of relief.

“Yes.” Mrs Malvern agreed enthusiastically, “Quite girlish, apart from one or two slight characteristics it is hard to detect any sense of overt masculinity.”

“I’m so glad you agree.” Ms. Martindale said “He is quite an improvement on his predecessor or as Miss Bracegirdle says, not  quite the finished article but a work in progress.”

 Naturally it was not what any red blooded male wanted to hear but he was in no position to contradict her.

“Harumph ” the housekeeper suddenly snorted derisively , obviously irked by the presence of the young man.”He couldn’t be much worse.”

“Miss Windsor is quite the traditionalist and does not approve of engaging feminised males as in the role of female domestic servants.”Ms. Martindale acknowledged her housekeeper’s evident but silent objection. “I was of a similar opinion but my dear friend Miss Bracegirdle has now convinced me that employing males in such roles is of great assistance in correcting their appalling behaviour and also has particular benefit for the male’s female relatives, not to mention the boon to society as a whole. As the civilised sex, we have a moral obligation to ensure males are rescued from their own depravity.”

Her companions nodded their agreement.

She fixed the young man with her steely grey eyes and continued

“I’m sure you agree your time spent as my housemaid will help rid you of those horrible male tendencies, dear boy.”

By now he was acutely aware that a dissenting opinion  or even the mere flicker of negativity would almost certainly ensure his immediate return to St. Jude’s or worse, dispatched to labour  as a scullery maid somewhere. At least remaining at Ms. Martindale’s house he had a chance, however slim, of escape. The stark reality was he had no choice and his response was immediate and without hesitation.

“Yes Madam.” he replied and now conscious of Miss Windsor’s view it was crucial he demonstrate he was far more suitable candidate than the former incumbent or indeed another female. He lowered his eyes and curtsied once more.

His response looked quite natural and was well received by the women and even Miss Windsor’s expression, although still stern and unconvinced, seemed less ferocious than previously.

“Excellent.”Ms Martindale crowed “I’m so glad you understand. As I’ve said Miss Bracegirdle has assured me most of your clumsy and awkward male traits have been subsumed into a more feminine persona.”

She paused for a few seconds before continuing,

“And it would be most unfortunate if her assurances were not fulfilled fully. It would be a great disappointment for all concerned.”

The threat was not lost on him, he felt his stomach tighten and knew it was not his girdle.

“Yes Madam.” he mumbled and curtsied for good measure.

Miss Windsor handed him a frilled white apron, one of the many hated symbols of his subservience to female authority but he had become so used to wearing one he barely gave it a second thought. The women watched as he placed it around his waist and expertly tied a large ornate bow at his back, quickly glancing in the mirror above the fireplace to check its symmetry.

“Your cap.” Miss Windsor said brusquely.

It was the ultimate symbol of female servility and one he hated above all else but such was his determination to avoid a return to St. Jude’s he accepted it without even a hint of a grimace and without even looking in the mirror confidently fixed it place on his head. Miss Windsor made a minor adjustment before securing it in place with two hair clips.

“Most males would struggle with such a simple task.” Mrs. Malvern said “I wish my own maid was as dexterous and diligent.”

“Mmm... reasonably acceptable I suppose.” Miss Windsor reluctantly conceded, the sternness of her face  continuing to soften.  “At least he knows how to tie his apron properly unlike that last excuse for a girl. I suppose with supervision he could become a tolerable servant girl.”

“I think Miss Windsor’s concerns may be overstated.” Mrs. Penworth tried to assuage the housekeeper’s fears as she eyed the clearly nervous girlish figure “Now that he is capped and aproned he looks almost like any girl I have had in my service. Perhaps a little gauche than an experienced female servant but I expect, somewhere inside the poor boy’s head, he is still trying desperately to cling to a modicum of masculinity. However, I expect that will recede with time. It pains me to say he is certainly more feminine than my youngest daughter. She refuses to wear a girdle and has to be forced into a dress when I receive visitors. I have no doubt he could teach her a thing or two. If you are satisfied with him perhaps we could arrange for me to send my daughter to stay for a few days.”

Ms. Martindale, knowing her daughter murmured her agreement and moved closer to Miss Windsor.

 “Dear Miss Windsor is very protective of me but I’m sure she will have no issue.” Miss Martindale informed her friends, smiling benevolently as she held the housekeeper’s hands in hers “But as we can see the boy is quite docile and effeminate and Miss Bracegirdle has assured me he is well trained in all matters pertaining to domestic service and will make a most competent maidservant. “

She turned back to the anxious creature standing in front of her and in a tone laden with authority said,

“Isn’t that so girl?”

Effeminate, docile, these words cut like a knife and he grasped his apron to stop his hands from shaking and now she was acknowledging him as a girl and although not unexpected the words confirmed how he was regarded by all present. Anger and confusion coursed through his body, however, he had plenty of experience being humiliated by the pupils of St. Jude’s and knew a reaction would only jeopardise his chances of escape. He immediately quelled his emotions and ensured his expression did not betray these feelings..

“Yes Madam.” he quietly replied.

“That’s a good girl.” Ms. Martindale cooed, obviously pleased with his display of subservience. “I think you will do nicely.”

Ms. Martindale’s friends looked at him and then at each other with unconcealed glee.

“And you don’t mind being called a girl?” Mrs. Penworth asked, her tone more than slightly disingenuous.

 “No Madam.” he lied and considering his attire, he quickly concluded that to say anything to the contrary would only invite more ridicule. He felt another layer of his masculinity seep away, yet with manful determination he suppressed the tears welling up behind his eyes.

“Of course he doesn’t.” Mrs. Malvern laughed “It’s far better than the alternative.”

“Alternative?” Mrs. Penworth enquired of her friend.

“Sissy.” Ms. Martindale interceded helpfully “I understand it is the common term for effeminate young males. Perhaps he should be referred to as such.”

“Ah...yes... of course.”Mrs. Penworth sighed, “Sissy, it is quite apt.

It was becoming too much for the young man, his steadfastness finally began to dissolve and he began to sob.

==================

“N...no...please... Madam...not that...please....”he pleaded and saw the women exchange glances.

“Janet.” Ms. Windsor addressed the chauffeur who stood silently by the door, “Give her a handkerchief and take her to her room, she looks quite pale and may wish to lie down for a while. Miss Windsor will summon her later to discuss her duties .”

Janet moved to his side and discreetly whispered in his ear.

“Yes Madam, thank you Madam. ” he sobbed and with his knees weakening  managed a clumsy curtsy before Janet led him from the room.

As the door closed behind them Janet allowed her hand slide over his girdled buttocks, squeezing them as she guided him down the hallway towards the servant’s quarters, her hand drifted down to his tight well girdled buttocks and she began rubbing and squeezing them gently.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a...what were the words Madam used, I just can’t quite recall?”

Still sobbing lightly, he remained silent as he tried to recover what little dignity he still thought he had.

She slapped him hard on his behind.

“I have a hairbrush waiting. What were Madam’s words?”she snapped as her hand hit his cheeks again.

“Docile.” he whispered.

“And?”

He hesitated, his sobbing increasing and he felt her hand once more.

“Eff...effeminate...she called me effeminate.” he wept uncontrollably the tears flowing freely down his face. .

She opened the door to a bedroom and led him inside and sat him down on the soft pink satin quilted bed.

“Now my docile, effeminate sissy, I told you I would look after you if you were nice to me.” she whispered softly as her hand caressed his nylon clad thigh. “You are going to be nice to me, aren’t you?”

She gently pushed him face down on the satin quilt and opened a drawer of the bedside table.

“You... you... said ....you may  let me wear your trousers...please....” his voice still sobbing.

He heard a click of a switch and a low buzzing sound filled the air.

“If you’re a good girl for Janet, a really good girl...then maybe.” She murmured quietly, gently pushing his face into the soft satin fabric and then lifted his dress above his waist and began unzipping his girdle. “But I’m sure you will be. Now just relax.”

 

 

The Reluctant Daughter - New Image

 

I suppose the image below represents a common theme in forced feminization fantasies. A male drawn into the orbit of a formidable woman and before he realizes the danger he is in, he finds himself under her control and subject to her every whim. I based it on a story that I started years ago but never finished.

Many thanks to Jennifer who formatted the text.

Hopefully readers will enjoy it.

I’m trying to complete a very short story at the moment and hope be able to post  in the next few weeks.

Take care.

Carrie

First Impressions - new image

 

 

The image above – A Glimpse of His Future- was intended for a story I began a few months back but, as mentioned in a previous post, found difficult to complete so I repurposed it.

While sketching out ideas in my mind for another story I came up with the image below – First Impressions.

 It seems St. Jude’s, that venerable Victorian institution, still caters for recalcitrant young men among its overwhelmingly female student body. Strangely, William doesn’t seem keen on remaining to complete his education. Maybe it should have been entitled  Between a Rock and a Hard Place.

I broke my own guidelines of keeping the text to 100 words approx which probably doesn’t help with making it easy to read.

My thanks to Jennifer,  for inserting the text in the most readable form possible.

Take care

Carrie.

Debut- A short Victorian story with image

 

I had hoped to post something much earlier and although, thankfully, things are slowly improving for me, achieving the required focus to put something together is proving harder than I had anticipated.

This story was not the one I had intended to write- a few months ago I had started another but abandoned it after 3k words as I just could not get it right- hence the delay posting this one. When/if  my concentration returns I’ll try to finish it as I think it has potential.

 I’ve rewritten this one a few times, it could (and should) have been longer but if that was to happen, heaven knows when I would finish it. Spoiler alert – the image doesn’t reflect the exact narrative.

Once more, a very big thank you to those who posted their support and best wishes over the last few years, it meant so much at a very difficult time in my life and I am very grateful.

Hopefully you will enjoy this.

Take care

Carrie

Debut

By

CarrieP

 

 

 

M

rs. Lavinia Dalloway sipped her sherry and smiled at the young man sitting next to her on the large damask sofa.

“There is no need to be so fearful Georgina.” she said “The ladies are my dearest friends, I have told them about your circumstances and they are so looking forward to making your acquaintance , so please don’t make me regret inviting them. Besides, I think we will both need their help.”

Fearful was a gross understatement, he felt a panic rise inside him at her words. He knew this moment would arrive sooner or later, nevertheless he was dreading the prospect. He briefly thought about fleeing the room but knew he would not reach the door before she rang the servants’ bell and his foolish and impulsive reaction would immediately be terminated by two of her larger housemaids. He recalled with shame the one and only time he had tried such a misguided course, it was a far more humiliating experience than even his present shameful predicament and not one he wished to repeat unless there was a reasonable chance of success.

Although his stomach was churning, he now knew better than to express any discontent. Sullenness was greatly frowned upon and he did not wish to find himself incurring her ire. He had come to know what was expected and repressing his shame he managed a well practiced smile and at the same time lowering his eyes in an unspoken display of obedience.

 “What a bashful smile.” Mrs. Dalloway said, as she caressed his face, clearly delighted with his performance. She always seemed uncannily aware of what was going through his head. “What a clever boy you are, you are learning much quicker that I would have hoped. However, you still seem rather uncomfortable, did Maria lace your corset tighter than usual?”

Unable to meet her gaze, he blushed as he recalled how Maria, Mrs. Dalloway’s lady’s maid, had insisted he wear a longer corset and it should be laced an inch tighter than usual so the satin gown he was now wearing would fit him correctly.

He had been made aware from the very beginning of his incarceration, which is what he considered his present situation to be, that an instruction from Mrs. Dalloway’s maid carried the same authority as from her mistress and was to be complied with without question.  His first attempt at rebellion when confronted with the new dress code imposed upon him was a most humiliating one, even more than wearing the actual garments themselves, and again, one he had no wish to repeat. Such was the level of his abasement he determined he would have to wait until he was absolutely sure of success before another bid for freedom was made. His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Dalloway.

“Yes, she can be a little over-zealous when it comes to lacing one’s stays.” she remarked as she fussed with his lace collar “But, like all good lady’s maids, she knows which gowns are less forgiving to one’s figure and as such require a more restrictive foundation. You are still just a trifle too big for some of my daughter’s gowns but in time you will have your very own wardrobe.”

She paused and smiled wistfully as she took in the sight of the feminised youth sitting beside her before continuing,

“Such a pity Caroline is abroad, as you know by now she is not as fashion conscious as I would have hoped and tends to favour less feminine clothing which, as her mother, I find most disappointing  but I’m sure she would be most curious as to how her clothes appear on someone else and I have no doubt she would greatly approve of your appearance. I think the idea of a male wearing her clothes would appeal to her.”

She laughed lightly at and looked to see his reaction. He deeply resented her remarks but despite this  he had no wish  to incur her displeasure. He believed this was her way of testing him, he subdued his anger and once again forced himself to smile. It had the desired effect and seeing there would be no display of petulance, she continued,

 “As I’ve said, you have made progress in assuming a reasonable feminine pose, however, I had hoped you would be a little more advanced.  I confess, I am a little disappointed that you have not yet mastered other aspects of femininity but I suppose that will come in time.”

His heart sank and he had to stifle a moan. The thought of a future being forced to dress as a female horrified him.

“But I thought...”he began, however, she was becoming more enthused at the idea and ignoring his interruption she persisted in the same vein,

“Of course we will also have to get you your own lingerie, petticoats and hosiery. You can’t keep wearing mine or Caroline’s. It will be delightful to visit the various clothing shops together. Caroline detests such mother and daughter expeditions so it will be a refreshing change to have someone agreeable to accompany me.”

“A...ah...” a pathetic whimper left his mouth at the mention of such an outing and what it would entail. It seemed as if there was no end to his torment.

A knock on the door interrupted her, a primly uniformed maid entered, curtsied and announced the arrival of her visitors. She rose gracefully from her seat and greeted them with kisses to the cheek. She then nodded to the young man and in a reasonably lithe motion he lifted himself from his seated position. The women looked towards the boyish figure, dressed in a gown of cream satin and brocade with an elaborate frilled hem and large bows. He cringed as he saw them exchange knowing glances as he knew what they were thinking- a weak emasculated male forced into ladies clothing. The shame cut him like a knife.  Like them, he was obviously tightly corseted but it was also quite obvious that, unlike them, he was clearly not used to the experience. He could clearly see their faces were unable to disguise their elation.

“Ladies.” Mrs. Dalloway with a wave of her hand announced to her friends, “Let me introduce George, or Georgina as he is now known, the latest addition to my household.”

The ladies took in the sight of the obviously disconcerted individual before them, a familiar crimson glow began to rise in his cheeks. Mrs. Dalloway, if she was aware of his extreme discomfort did not show it and warming to her theme continued,

“Addressing him as George would only draw unnecessary attention to our circumstances and I really did not wish to embarrass the dear boy. We settled on Georgina as a more suitable name, you answer to it quite comfortably now, isn’t that so Georgina?”

Trussed up in such feminine garments and unable to escape the young man was in no position to contradict her. His utter shame at his circumstances restricted his answer to a nod.

“Exquisite!” Mrs. Constance Carmine blurted “It is hard to believe it is a male, such delicate features.”

“And such a wonderful figure.” Lady Maud Cockshott added “Any girl would be delighted with such a silhouette . I see you haven’t spared him the corset.”

Mrs Dalloway smiled at the young man before replying,

“Oh, at first he did find it, like his the rest of his new feminine attire a little... shall we say...objectionable... but we soon came to an understanding, isn’t that correct Georgina?”

He felt a tingle down his spine, the events of that day would be etched in his mind forever.

In Mrs. Dalloway’s boudoir, naked and vulnerable , she stood over him holding a silk lavender chemise and matching pantaloons in her hands, two rather hefty housemaids  brandishing leather straps stood behind her, smirks on their faces as they watched him tremble at the prospect of been forced into women’s lingerie. He had already seen one of them lift a sturdy chair over her head with one hand and immediately understood the hopelessness of his situation, he was in no position to defy her. Desperate to hide his nakedness he meekly accepted the feminine garments and to the obvious amusement of the housemaids he quickly struggled into them and as he did felt part of his masculinity slowly ebb away. He pleaded with her to spare him the corset but to no avail and as the housemaids moved closer he abandoned any hope he had of her relenting. He turned his back and offered no resistance when she placed the heavy corset around his torso, standing behind him she instructed him to hold onto the bedpost as she began lacing him into the hideous garment. Within seconds he could hold back no longer and quietly he began to sob. She tried to comfort him with every tug of the lacing, gently explaining that a gown could not be worn without a corset and it was absolutely necessary if he was to fit his new clothes properly. She slipped two moulded pieces of rubber inside the overbust corset which  gave the impression of a small but obvious bosom. The maids helped her place the petticoats over his head , one silk and two taffeta. This is what he later realised created the uniquely feminine swishing sound when he moved, even the slightest activity with his legs brought produced a rustling noise. Once buttoned into his gown the maids held out trays laden with various creams and lotions which Mrs. Dalloway applied to his face and after several minutes she led him to the full size mirror to view the results. He gazed in shock at the mirror, the reflection showed an obviously corseted feminine figure but with a face that he only vaguely recognised as his.  The veneer of the various preparations Mrs Dalloway had applied seemed to soften his features and he had to look every closely to discover the face he recognised as his own. He recalled, much to the amusement of her maids, Mrs. Dalloway remark that although he did not resemble Botticelli’s Venus he made a reasonable female facsimile.

From that day on he meekly accepted the rest of his new feminine attire without further objection and so began his nightmare as Mrs. Dalloway’s feminised plaything, to be dressed and undressed as a girl would do with a favourite doll.

The recollection of this abject surrender of his masculinity almost brought tears to his eyes  but he knew better that to show such emotion, he could only squirm under the restriction of his corsets and the heavy weight of his silk and taffeta petticoats

Of course, these were not the first women to witness his humiliation.  Since he first arrived in this exclusively female household barely a week ago, Mrs Dalloway’s domestic servants viewed and seemed to rejoice in his ignominy on a daily basis since. Although they never laughed at him out loud he was nevertheless aware of the amusement they found in his predicament and they always found ways to belittle and humiliate him, making a point of complimenting his gowns, commending his figure or complexion, the bows he had to wear in his hair.  If Maria was busy with her mistress, there was no shortage of volunteers among the housemaids to act as his personal maid when dressing or undressing.

And now he was to be paraded in front of yet more women, albeit of a more genteel and hopefully, more understanding, nature.

“Georgina” Mrs. Dalloway snapped, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you forgetting your manners?”

“I’m sorry Aunt Lavinia.” he said as he held the side of his skirts and curtsied to the ladies.

“How delightful, he can curtsy.” Lady Cockshott giggled and clapped her hands like an excited circus animal.

“Just like a real girl.” Mrs. Carmine chortled with a wide grin.

“Aunt Lavinia?” Mrs. Armstrong asked her host with a look of surprise.

“Why don’t you serve sherry for our visitors Georgina, and I will explain our new relationship.”

In a rustle of taffeta and satin the ladies settled themselves on their chairs and watched as the young man move across the room to the sherry decanter, the bustle of his skirt swaying gently from side to side.

“He even walks like a girl.” Lady Cockshott blurted loud enough for him to hear.

“You have trained him well Lavinia.” Mrs. Carmine said admiringly. “We are most eager to hear how you did it.”

“Oh it wasn’t that hard, Maud.” she said loudly enough for the young man to hear, they all kept their eyes fixed on him as he filled their glasses and placed them on a tray. ”Once he was in a corset and petticoats he learned reasonably quickly. Of course, he is still not fully trained but he is making progress.”

As the ladies listened intently, Mrs. Dalloway recounted how she had encountered the young man during a long return journey from Paris where he had been employed as a tutor but had to leave for reasons that he was extremely reluctant to explain.  In anticipation of his departure from Paris he had applied for various positions in London but unfortunately had no success. Without employment on his return, with no references, and not to mention being extremely low on funds he would have difficulty finding lodgings and more importantly, a new position. Taking pity on him she kindly offered him a place to stay until his prospects improved, naturally, he was delighted and accepted her offer immediately.

“But how has he come to wear ladies clothing?” Lady Cockshott said smiling and as the feminised young man approached them, she took the sherry from the tray and caught his eye, his cheeks were now quite red with shame. “Oh no need to be embarrassed my dear, you do look quite fetching.”

“A trifle gauche perhaps.” Mrs. Carmine added “But then most girls your age usually are.”

“It appears his luggage was mislaid on arrival in London from the boat train and on his first night staying here one of the maids was extremely clumsy while serving dinner and spilled soup all over him.” Lavinina explained. “Of course, I couldn’t have the poor boy spend the rest of the evening in wet and soiled clothes. After his bath he had to have something to wear so I gave him one of my nightgowns, a peach satin one as I recall, and a matching peignoir to wear. As you know I have very high standards for my domestic servants and by way of making amends I insisted that he witness the girl’s punishment for her ineptitude with six strokes of the paddle.”

With utter mortification, he did indeed recall his initial introduction to female clothing with great shame and regret, in his defence he had tried to object to wearing such womanly nightwear but now naked and without any clothes of his own he had little choice.  The sensation of the delicate feminine fabric on his skin provoked a bewildering and unwelcome stirring in his male organ and he was grateful that the looseness of his peignoir helped in some way to disguise this unfortunate occurrence. He also recalled that the look on the maid’s face , despite the degrading punishment she was receiving, she was clearly amused at the young man forced to wear her mistress’s  satin nightgown. In the days that followed he was to suffer that look on a daily basis from all the other servants.

After he had distributed the drinks, Mrs. Dalloway called to him and patted the seat on the sofa next to her and gestured him to sit. Shamefully, he had to admit to himself he had quickly mastered the art of arranging a woman’s bulky skirts and bustle and lowering himself gracefully on to the seat. She had made him practice for hours to ensure he performed the manoeuvre correctly. It was obvious that the ladies were full of admiration at the results of his training.

“Such poise my dear.” Mrs. Carmine complemented him. “I wish my daughter was as refined, she is so awkward. I may ask you to give her lessons. But please continue Lavinia.”

Mrs Dalloway took a sip of her sherry before returning to her account.

“Well, the following day the cook informed me that the laundry woman that had taken his clothes had sent them to another house by mistake but was unsure of which one. As there is no male clothing in the house there was no other option but to dress him in some of Caroline’s clothes. As you know Caroline is currently at Finishing School in France. Having just returned from several weeks travelling in Europe I was far too busy and in no mood to spend time purchasing male clothes and as it was a Bank holiday on the Monday he had no choice but to continuing to wear what clothes I provided.

“Including corsets and petticoats?” Mrs. Armstrong enquired, her eyes scanning his feminine clothing for signs of a ruffled petticoat hem.

“Naturally Rebecca.” Lavinia replied “Have you ever worn your gown without a corset and petticoats. It would not be seemly.”

They laughed at the very idea.

“But did he not protest?” Lady Cockshott asked, she too, fixing him with a curious stare.

“Well it was either wear the clothes provided or leave naked.” Lavinia snorted as her eyes met his it was quite obvious she too recalled the first time she laced him into her corset.”Of course, at first he was dreadfully ungainly, lumbering across the room but once I introduced him to a full corset, tapering to his knees, it quickly resolved that particular issue. He now has a reasonable feminine gait.”

“Ah yes, those ghastly garments.” Constance Carmine grimaced at the mention of the item. “My mother used to make me wear one when I was his age to ensure good posture and an elegant feminine carriage. She considered I was picking up too many masculine traits from the stable boys.”

She smiled with empathy at the shamefaced youth before continuing,

“At first they feel like truly dreadful devices, my darling boy.” she commiserated, “but unfortunately quite necessary if one is to achieve an ideal feminine walk. It would be impossible to wear a gown such as yours without one, you would look far too masculine and attract too much curiosity, which I expect is the last thing you want. I clearly remember I fought against it at the time, however in retrospect, Mother was correct to force me into one. I’m sure in time you will feel the same.”

He took no comfort from her remarks and they only served to increase his resentment but he knew quite well that a display of surliness would not be received well and he could quickly find himself face down over Mrs. Dalloway’s knee. He acknowledged her observations with a practiced timid smile.

“You still have not explained him addressing you as ‘Aunt’”. Rebecca asked once more.

“On his first day I dressed him in one of Caroline’s old gowns and I was struck with a vague resemblance to our family. Maybe it was the way he fitted the dress, his eyes or mouth, the tilt of his head, perhaps I was imagining it, I really don’t know. We were here in the drawing room when I was considering this when unfortunately, I had an unannounced visit from the Duchess of Thomand.” Lavinina explained “Obviously I could not refuse to meet her but knew I would have to explain the presence of my companion. I could not say I had a young male stranger that I had only met on the train residing with me, the Duchess would take a very dim view of such an arrangement it.  As I had to make an introduction, the first thing came into my head was the familial similarity, I knew the Duchess has poor eyesight and vanity prevents her from wearing glasses so I introduced him as my niece, Georgina, who was staying with me for a few days. Of course the poor boy almost fainted and was barely able to curtsy when presented to her. However, the Duchess was most understanding and insisted on giving him some smelling salts.”

Mrs. Dalloway turned to him,

“Tell the ladies what the Duchess said, my dear.”

 He hesitated but a stern glance from her was enough to let him know the consequences of remaining silent.

“She said...”he began, in a faltering voice that clearly betrayed his shame, “...that she was delighted to see  I was tightly corseted and I was a credit to my aunt,  as lately, there seemed to be an alarming  tendency in some young ladies to abandon corsetry completely.”

“And?” Mrs. Dalloway prompted him in a serious tone.

“She also enquired if I was experiencing ...”he began, his eyes pleaded with her, but as her brow wrinkled in impatience he knew he had to complete the sentence , he could feel tears of shame well up but continued with a noticeable  crack in his voice “...if I was experiencing  a girl’s... monthly sickness.”

Days of pent up humiliation and shame finally rose to the surface, tears began to trickle down his face as he sobbed,

“And during such times I should inform my lady’s maid that my corsets should be laced even more tightly as it would help alleviate the symptoms.”

“Oh you poor boy.” Lady Cockshott said as she moved to the sofa next to him and gave him a maternal embrace. “But you really shouldn’t be upset. Isn’t that right ladies?”

Through the tears, he looked at her blankly.

“Of course not.” Mrs. Armstrong agreed.

“Don’t you realise,” Mrs. Carmine said “there are not too many young girls that the Duchess treats with such sympathy she is usually much more direct.  You should be delighted.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Armstrong agreed “Her Grace is usually less patient with girls of your age. You obviously have made quite the impression on her.”

“And therein lays the problem, ladies.” Mrs. Dalloway said as she patted the young man on the knee. “The Duchess regards this fashion of young women abandoning their corsets as a threat to the moral order and has invited me to a lecture later this afternoon on this very subject by one of the organisations she is the patron of. As you have gathered, she is quite taken with Georgina and insisted that he accompanies me.”

This was the first the young man had heard about such an invitation and the thought of appearing in public dressed as a girl was enough to make him dizzy. He again looked towards the door but the thought of escape was as far away as ever and a refusal to accompany her was out of the question.

“Oh dear, he is getting a fit of the vapours again.” Mrs. Dalloway said and she produced a bottle of smelling salts to revive him.

“Well, that certainly is quite the feminine reaction.” Lady Cockshott snorted to the amusement of her friends.

“He is obviously more of a girl than he thinks.” Mrs. Carmine tittered. “You really have trained him well Lavinina. He would not be out of place in a girls boarding school.”

“It’s no wonder the Duchess believed him to be female.” Mrs. Armstrong gave a barely disguised snigger. ”Swooning like a schoolgirl.”

“This is becoming quite a habit Georgina.” Mrs. Dalloway  chided him gently as she threatened him with the smelling salts once more “ I do not recall Caroline being so overcome quite so often and she is a real girl. I do not know whether to be pleased or irritated.”

He could only silently groan at her remark, however, even as the effects of the smelling salts began to wear off he was conscious not to make any remotely hostile comment. Mrs. Dalloway turned to her friends,

“Now you see my dilemma, ladies.” she said gesturing to the feminised youth recovering next to her. “He is likely to faint at the most inopportune of times, particularly if he feels he is under scrutiny. It has only been in the last few days, since he has had time to...”

She smiled at him and smoothed a wrinkle on the skirt of his gown and continued,

“...adjust to his new clothing, not to mention reconcile himself with our new relationship.”

“I suppose he has reason.” Mrs. Carmine suggested “After all if he was exposed as a male dressed as a girl I expect there would be serious consequences.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Armstrong said, her eyes examining him closely. “I understand the authorities take a dim view of such deviant behaviour.”

“And this is what we want to avoid at all costs.” Mrs Dalloway said, turning her attention to him and pressing his hand gently. “After all I have presented you as my niece and if you were to be unveiled as a male it would be most embarrassing for me. Isn’t that so Georgina?”

The words ‘deviant behaviour’, ‘authorities’ serious consequences’ rang in his ears like a cathedral bell, if he was revealed to be a male he dreaded to think what would happen, he gripped his skirts in horror, an action that did not go unnoticed by his companions. He still had not recovered from his true sex being revealed to these women and Mrs. Dalloway’s sudden announcement of the requirement to attend a public engagement had further added to his anxiety,  he once more felt  little lightheaded. He was acutely aware that the only thing keeping him upright and preventing him from collapsing into another faint was the long rigid boning of his corset. The sight of Mrs. Dalloway once more producing the smelling salts was enough to ensure he rallied quickly.

“Yes Aunt.” he answered softly.

 “We cannot have that, Lavinia. ” Mrs. Carmine declared in a determined tone, as she rose from her chair and arranging her voluminous skirts to her satisfaction moved to the sofa and lowered herself gracefully next to him, she took his other hand and stroked it. Fixing him with her large brown eyes, she continued “A special girl like you needs all the support you can get to ensure the Duchess or the other ladies attending suspect nothing. We shall accompany you to the lecture and ensure your secret is safe.”

The young man winced at the words ‘special girl’, Mrs. Carmine noticed and smiled as if daring him to contradict her but surrounded by these women and dressed as he was, he was in no position to do so.

“What a wonderful idea.” Lady Cockshott chirped “A phalanx of petticoats to protect a defenceless male.  I suppose it has a certain irony to it.”

Since his confinement in such humiliating feminine attire he was constantly searching for ways to escape Mrs Dalloway’s clutches but the dangers of being uncovered as a male were the invisible chains keeping him tethered to her. Now that he was finally achieving his goal, the prospect of being thrust into the open masquerading as a female filled him with dread and it clearly showed on his face.

 ”Don’t you worry Georgina.” Mrs. Armstrong consoled him “We will ensure you come to no harm. Nestled securely between our skirts you will be quite safe.”

“That is most kind of you, ladies.” Mrs Dalloway said “I’m sure Georgina is most grateful.”

His mouth opened but the only sound that was heard was a low whine.

“It’s settled then, we can take my carriage.” Lady Cockshott announced to the company, after a discreet nod to Mrs Dalloway both women rose effortlessly from their seats. Still coming to terms with what was happening the young man remained seated hoping this was perhaps a charade or another of Mrs Dalloway’s tests but the excited looks on their faces disabused him of that notion. As the ladies made their way to the large mirror over the mantelpiece to check their appearances, a housemaid entered and whispered something to her mistress.

“I need to attend to some domestic matter, ladies.” she informed her guests “I will only be a few moments.”

“I wonder how long Lavinia intends keeping Georgina dressed as a girl.” Mrs Armstrong asked her companions as the door closed behind her.

The mention of his feminised name roused the young man from his anxious thoughts and his attention was immediately focused on the women’s conversation.

“I’m really not sure, Rebecca.” Lady Cockshott answered, and fixing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she could see his attentive face in the mirror. “Knowing Lavinia it will depend on her humour. If the boy convinces the Duchess that he is her niece then I expect she will be only too delighted to procure male clothing for him. She won’t want to risk someone discovering his true sex.”

“And if he does not manage to persuade the Duchess?” Mrs. Carmine enquired,  as she lightly dabbed some perfume on her neck.

“That would be very embarrassing for Lavinia.” Lady Cockshott replied “And as a result, I don’t think it would go very well for the unfortunate young lad. As we said the authorities take a very serious view of deviant behaviour.”

The young man felt a knot tighten in his stomach and his complexion paled. The ladies turned away from the mirror and approached him, the sound of petticoats and substantial skirts filling the room with a familiar rustling sound. It was impossible to miss the look of fear on his face.

“But don’t you worry, dear boy.” Mrs. Armstrong said “You may be a little gauche in some ways but most girls your age are not properly finished just yet. Just remember all that your aunt has taught you and I’m sure you will be taken for the girl that the Duchess thinks you are.”

“We will ensure any awkward questions or situations are taken care of.” Lady Cockshott added with a reassuring smile as she gestured him to rise.

“Just remember, you look like a girl and you walk like a girl.” Mrs. Carmine said applying pink lip balm to his lips “Once you think of yourself as a girl, as Mrs. Dalloway’s niece you should have nothing to worry about. Do you understand?”

He nodded, still clearly extremely anxious.

“Now if someone asks you who you are, what do you say?” Lady Cockshott asked him.

He hesitated, uttering these words out loud would remove him even further from his fading masculinity.

“Say it...girl.” Lady Cockshott snapped.

“My name...my...name...”he mumbled his “is Georgina...I am Mrs Dalloway’s... niece.”

“And again.” Mrs Armstrong said “But clearer and louder, and curtsy when you answer. You need to show you have been well trained in the social graces.”

He repeated the mortifying admission and was forced to continue until the ladies were finally satisfied he sounded genuine before he was allowed to rest for a few moments.

After the women had finished applying the final touches to their appearances, Mrs. Carmine’s instructed him to rise. He lifted himself from the sofa and instinctively adjusted skirt of his gown to ensure it fell correctly then smoothed the soft material to remove any wrinkles.

The women exchanged glances, Lady Cockshott was the first to speak.

“I just wish my daughter was as meticulous with her comportment.”

“He is certainly much more feminine than some of the girls I have encountered lately.” Mrs. Armstrong said.

The door opened and Mrs. Dalloway entered and glided across the room to where he stood among the women.  She removed a stray hair from his shoulder and made a slight adjustment to his bustle.

“I do hope he remembers all that I have taught him.” she said as she completed her inspection.

Her companions laughed lightly and Lady Cockshott turned to the feminised youth and asked in n exaggerated voice as if she was meeting him for the first time,

“And who are you my dear?”

“I am Georgina, Mrs. Dalloway’s niece.” he said clearly and confidently before dropping into a graceful curtsy.

“I think neither of you have anything to be concerned about.” Mrs. Armstrong laughed and slipped her arm inside his.

A broad and satisfied smile appeared on Mrs. Dalloway’s face.

“I think it’s time to make your society debut, dear boy.” Mrs. Carmine said, threading her arm underneath his other arm. “We don’t want to keep the Duchess waiting.”

 

New Image - A Slip of a Boy

 

It has been a while since I’ve posted anything so I’m surprised that there are still people visiting the blog, thank you for your patience.

I am now hopeful that I may have turned a corner with regard to the problems that have plagued me for the last 2 years, they are not completely resolved, but at least I'm in a better place now than 6 weeks ago. Thankfully, this has had a positive effect on my mental health and I have begun a new story but it will probably be another few weeks before I can post anything. I'm completely out of touch and my concentration levels are still not where they should be so it will take me a while to feel my way back into writing.

In the meantime I have managed to do some images but still had difficulty in composing a caption- so thanks to Jennifer for the text on the image below- A Slip of a Boy. There is a story in here somewhere but it will take me a while to figure it out. 

I'll change the one on the blog's header with a new one  in a few weeks.

Finally, thank you to everyone who posted messages/comments of support over the last 2 years, you have no idea how much this means to me, it was invaluable and kept me going. Hopefully I can repay you with a half decent story.

Take care 

Carrie

 

Fall from Grace - A very short story with illustration

 

It’s been forever since I posted something and unfortunately, right now, the best I can manage is something very short. A story like this should take 2-3 weeks but took  almost 6 months, plenty of ideas but my concentration is shot to pieces.

Thank you for your patience and please forgive any typos, grammatical errors, I've only re-read this once so  I'm sure I've missed a few.  

I'll replace  the image at the top with  new one in a few weeks 

Carrie

Fall from Grace

By

CarrieP

 

 

 

B

elow stairs in the kitchen, the sound of the servants’ bell pierced the silence. The housemaid, supervised by the housekeeper, Miss Stripelove, was at work polishing the silver cutlery.

 “The mistress’s bedroom.” the housekeeper said, looking at one of the numerous small  silver bells mounted on the wall.

The uniformed maidservant’s eyes met the older woman’s and a look of apprehension came over the maid’s face, the pleading eyes were met with a firm look from the housekeeper.

 “Two rings, the housemaid’s bell.” Miss Stripelove confirmed looking directly at the uniformed figure, “You don’t want to keep the mistress waiting, girl.”

The servant’s silent yet obvious plea continued to be ignored but only for an instant.

It was a now familiar reaction but deep inside the maid knew such an appeal would never be entertained and understood only too well that the even slight hesitation in obeying was frowned upon and would quickly incur the housekeeper’s displeasure. With a heavy heart and eyes downcast, the maid surrendered to the inevitable.  The worried look was quite evident to the housekeeper but it did not matter, a smile of satisfaction appeared on her stern countenance as she recognised the humiliation etched on the maid’s features. She stood in front of her charge and smoothed the skirt of the apron and adjusted the pinafore straps before standing back to examine the final result.

“No need to be anxious my girl, Madam understands that you are nervous but she is also confident that you are reasonably well trained and expects you will acquit yourself admirably.  It would be a shame to earn another demerit so early in the week.

“Oh no... please Miss Stripelove.” The maid blurted, knowing what this would entail.

“Turn around, girl.” The housekeeper ignored the pitiful supplication.“Mmm... yes quite acceptable. Your apron bow is adequately arranged and your stocking seams are straight...for once.”

“Thank you Miss Stripelove” the maid answered with the required curtsy and in a relieved voice, knowing there would be several demerits for uneven seams or a poorly knotted bow.

“I take it you have been practising.” Miss Striplove asked.

The maid nodded sheepishly.

“Good girl.” Miss Striplove said “You really are a quick learner.”

The words ‘good girl’ stung, as they always did, however, the maid repressed the urge to wince, having learned  the harsh lesson over the previous weeks that the merest hint of discontent was viewed as an act of ingratitude. Such displays were frowned upon and carried with it several demerits and the inevitable punishment with Miss Striplove’s cane or paddle. It was something to be avoided at all costs.

“ Now run along girl, we don’t want to keep the mistress waiting.” Miss Stripelove dismissed the maid with a wave of her hand.

 

 

 “Enter” Emily Du Barry answered the gentle knock on her bedroom door and her new housemaid entered timidly, acutely aware of the other women in the room.

“You...you... rang Madam.” the maid said bobbing a curtsy, the quiver in the voice quite noticeable.

“Come closer.” Emily said softly “No need to be afraid, the ladies won’t bite’”

The maid inched forward, eyes still downwards.

“My friends will be staying with me for a few days and it is best that they are aware of our...”she paused as she glanced at her friends “shall we say...arrangement.”

“Arrangement?”  Honoria Glossop repeated looking up from her magazine, her face showing a little confusion.

“What on earth do you mean Emily?” Margot Harper added, momentarily turning her head from the mirror where she was adjusting her hair “The girl is a servant, you employ her, there is nothing unusual about such an arrangement.”

A look of alarm came over the maid’s face.

“What is the matter, girl?” Camilla Dukebury said noticing the maid trembling “You look like you are going to faint.”

“It may be her time of the month.” Honoria said in a sympathetic voice, but the maid blushed at the remark.

Emily smiled as she took the maid’s hand.

“You see, Evelyn.” she said, clearly delighted at her friends’ reaction. “The ladies are convinced you are a girl. You should be proud of yourself.”

The figure standing in the centre of the room was becoming visibly unnerved with the attention  of these formidable matrons and attempted to retreat towards the door but Emily’s grip would prevented any movement.

“Convinced you are a girl!” Margot repeated, her face taking on a confused look, “You really are not making sense Emily.”

  “Of course she’s a ...” Camilla joined the conversation, but paused and as her eyes remained on the increasingly anxious maid she addressed her friend with a note of astonishment. “Did you call her Evelyn?”

The maid let out a low whine and tried to pull away from Emily’s grip but to no avail.

 “Yes girls.” Emily smiled at her friends “Evelyn...my nephew, surely you recognised him but then again, he does make a reasonable facsimile of a girl, so maybe it’s no wonder you were fooled.”

The women looked at each other; their faces lit up with astonishment and quickly moved closer forming a circle around him preventing any hope of attempted escape.

“Evelyn!” Honoria blurted as she touched the maid’s face.” Is that really you?”

“Surely not...oh yes...I can see it now.” Margot breathed as she stroked the maid’s hair. “Of course, he was never the most masculine of boys but... but...this, Emily...your...

“Your...housemaid!” Camilla finished her friend’s sentence, as she placed a finger under the servant’s chin and raised his head until his eyes met hers. "Extraordinary, quite extraordinary. I had no idea.”

“I would never have guessed.” Honoria concurred. “When you opened the front door to us I assumed you were just another new servant girl.”

Her friends now looked to Emily.

 “Several weeks ago,” she began her explanation “and not for the first time I should add, Evelyn found himself in a most indelicate position which unless addressed immediately and discretely would have severe consequences for him and would have been extremely embarrassing for his mother, my sister and your dear friend. As his godmother and aunt, I was asked to intervene and resolve the issue, which I did. However, as his indiscretions are becoming more regular and ever more serious I had to ensure there would be no future episodes of a similar nature. The harm to his mother’s reputation would be irreparable.”

She paused to allow her friends to absorb this information, but they were too engrossed in inspecting the increasingly mortified creature in front of them to respond immediately.

“He was such an angel as a child.” Honoria sighed, eventually breaking the silence, not taking her eyes from the unfortunate young man. “But as he got older he did become more wayward and unruly.”

“No doubt, the absence of feminine influence and control whilst away at school.” Camilla lamented wearily as her companions nodded in agreement “It’s no wonder the poor boy fell into degeneracy.”

“A girl would never inflict such despair and heartbreak on their mother.” Honoria said “I can see now why you took such drastic action. It really was the only practical thing you could do, Emily.”

“We should have thought of it years ago.” Margot added. It would have saved him from himself; it would be very difficult to get into trouble wearing a skirt and heels.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”  Camilla said, as she lifted the skirt of his uniform to inspect what lay beneath.

Having his true identity revealed to these ladies, all of whom he had known since childhood, was truly mortifying but having them inspect what he was wearing underneath brought his humiliation to another level. However, despite his anger he knew better than to protest, weeks under his godmother and Miss Stripelove’s authority had rendered him quite docile in the presence of the weaker sex. He stood motionless, the rebelliousness that was such a part of his nature had been quashed the moment he first donned his humiliating new attire. His head bowed and resigned to his fate, he meekly allowed these women to examine the ghastly garments underneath his degrading servant’s uniform.

“I see you have been most thorough.” Margot said, hoisting his uniform’s skirt above his waist and revealing a black satin slip with a deep lace hem.”I’m sure such feminine garments make it very difficult for him to parade male pomposity.”

“Very pretty.” Camilla said as she raised the slip and added in an excited voice as she exposed his thigh length open-bottomed girdle with its six garters anchoring his sheer black silk stockings. “Oh yes...yes... how very appropriate.”

“I was wondering how he had such a feminine figure.” Honoria laughed and lifting his chin with her finger, smiled, “Quite restricting, isn’t it dear boy? I’m sure like all women you will be glad to take it off tonight.”

Her companions laughed at the remark, knowing from experience how true this statement was.

“Oh that never happens darling,  I insist he wears a night girdle just in case he has one of those horrible male emissions during the night." Emily informed her friend. “You know what little self-control males have.”

“So he has no escape from his foundations, day or night?” Margot blurted.

“How wonderful!” Camilla giggled.

“Every male should be made to wear a girdle at night.” Honoria added with a snort of derision “They are incapable of even a modicum of restraint.”

“Hence his night girdle, it is part of his training.” Emily replied as her hand slipped between his legs. “Isn’t that correct Evelyn, those dreadful male urges need to be curbed.”

It was becoming unbearable for the unfortunate young man.

The urge to run for the door was powerful but from bitter experience he knew that while he could flee the room, dressed as a primly uniformed housemaid, where could he go?  In such distinct attire, he would cut a most incongruous figure in the street outside and would quickly be exposed as a male. It was his worst nightmare. Of course, his godmother and Miss Stripelove knew this and so were quite assured he would never attempt an escape.  Displays of anger or frustration were not tolerated under any circumstances, manfully he had to conceal the utter indignation at his new station in life.  The tall and powerful figure of Miss Striplove was ever present , ensuring  he remained servile and obedient  at all times. Now was not the time to attempt any form of protest as Miss Stripelove would be summoned immediately at the slightest indiscretion  and administer the inevitable punishment in front of these ladies.

 He immediately recalled one of his futile attempts at rebellion at the beginning of his incarceration, this had resulted in a most humiliating and distressing experience which took place in the drawing room’s large bay window, in full view of the street. Luckily there were no passersby, although from his prone position he thought the two maids dusting in the house across the street witnessed the degrading scene as they spent an inordinate time at the window. Naturally, he had no wish to repeat the experience, particularly now that Miss Striplove seemed to be pleased with his progress and had somewhat softened her attitude, and was now almost quite pleasant towards him.

No, he reasoned it is better to swallow what little pride he still had than risk further humiliation.

He was aware all eyes in the room were fixed on him.

“Yes Madam.” he answered timidly and curtsied for good measure.

“Madam!” Margot repeated with a smirk “You really do have him well trained, Emily.”

“But did he...” Camilla began but her friend anticipated the question.

“Did he resist being put into a housemaid’s uniform?” Emily smiled and looked at her godson “Miss Stripelove does not countenance disobedience. Isn’t that correct Evelyn?”

“Yes Madam.” Evelyn whispered, eyes downcast in shame.

“Surprising what effect  a minute or two over Miss Stipelove’s knee has on even the most stubborn of males. Within ten minutes he was struggling  into his first girdle and the following day he was able to fasten his own brassiere and ensure his nylons were correctly attached to his girdle’s garters. And unlike a lot of servant girls, he has no difficulty tying his apron strings into a perfect bow. So to answer    your question, yes he is becoming quite the well trained housemaid.”

 All three ladies clapped excitedly like over-excited seals in a circus.

Although he had known for several days that he would be presented to these ladies as an appropriately uniformed housemaid, nothing could have prepared him for the moment of unmitigated shame when it finally arrived.  Under normal circumstances he would have taken delight in deceiving these women, he had done this many times in the past as it amused him greatly to demonstrate just how naïve and feeble minded the female of the species could be. He had now once again managed to trick them but this time there could be no delight in his deception, no gleefully display of male superiority over the weaker sex. The bitter irony was not lost on him.

This time it was he who felt the shame and humiliation when the truth was revealed.  Being mistaken as a female was mortifying but presented as a servant girl was utterly degrading.

 Inside his head, he wailed silently. A servant girl. Not even a member of my own class.

 The prospect chilled him to the bone. The sheer ignominy of being dressed as a female was utterly degrading but, attired as an uniformed housemaid, was the ultimate disgrace. How many times had he been overbearing to servant girls? Pinching a parlourmaid’s bottom, occasionally feeling a housemaid’s breasts. Now, he was the servant and at the mercy of these women, unable to move as their groping hands explored his most intimate regions, caressing his satin clad buttocks and examining between his legs with a touch that, despite his feminine appearance, and to his horror elicited a male response. Miss Stripelove found any display of masculinity repugnant but she reserved her worst punishment for any manifestation of swelling in the sexual organ.

“Oh...I see you still have notions of masculinity.” Margot said with a sly grin as she turned to her friends, “Feel his little thing struggling to break free.”

Camilla and Honoria took turns in placing a hand between his legs feeling his organ, despite being tucked snugly under his testicles, twitched at each caress.

They smiled knowingly at each involuntary movement.

“Evelyn!” his godmother snapped “How rude of you, you know girls do not behave in that sort of disgusting manner. I’ve told you before to control your clitoris at all times. You know what this means... Miss Striplove will be most disappointed.

“Oh no...not Miss Striplove... please Madam...I...” he pleaded.

“His clitoris!” the ladies shrieked in unison.

“Of course he refers to it as his clitoris.” Emily informed her friends “ Girls don’t have those ghastly penises .Isn’t that correct Evelyn?”

The unfortunate young man was close to tears.

“Now tell the ladies what you have between your legs.”

He could not contain his emotions any further, a tear rolled down either cheek, quickly followed by another. He knew the reply that was expected and also knew a refusal would mean the arrival of Miss Striplove.

“My... clitoris Madam.” he sobbed. “I’m sorry...please don’t tell Miss Stripelove.”

Turning to her friends his godmother asked,

“What do you think, ladies? Should I inform Miss Striplove. The  last thing we want is the girl fingering herself.”

“Oh I think the poor boy needs more guidance than punishment, Emily.” Margot was the first to speak.

“Girl.” His godmother corrected.

“Of course ...how silly of me.” Honoria agreed and brushing away his tears with her handkerchief added “As a girl, you need to be nurtured not chastised.”

He took comfort from the conciliatory remark and hoped he had escaped another humiliating paddling from the housekeeper however; the look on his godmother’s face was not encouraging.

“Yes, we have witnessed Miss Striplove discipline.” Margot said “Do  you remember Emily a few years ago I borrowed her from you  to train one of my servants, the girl was having difficulty in adjusting to life in domestic service. Needless to say after a few weeks the girl was transformed into  the ideal housemaid, obedient,  courteous, devoted to me and fastidious about her appearance.  She is now perfectly content to spend her life in my service.”

“Miss Striplove’s methods  can be extremely persuasive.” His godmother said with a smile as she caressed his cheek and turned to her friends, “Evelyn has been here only a few weeks and look how far she has come. Not the perfect housemaid, I grant you, she still has a lot to learn but in another few weeks he will barely remember her life before domestic service.”

The young man felt a chill run  down his spine and anxiously  clutched his apron to stop his hands from shaking. He saw his future flash before him, a life of domestic servitude, wearing the uniform of a housemaid, performing menial tasks, an existence below stairs under the constant supervision of Miss Striplove and only allowed in the company of his own class  when the maid’s bell rang. Panic began to take hold.

“He doesn’t look too enamoured with the idea.” Camilla observed.

“Please...Aunt... Madam...please...don’t ...I’m...”he blabbered incoherently, tears now flowing uncontrollably. ”

“I’m sure he’ll be a good boy from now on.” Honoria said.

Another time Evelyn would have berated her for referring to his as a boy, he was almost eligible to vote, but that was now the furthest thing from his mind.

“Boy!” his aunt laughed and fixed him with her pale blue eyes “He’s not a boy any more, are you Evelyn?.”

The young man cast his eyes downward

“After all boys are not housemaids?”she added with a smirk.

He was consumed with shame, he knew what she wanted to hear.

“The ladies are waiting Evelyn.” his aunt said, more than a hint of impatience in her tone.

“Please...please Aunt...”he began temporarily forgetting his lowly position, “...Madam, please don’t make me...

“Say it.” his aunt snapped, interrupting his pathetic plea “Tell the ladies what you are, or should I ring for Miss Stripelove to help remind you?”

He knew the reply that was required, he had been trained to respond to the question by the housekeeper but he had never uttered the words to anyone but his aunt and Miss Stripelove .

The mention of the housekeeper and what would surely follow if he failed to answer struck fear into him.

“I...I’m... a...girl...a ...servant girl.” he simpered and burst into tears.

 “Now that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” his aunt said her voice softening as she dabbed his cheeks with her lace handkerchief before continuing, “You have made wonderful progress, Miss Stripelove and I are pleased with your efforts although we suspect you still harbour those dreadful masculine tendencies and as we have just witnessed disgusting urges. However, we are prepared to overlook those as you are still quite immature.”

“Oh thank you Au...I mean Madam.” he blurted relieved that Miss Stripelove would not be summoned.

“I think you realise I have been very fair to you...”she continued,

“Oh yes Madam., very fair. ”he gushed.

“Please don’t interrupt Evelyn.” she gently chided him before continuing “As a result of your efforts and to demonstrate our faith in you , Miss Stripelove and I think you deserve a second chance.”

The announcement came as quite a shock and the expression on his face made it quite evident he was unsure of what he had just heard, and with his mouth agape, looked quite bewildered.

“Yes, you heard correctly.” his aunt smiled benignly “You may no longer consider yourself my housemaid...unless you wish to remain in that position.”

“Oh ...no...no...thank you... Madam.”he babbled.

“Aunt Emily.” she corrected him, confirming his restored status and  gestured towards a large trunk by the wall.

He immediately recognised it as his own, the ladies watched as he clutched his apron excitedly.

“Of course you will remain here under my supervision until your mother is satisfied you have learnt your lesson.” she advised him in a cautionary tone.

He barely heard her condition as he was far too excited to know that he would now be free of these dreadful female clothes and no longer treated like a servant girl.

“Of course Aunt Emily.” he answered, thrilled at his good fortune.

“Well you had better remove your uniform then.” she said.

Elated, he began untying his apron and laid it neatly on the bed and then it suddenly struck him he would have to undress in front of the ladies. However  he quickly decided this was a small price to pay and besides they had already seen his dreadful lingerie and foundation wear. He fumbled at the zipper at his neck before Marot moved to his rear.

“Let me help you, my dear.” she said “Girls always have trouble with zippers which is one reason we require a maid.”

The others laughed as she brought the zipper down and as he struggled out of his uniform dress. Aunt Emily opened the trunk for him.

“I’m sure you will be glad to wear something more appropriate.” she said motioning to the open trunk.

“But... I...I ...you said...”he stammered looking at the contents of the trunk.

“I think this will look wonderful on you.” his aunt said holding up a pink chiffon tea dress.

“But...I ...it’s ... “he continued to jabber incoherently. ”It’s...a ...I mean...

“Yes Evelyn a dress, and a very pretty one at that.” Margot said examining it.

“Dior, how very generous of you, Emily.” Honoria added as she also inspected the gown “Not every boy...oh dear there I go again... I mean girl, gets such a beautiful dress so young.”

Stunned and utterly deflated, the young man now clutched at his black satin slip to stop his hands from shaking.

“Oh if you don’t like this one there is a similar one in blue.” Aunt Emily said picking up a powder blue dress. You’re right this is a more manly colour.”

“But...Aunt...Aunt Emily ...I ...I thought now that I had learned my lesson I could wear own clothes.” he blurted.

“Wherever did you get that idea from, you silly girl.” she answered, turning to her friends with a broad smile before handing him the dress.

“I think what your aunt is saying, darling Evelyn, ” Camilla said guiding him to the full length mirror and slipped the dress over his head, “  is you still have a lot to learn.”

“I think a pearl choker will complete the look.” Margot said.

“We really must get his ears pierced.”  Aunt Emily said to a chorus of approval.

“And a new hairstyle.” Honoria added enthusiastically.

Panic began to take hold as the zipper tightened around his neck, the women fussed over him, fluffing the skirt of the dress and adjusting the bodice.

“Perhaps, Madam would consider a very full bouffant.” A familiar voice  as sounded from behind him.

 “It would greatly enhance his femininity.” Miss Stripelove said, as slipped silently into the room.

“But that style requires a lot of maintenance, Miss Stripelove.” Margot said as the housekeeper approached. “Lots of heated curlers every night, it would take a lot of time and effort.”

“Oh we don’t mind a little time and effort now do we...Miss Evelyn?” Miss Stripelove, now standing behind him smiled as she fastened the pearl choker around his neck and looking in the mirror saw a tear trickle down his cheek.